From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 235

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 140: Talking About Dahlia**

**Savannah**

I found myself lingering in the living room long after he had retreated upstairs, deliberately postponing my own rest. I was waiting, hoping, perhaps even yearning for him to come back down. The possibilities danced in my mind—maybe he would be hungry and seek something to eat, or perhaps he would just need a glass of water. But more than anything, I secretly wished he would come down in search of me.

The minutes dragged on, stretching into an hour, and I began to think he wouldn’t descend at all. Just as I was about to resign myself to that thought, the soft creak of his bedroom door reached my ears, echoing through the stillness of the house.

My breath caught in my throat, and an electric thrill coursed through my veins, igniting every nerve ending. It was that familiar sensation, the one that always accompanied him; a heightened awareness that made my heart race in anticipation.

As I strained to listen, I could hear his footsteps—quiet, almost hesitant, as if he were tiptoeing through a place that once felt like home. My heart sank a little at that realization. Why did he have to move through this house like a ghost, a stranger? This was a space that he had once filled with laughter, warmth, and love, and now he treated it like a fragile artifact.

I wished he would burst down the stairs, full of passion and fire. I longed for him to slam a door, to show anger, to kiss me with such fervor that it would mend all the cracks between us. But Roman, my composed and infuriatingly calm fiancé, was too restrained for that.

My heart ached for him, for the man I knew he could be.

The soft sound of his footsteps grew louder, drawing closer, and I instinctively straightened up on the sofa, my robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. My palms felt clammy, and my throat was dry. I was unsure of what I would say if he actually came down, but as soon as he stepped into the living room, our eyes locked like magnets drawn together by an unseen force.

For a brief moment, an electric silence enveloped us. He stood there, half cloaked in shadow, half illuminated by the dim light, just as he had been earlier. His deep, weary eyes met mine, and it felt as if the world had paused, as if we had both forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey,” I said, the word tumbling out too quickly, the urgency in my tone betraying my desire to capture this fleeting moment before it slipped away.

He blinked, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not asleep yet?”

“No,” I replied softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant even though I was anything but. “I couldn’t sleep.” I leaned forward slightly, hoping to convey a sense of ease, but my robe betrayed me again, slipping lower. “What about you?”

“I don’t feel too good tonight,” he admitted, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I’m probably just a little… hungry.”

“Do you need my help?” I blurted out, the words spilling from my lips before I could stop them.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “No. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to stress you.”

“I insist,” I replied, the urgency in my voice rising. Perhaps too quickly, but I couldn’t help myself.

He studied me for a long moment, a silence stretching between us that felt heavy with unspoken words, and then finally nodded once. “Okay.”

My hand froze mid-stir, the weight of his words settling heavily in the air. My heart clenched at the raw honesty in his tone. “Roman, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize. Please,” he interrupted softly, his eyes dropping to the counter as if he couldn’t bear to meet my gaze. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I wasn’t honest with you. I wasn’t man enough to tell you everything.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the air grow thick and heavy around us. A prickling fear settled in my stomach. Conversations about his past had a way of pushing us further apart, and I dreaded where this might lead. “Roman, please,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “Let’s not talk about any of that—”

“I used to be married.”

The words struck me like a physical blow.

For a heartbeat, I stood frozen, unable to process the revelation. The pan in my hand slipped from my grasp, clattering loudly against the stove, the sound jarring in the tense atmosphere. I barely registered the sting of the hot handle against my palm.

“What?” My voice cracked, disbelief coloring my tone. “You… you were married?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor, a deep sadness etched into his features. “Yes.”