From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 138

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 138**

His gaze bore into me once more, unyielding and intense. “You are not pregnant?”

The tension within me snapped like a taut string. “No, I am not pregnant! Why does everyone keep asking me that? It’s incredibly rude!” I thrust my finger toward him, my voice rising in indignation. “And you, sir, are being exceptionally rude.”

The young woman beside him gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as if I had just uttered a sacrilege. Yet, the words continued to spill from my lips, fueled by fire, defiance, and a reckless abandon. I had reached my limit. My conclusion was crystal clear: I had no fondness for him. He was a complete jerk.

“If you’re going to be disrespectful in Roman’s house, then you should leave. Roman doesn’t even want you here.”

The words erupted from my mouth like a gunshot, shattering the uneasy silence that followed. The atmosphere thickened, a palpable tension hanging in the air. It dawned on me too late that I had possibly crossed a line, especially considering I had no insight into the complexities of Roman’s relationship with his father.

The guards, the woman, Reese—everyone stood frozen, like statues awaiting an inevitable explosion. Even my own skin prickled with the chilling certainty of impending doom. My own doom.

Yet, instead of the rage I anticipated, instead of a storm of fury or violence, all I received was a slow, deliberate arch of his eyebrow. Nothing more.

“Do you know who I am, Miss Hart?” His voice remained steady, maddeningly calm, as if he were discussing the weather rather than confronting me.

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, a futile attempt to shield myself from the intensity of his presence. “No, I don’t. And frankly, I don’t think I want to know. Your son manhandled me at your behest, pinned me against a wall like a criminal, and I demand an apology from both of you. Instead of addressing that, you waltz in here and hurl accusations at me about something I know nothing about.”

Mouths dropped open all around the room, shock rippling through the faces that surrounded us. Reese leaned in closer, his whisper urgent and sharp against my ear. “You need to tone down that attitude. You’re playing with fire. He’s not just anyone; he commanded armies before most of us were even born.”

Commanded armies? What on earth is this guy talking about?

“Reginald Blackwood. Roman’s father.” He introduced himself with a casualness that belied the monumental weight of his name.

In that moment, everything clicked into place. I recognized him. Why his face stirred a memory like a half-remembered nightmare. It all made sense now.

Recognition surged through me as I placed my hand in his. His grip was firm, authoritative—a handshake that had sealed treaties and crushed enemies alike. I had seen this man before. On television broadcasts, in old newspapers, in dusty history books. Shaking hands with kings, standing beside presidents, delivering speeches that had sent entire nations into tremors of fear and respect.

General Reginald Blackwood. Former head of the army. Former president of the entire country.

And now, here he was, standing in Roman’s foyer, his hand enveloping mine, smiling as if I hadn’t just dared to insult him to his face. As if I hadn’t just survived a confrontation with a titan of war.