From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 70

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**by Serene L. Arden**

I splashed cold water onto my face repeatedly, the icy droplets stinging my skin, as if I could cleanse away the trembling that had taken residence in my hands. Each splash felt like a futile attempt to wash away the anxiety that clung to me like a second skin. I grabbed the hand towel, pressing it against my cheeks with more force than necessary, as if the pressure could somehow ground me.

With a swift motion, I yanked the hair tie from my hair, letting my locks cascade down my shoulders. It was a small act, but it felt liberating, hiding the tension that had knotted my neck.

I lifted my chin, forcing my lips into a practiced half-smile—neither joyful nor sorrowful, just a mask of untouchability.

Taking a few deep breaths, I inhaled slowly, then exhaled, letting my shoulders drop back into a more confident posture.

The trick wasn’t in convincing myself I was okay. No, the real trick lay in presenting myself as if I had never been knocked down in the first place.

As I stepped out of my sanctuary, it wasn’t Savannah, the girl with a secret, who emerged into the world of the barbecue—it was Savannah Hart, perfectly polished and ready for whatever battle lay ahead. I had a vendetta, and it was sharper than any blade.

However, as I descended the stairs and crossed the threshold into the living room, an unsettling feeling washed over me.

The moment I entered, I could sense the tension in the air. The entire family was gathered around Lizzie’s phone, their faces illuminated by the screen as if it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. They were huddled close, eyes glued to the display, a collective breath held in anticipation.

Except for Chloe.

She stood apart, isolated in a corner, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to ward off an invisible chill. Her fiancé enveloped her in his arms, whispering soothing words into her ear, attempting to console her.

From a distance, she could have easily been mistaken for a grieving widow, but I knew my sister all too well. She thrived on drama, and this was just another act in her ongoing performance.

“What’s happening?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my curiosity was palpable.

Lizzie looked up, her face radiant, as if she had just discovered the secret to world peace. “You won’t believe this, but Bridal Luxe just posted!” She barely contained a squeal of excitement.

My stomach twisted into knots. That magazine was Chloe’s Holy Grail. She had been obsessively dreaming about having her wedding featured, pouring over every detail as if it were a lifeline.

So why this sulking demeanor? Did she not make the cut? Had they relegated her to a back-page spread? I could hardly imagine her making it to the front page.

Good riddance, I thought.

“They’re doing a feature,” Lizzie sang, her smile unwavering, as if she had just won the lottery.

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