From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 267

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 267**

If that old man dares to pin his sins on me one more time, I swear to every deity I can think of—I will personally set fire to his legacy. I’ll storm right up to Roman and lay it all bare, revealing the truth that has been buried beneath layers of deceit. I will tell him, with every ounce of conviction I possess, that the very man who brought him into this world is the same one who forced Dahlia to entertain his sordid friends, to wear a smile while serving and playing the role of an escort to the filthy old politicians who came crawling to his door in his absence. The man drove her to the brink of despair, pushing her into the depths of madness.

I still vividly recall that fateful night when Dahlia confided in me, her voice trembling with the weight of her despair. She was painting, as she always did when we were together, but on that particular evening, the canvas bore a streak of crimson that resembled blood. She looked at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and whispered, “I’m done being their entertainment. They won’t let me breathe.” Those haunting words echo in my mind, a chilling premonition of the tragedy that was to follow.

That was just two weeks before her life was snuffed out.

In her darkest moments, she had turned to me, her only confidant. Who else could she trust? Her husband was perpetually absent, lost in his world of power and privilege. Her sister, too entangled with Roman to ever take Dahlia’s side, left her isolated. I was her sole ally in that house—a place steeped in the scent of money and buried secrets.

Dahlia painted in silence, her brush strokes punctuated by fleeting words that spoke of escape, as if she were weaving a bedtime story meant only for herself. I was the only one who listened in that suffocating prison. And I swear, on everything I hold dear, I never laid a finger on her. Not once did I entertain such thoughts. Dahlia was like a sister to me, and all I wanted was to shield her from the horrors that surrounded us, to offer her whatever comfort I could muster.

We forged a bond over art, over the stark contrasts of our lives, over the kind of loneliness that seeps deep into your bones. She would paint while I sketched, sometimes engaging in deep conversations, other times simply sharing a quiet understanding that spoke volumes. I remember the day she unveiled a half-finished portrait of Roman; it was the first time I witnessed her face light up with genuine joy. She beamed with pride, her love for him radiating like sunlight. She adored him in a way I had never seen a woman adore a man.

Dahlia was a true genius, a modern-day Da Vinci trapped within a gilded cage, her brilliance stifled by the very man who claimed to love her. But Roman never saw that side of her; I doubt he ever bothered to ask. He loved her, yes, but love is hollow when it is silent or when it is cold and absent.

And that silence ultimately drove her to make a choice.

Dahlia revealed her desire for a divorce to me, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were confessing a grave sin. I helped her find an exceptional lawyer; she was determined to reclaim her freedom, to breathe once more.

But before she could even serve those papers, Roman accused her of infidelity out of the blue.

And just a day later, she was gone.

They labeled it an accident, but I know the truth. I know who orchestrated that tragic event.

The General.

He took her away to protect his precious friends, to ensure that her pain, her pregnancy, her truth never saw the light of day. He silenced her, and the most despicable part? He made me bear witness to the vile tapes—each one a testament to their cruelty. He forced me to watch as they treated her like she was nothing, as if she weren’t the wife of his own son.

She was not nothing. She was everything that house had left that was still pure after our mother’s death.

And now, even in death, Dahlia cannot find peace.

As I stand here, the fiancée of Roman, Savannah, spews forth rumors she knows nothing about. She talks about Dahlia as if she truly understood her, as if she has any inkling of the torment that woman endured within those walls.

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