From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 232

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**Chapter 232**

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I blurt out, the words spilling from my lips before I can stop them. Instantly, a wave of regret washes over me, as if I’ve said something profoundly inappropriate.

The urgency in my voice feels too intense, too charged. Too much desire, perhaps.

His gaze flickers down to my robe, taking in the soft fabric that clings to me, then swiftly returns to my face, his expression unreadable.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not this, Roman. Not now.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammer, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I just meant you came home late, and I was… well, I was curious about where you’ve been all day.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, one that seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Savannah, I’ve had a really long day. I’m too exhausted to do this with you right now. Good night.”

With that, he turns away, his footsteps echoing softly as he heads toward the stairs.

“I’m not trying to nag you or start a fight,” I call out quickly, desperation creeping into my voice.

He pauses, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a moment before turning his head slightly in my direction.

“Then what is this?” he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and frustration.

I swallow hard, feeling the lump in my throat. “I just need your help. My mom does, actually. Or, well—Penelope’s help.”

At the mention of Penelope, his demeanor shifts. He faces me fully now, the distance between us still palpable, but his interest is piqued.

“Go on,” he prompts, his voice steady.

“She wants to divorce Julius,” I reveal, my heart racing as I brace myself for his reaction.

To my surprise, he remains impassive. No raised eyebrows, no shock; his expression is calm, almost as if I had merely mentioned the time of day.

“Alright,” he finally replies, his tone flat. “Text me the hospital address. I’ll forward it to Penny.”

A mix of relief and disappointment swirls in my chest, tangling together in a confusing knot.

He starts to leave but then hesitates, turning back to me with a serious look. “A piece of advice,” he says quietly, his voice low and measured. “Knowing the kind of man her soon-to-be ex-husband is, she’ll need all the support she can get. Tell her to transfer her assets to you or your siblings. Anything she owns—house, shares, even her jewelry. Do it quickly.”

This is the most he’s said to me in four days. Four long days of silence. Four days spent walking around each other like shadows in a haunted house, each of us too afraid to break the stillness.

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