From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 154

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**by Serene L. Ard**

Roman’s hand, still wrapped in bandages, radiated warmth beneath my fingers, its rough texture a stark reminder of the turmoil that had just unfolded. I had barely finished securing the gauze when, in a sudden burst of urgency, he yanked his hand away and grasped my arm. His grip was firm but not aggressive—Roman would never inflict harm upon me. It was a pull, a silent plea that drew me deeper into the tempest swirling within his gaze.

“What the hell did you just say?” His voice sliced through the air, sharp and laced with venom, a whip crack echoing in the charged atmosphere. His eyes, wide and wild, were like dark pools, the whites streaked with crimson, lending him an almost feral appearance. In that moment, he transcended the boundaries of manhood, embodying the essence of a cornered beast.

I felt a lump form in my throat, a heavy weight that threatened to choke me. Yet, before I could gather my thoughts, the words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “A week after the first time… he did it again.”

The air between us thickened, an invisible barrier that seemed to pulse with tension. Roman’s chest heaved, rising and falling like the bellows of a blacksmith, each breath a testament to the storm brewing within him. I knew I had to keep talking; if I hesitated now, I feared the courage I had summoned would dissipate like mist in the morning sun.

“He said it was punishment. Punishment for being a bad girl. He warned me that if I told anyone, he would return for a third time. And he would ensure it hurt even more. He promised he would ruin me.”

I attempted to laugh, a nervous habit I had developed to diffuse tension, but the sound never escaped my lips. Instead, a broken sob erupted from my chest, loud and raw, echoing the pain I had tried so hard to suppress. My throat felt ablaze, the dam I had built around my emotions shattering as I crumpled to the floor, sobbing into my hands like a child lost in despair.

“I begged him to stop,” I gasped between sobs. “I told him it hurt. I told him it was wrong. But he just… didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. I was so desperate for it to end that I found myself apologizing. I told him I was sorry. Sorry for smiling, sorry for baking those cookies, sorry for even existing. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone if he would just… stop.”

Roman remained motionless, an unsettling stillness enveloping him. He didn’t reach out to comfort me as he usually would. No curses escaped his lips, no shouts of rage. He stood there, a statue of fury, his presence both imposing and chilling. The only indication of his emotional turmoil was the icy, deadly calm in his voice.

“And what happened afterwards?”

His question sliced through the air, sharp and demanding. For a moment, I was paralyzed, disbelief washing over me. I lifted my tear-streaked face, searching for the right words. “Roman…”

“Answer me, Savannah. What. Happened. Afterwards?” His tone brooked no argument, leaving me no choice but to confront the truth.

A chasm of dread opened wide in my chest, its darkness pulling me in. My lips quivered, my lungs felt constricted as if they were unable to draw in air. Yet, I forced the words out, each one a painful release.

Outside, the sounds of life continued unabated. The rhythmic thud of a basketball echoed against the driveway, Uncle Jack’s laughter rang out, and J shouted something about a foul while Chloe’s high-pitched giggle floated in from the porch. Their normalcy felt like a cruel joke, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me.

Inside, I was crumbling, a fragile shell of who I once was.

I perched on the edge of the tub, my gaze fixed on the test until the lines blurred amidst my tears. My heart raced, a chaotic mix of sharp fear and twisted curiosity. A flicker of giddy hope ignited within me. What would my baby look like? Would it inherit my eyes? My laugh? Would it resemble me at all?

I didn’t care about the circumstances of its conception. It was half of me, and I loved myself too much to despise any part of my being. So, I embraced that part of myself, too.

I pressed the test strip against my chest, clutching it like a lifeline in a storm. I didn’t care who the father was. This was mine—a piece of me. Something I could cherish when the world felt so cold and unwelcoming. My own little human.

But then, the bathroom door creaked open, shattering the fragile moment I had created.