From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 295

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 170: Sleeping Beauty**

**Reese**

I was wide awake by the time the clock chimed eight, the sound echoing softly in the stillness of the room. Dressed and perched on the edge of the bed, I held my phone in one hand, scrolling through a mix of messages that blurred together in my mind. Every so often, my eyes would drift back to Penelope, still ensnared in the sheets, half-hidden beneath the covers. Her blonde hair spilled across the red pillow like sunlight caught in a storm.

In that moment, she looked so peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

For a fleeting instant, I was struck by the absurd thought that she might have slipped away in her sleep, her stillness so profound it seemed otherworldly. But then, as if sensing my gaze, her shoulder twitched slightly, and I couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Whether dead or alive, she looked like she had been through hell and back. Beautiful, yes, but utterly wrecked.

And I had played a significant role in that wreckage.

The curtains hung drawn, casting a muted light that softened the edges of the room. The air was thick with a heady mix of sex, coffee, and an intoxicating blend of two masculine fragrances that clung to the sheets. I glanced at the clock again—8:05 a.m.

The hearing was set to commence at nine.

A grin crept onto my lips as I tossed my phone aside, leaning back against the headboard, my elbows resting on my knees. I wasn’t the one who had to defend a senator’s son today. No, that responsibility fell squarely on Penelope’s shoulders—the shining star of the state bar, a woman who had meticulously crafted her reputation on a foundation of flawless victories and ruthless precision.

Except today.

Today, she would arrive late, unprepared, and utterly deprived of sleep—all because she couldn’t bring herself to say no to me.

Not that I had twisted her arm. I never had to. All it took was my presence at her door, and she was drawn in like a moth to a flame.

I stole another glance at her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, each breath a reminder of her vulnerability. The sheet had slipped from one shoulder, revealing a constellation of bruises and red marks that traced a path along her collarbone—my marks.

Last night had been a chaotic masterpiece of self-destruction. After years of separation, she had seen me again, and her body had betrayed her principles in ways she could hardly comprehend. It was as if she had thrown herself at me, and I had seized the opportunity like a predator, all instincts and desires. Before she could articulate a single thought, I had pulled her down to the floor, shattering every plan she had meticulously laid out for the evening.

She hadn’t even glanced at the case files for today.

We had lost ourselves in each other on the bed, the floor, the couch, the wall, and even the dining table. Every available surface in her stylish apartment had become a canvas for our reckless abandon. She kept whispering my name, the syllables tumbling from her lips like a prayer she wished she could hate.

To her, it was passion. To her, it was a reunion.

To me, it was a form of payback, perhaps a bit of fun mixed in. After all, a free encounter had never hurt anyone, had it?

Penelope was never one to wear the mask of innocence; she was no fragile victim. She was a viper, the kind of woman who concealed sharp blades behind her charming smile. Yet, she was also the reason my brother had picked up the phone and called me. It was almost comical.

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