From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 142

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 142**

Her fingers gripped mine with an intensity that spoke volumes. “Please, Roman. Please don’t make a scene in front of all these people. I might actually cry.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but beneath that gentle plea lay a steely resolve that I couldn’t ignore.

“Are you seriously dragging me along against my will?” I shot back, my irritation bubbling to the surface.

We must have looked utterly ridiculous, two people huddled together in a corner of a room teeming with adversaries, exchanging hushed words like conspirators. Let them think we were out of our minds; if it angered my father, then so be it.

Savannah shook her head ever so slightly, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. “It’s not against your will, Roman. You grew up there, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you see? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to step foot in the house of a freaking president. Do you think chances like this come around often?” Her eyes narrowed, a flash of defiance igniting within them. “And let’s not forget, you owe me for keeping that massive secret from me.” Her voice turned steely, a quiet promise that I would hear about it later, whether I wanted to or not.

I clenched my jaw, leaning in closer to her, my voice low and intense. “There’s nothing worth seeing there, my love. Just decay, shadows, and a graveyard of lost souls.”

“I’ll decide what’s worth seeing,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling with determination. “And I’m still furious with you. So don’t you dare ruin this for me.”

God help me. The lengths I would go for this woman were beyond comprehension.

“Can one of you stop whispering like a couple of rodents and speak up?” My father’s voice sliced through the air, sharp enough to make Savannah flinch.

I straightened, meeting his icy gaze with a defiance of my own. “Believe me, the last place I want to be is Blackwood Manor. But my fiancée has developed an… unusual fascination with the place, and she wants to visit. I’m merely going to play the role of her tour guide.”

“But you’re still going to be there, aren’t you?” Reese’s voice cut in, as irritating as a persistent fly.

I shot him a flat look, my patience wearing thin. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

He stepped closer, and I could feel Savannah tense beside me, her body going rigid as if preparing for a confrontation. Instinctively, I pulled her closer, a silent warning to him that he was crossing a line.

“You’re still coming,” he repeated, his tone laden with implications. “That means the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“And what exactly is your point?” I snapped, my irritation boiling over.

Instead of responding, he laughed, a smug sound that made my skin crawl, before turning to my father and adding, “I told you so.”

My stomach twisted in knots. What game were they playing? My father was not one to engage in petty bets or childish games; that wasn’t his style. But Reese? He thrived on that nonsense.

Cassandra trailed after him like the obedient dog she had become after abandoning me for him. But as she passed, her hand brushed against mine for the briefest moment, slipping a crumpled piece of paper into my palm with such subtlety that even my father seemed oblivious.

I nearly tossed it into the nearest trash can without a second thought. I had no desire to engage in Cassandra’s games.

But curiosity is a relentless beast.

After Savannah stormed upstairs, undoubtedly furious with me, I retreated into the kitchen under the guise of inspecting Reese’s ridiculous pancakes. I unfolded the note in silence, ensuring my back was turned to the door. I couldn’t risk Savannah discovering me with a letter that could potentially lead to more trouble.

I braced myself for something scandalous—perhaps an invitation or a veiled threat. Instead, what I found was utterly unexpected. It wasn’t scandalous; it was bewildering. More confusing than trying to figure out who would actually eat those absurd pancakes.

In a hasty, messy scrawl, the note read: “Don’t Come Home.”

The words seared into my mind, colder than my father’s gaze, heavier than any buried memory. It was worse than anything I had ever faced.

And for the first time that day, a chill of fear slithered down my spine.