From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 442

Chapter 442

Chapter 249: You’ll Understand

Savannah

It was about five minutes later when Reese finally stepped out of

Roman’s room. He had a handkerchief clenched in one fist.

I didn’t ask where it came from. I didn’t ask if he was okay. I didn’t

ask anything at all. Some grief didn’t need commentary, and Reese’s

was the kind that demanded silence.

We walked side by side down the hallway, the space between us filled

with unspoken words and a tension so thick it pressed against my

chest. The manor felt different now. It was even colder and heavier.

Every step echoed too loudly against the marble floors.

“You know,” Reese said suddenly, breaking the silence, “I want to be

mad at you.”

My stomach dropped.

“I want to cuss you out. I want to hurt you for being anywhere near

that gun that left Roman in that state.”

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I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

“But I can’t,” he continued, jaw locked. “My brother would hate me

forever if I ever laid a hand on you. He’d never forgive me. He’d never

speak to me again.” He scoffed under his breath, disbelief threading

through his voice. “Hell, he might even physically attack me.”

He shook his head slightly, as if the thought stunned him.

“I don’t know what you did to him,” he went on. “I don’t know how

you suddenly became the center of his entire existence. But one thing

I do know, Savannah-” He finally looked at me. “If anything goes

wrong, you’re the one I’m coming for. I will hunt you down like an

animal. And that’s a promise.”

I froze.

There was no rage in his eyes. Just truth.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I would never consciously hurt him. I love

him.”

“I know,” Reese replied immediately.

Then he picked up his pace. “Come on. We wouldn’t want to arrive

after my father.”

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I hurried to keep up. “What happens if we do?” I asked, partly out of

curiosity, partly out of dread.

He didn’t even look back.

“Fuck around and you’ll find out, Savannah,” he said casually,

shoving his hands into his pockets.

The journey to the dining room felt endless.

Twisting corridors. Staircases layered in red carpet. Hallways lined

with portraits of men who all shared Roman’s face in some form-

same eyes, same jaw, same aura of cold authority.

It was fascinating how Reese navigated the manor without hesitation.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t pause. He knew this place the way one

knows scars on their own body.

Eventually, we descended a grand staircase and stopped before a

massive double door flanked by two armed security men. They didn’t

glance at us. Didn’t even acknowledge us. They just stood like

statues.

I knew instantly that this was the dining room. And that everyone

was already inside.

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My stomach twisted violently.

My palms were slick with sweat, and I rubbed them down my pants,

trying–and failing–to steady myself. My heart thudded so hard I

wondered if the others could hear it from inside the room.

Then Reese pushed the doors open.

This was not a dining room. This was a banquet hall. A long table stretched across the room, gleaming beneath massive chandeliers.

Gold dominated everything–gold tablecloths, gold–rimmed chairs, gold cutlery so polished it reflected the light like mirrors.

Platters of food covered the table. More food than any family could

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