From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 139

**Chapter 88: Tell Them, Sav**

“Are you… General Reginald Blackwood?” I stammered, the words spilling out of my mouth in a clumsy rush, as if I had forgotten how to form coherent thoughts. I must have appeared utterly foolish, my eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief, staring at him as if he were some kind of apparition.

The man before me nodded, a slight inclination of his head that radiated authority, the kind that only someone who had led countless soldiers could possess. “I am,” he replied with a smooth confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. “So you do recognize me after all.”

I nodded, though my throat felt constricted, and no words seemed to follow. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, as if every tale I had ever heard about powerful figures had coalesced into this one man standing before me. It felt surreal, like I was caught in a moment that transcended reality.

When I finally found my voice, I gestured awkwardly toward the living area. “Please… sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

A young woman, standing beside him, handed him a cane, which he grasped with an unwavering grip—like a soldier readying his weapon. He moved forward with a subtle limp, so slight it could easily be overlooked if one wasn’t paying close attention. But I was watching intently, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

The girl—no, she was more than a girl; she exuded a confidence that was almost feline—smirked as she sauntered past me. Each step she took radiated a blend of seduction and arrogance. Behind them, the men who accompanied them filled the room, making the space feel constricted, almost suffocating.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Champagne?”

Reginald waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away an entire nation. “No need. Sit.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I obeyed, my body moving as if on autopilot, sinking into the couch like a soldier executing orders without question.

Once he settled into his seat, he gestured toward the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Cassandra.”

The air in the room felt as if it had been sucked out, leaving me breathless. “Your… wife?” The words escaped my lips before I could rein them in.

Not your daughter? The thought danced on the edge of my consciousness, teasing the edges of my disbelief. Surely, there had been some mistake… right? Perhaps it was merely a slip of the tongue.

I extended my hand slightly, unsure of why I felt compelled to do so. She didn’t take it. Instead, her gaze swept over me with a mocking slowness, almost savoring the moment before she spoke. “Well, I’ll be damned. I would have bet my entire fortune that Roman would never stray from his obsession with blondes.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “So, you’re the exception? Roman’s little rebellion against his own type? How quaint.”

The audacity of this insufferable woman ignited a fire within me.

Heat surged through my veins, and my hands clenched into fists against my thighs. Why did everyone feel the need to remind me of Roman’s type? That I didn’t fit into it? Couldn’t a man evolve in his tastes?

“I see no issue with that,” I replied flatly, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “We appreciate things in the present. And in the future, we might not like them anymore. It happens all the time, Cassandra.”

I couldn’t help but notice that her own hair wasn’t even blonde; it was a deep, glossy black. Not even close to the blonde ideal, yet she dared to speak down to me.

She must have caught my glance at her hair, for her smile deepened, almost tauntingly. She brushed her fingers through the sleek strands framing her face. “It’s a wig, darling. I’m naturally blonde.” Then, with a playful wink, she added a layer of mockery that settled like a weight in the room.