From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 21

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 21**
**From Best Friend To Fiancé**

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**Chapter 15: Emily’s Dad**

“Are you out of your mind?” I shot back, my voice sharp and incredulous.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s called raising awareness. God forbid I use my platform for something worthwhile. If Bridal Luxe catches wind of this, they’ll definitely cover my wedding,” Chloe retorted, her eyes sparkling with a twisted sense of ambition.

Roman finally lifted his gaze, his jaw taut and muscles flexing with barely contained anger. “Turn that crap off. Right now.”

Chloe, feigning a dramatic sob, tilted her phone toward her face, which was now painted with faux tears. “This is a family tragedy. And I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the phone was yanked from her grasp, mid-word.

Alyssa stood there, her eyes reddened, hair cascading messily around her face like a dark cloud. “You want tragedy?” she hissed, her voice low and menacing. “You want attention, Chloe?”

“Alyssa—”

The sharp crack of Alyssa’s slap echoed through the room, silencing everything.

Chloe’s head snapped to the side, shock written all over her face. The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating, reverberating in our ears.

Alyssa hurled the phone against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces, mirroring the fragility of her restraint.

“Get. Out.”

“You’re overreacting—”

“OUT!”

Roman stood up sharply, his posture radiating authority. Lizzie flinched, and even Dean shifted uncomfortably as Chloe stormed out, one hand cradling her cheek, eyes shimmering—not with tears of sorrow, but with a blazing fury.

Dean bent down to gather the shards of Chloe’s broken phone. “That was too much, Alyssa. She cares about Emily, in her own way.”

“Posting trauma online isn’t love,” Alyssa shot back, her tone fierce. “It’s just PR.” She brushed a tear away, her gaze still locked in a heated stare-off with him.

The rest of us stood awkwardly, scattered around the room like misplaced puzzle pieces, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

I crossed my arms tightly, feeling the cold hospital air against my damp skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the argument. Roman was now pacing, his jaw grinding, muttering under his breath in agitation.

**09:30 Tue, Nov 25**

**Chapter 21**

“Are you okay?” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He halted and turned to face me, his expression a mixture of anguish and frustration. “She could’ve died, Savannah.”

“I know,” I replied softly, trying to convey my understanding.

“No, you don’t understand. No one was watching her. No one saw her go inside, and that’s the terrifying part. She’s just a kid.”

His voice trembled slightly, and he turned away, running a hand through his damp hair in a gesture of helplessness.

Dean stepped forward, attempting to diffuse the tension. “She’s fine now. That’s what matters most.”

Roman’s head whipped around to glare at him, his eyes blazing with intensity. “You think this is fine? What if it was your kid?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, his irritation palpable. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Oh, I’ll talk however the hell I want. You were watching Savannah the entire time. That’s where your focus was.”

My heart plummeted.

“What the hell, man? I wasn’t even there!”

“As if that makes a difference,” Roman shot back, his voice rising.

“Roman,” I interjected sharply, trying to regain control of the situation.

Dean took a threatening step closer to Roman, but Lizzie intervened, positioning herself between them. “Enough! This isn’t the time or place for your macho posturing. A little girl almost died.”

In a fit of anger, Dean punched the wall before storming off, following the path Chloe had taken.

Roman let out a sharp exhale, frustration radiating off him as he walked away, disappearing down the sterile hallway.

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow him.

I found him near the vending machines, his hands pressed against the wall, head bowed in defeat.

“You didn’t have to say that,” I said gently, my voice barely above a whisper. “To Dean.”

He didn’t turn around, his voice flat. “You think I care?”

“I think you’re angry,” I replied, my heart aching for him.

“I am angry,” he growled, finally turning to meet my gaze. “I told you this was a bad idea. All of it. Coming here. Staying with your family. Pretending we’re… this.” He gestured between us, frustration evident in his posture.

“We’re not pretending,” I countered, though deep down, I knew we were. Weren’t we? “Please don’t be mad. I don’t like it when we fight.”

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