From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 477

Chapter 477

Chapter 271: That’s Disappointing

Reese

She tore her eyes away from Roman again and looked at me, her face pale eyes too wide to be sane.

“I don’t know if I’m seeing things now, Reese.”

The way she said it–slow, unsure, almost frightened–made something twist low in my gut.

I crossed the room in three long strides. “What are you talking about?”

She lifted her trembling hand and pointed. “His fingers. I could’ve sworn I saw him move his fingers.”

My heart slammed violently against my ribs as I followed her gaze.

Roman’s hand lay on the white sheets, fingers curled slightly inward, perfectly still. Too still. The machines beside him hummed steadily, cruelly calm, as if mocking the sudden chaos in my chest.

“You’re sure?” I asked, my voice rough. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“I–I don’t know,” she stammered. “Yes. I think so. It was his right hand. I saw it from the corner of my eye. It moved.”

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaustion crashing over me like a wave. “River… you’re not sure?”

She shook her head, swallowing hard. “I don’t know. But I saw it. I know I did.”

For Christ’s sake.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It crept in quietly, settled deep, and then tore you apart when it left.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to sound steady. “Savannah is in the rose garden.”

River blinked, still staring at Roman’s hand like it might suddenly twitch again. “She is?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Go keep her company.”

She hesitated. “But-”

“Go,” I repeated. Then, softer but sharper, “And for the love of God, abstain from conversations–or ‘sessions‘–that make her cry. That’s

enough.”

I wasn’t sure she even heard me. But eventually, she nodded. “Okay.”

She cast one last look at Roman, her expression haunted, before slowly backing toward the door like she’d just seen a ghost.

When the door finally closed behind her, the room felt unbearably quiet. Too quiet.

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Chapter 477

I pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down heavily, scrubbing my hands together.

“Which one is it, bro?” I muttered, staring at his face. “Are you waking up or not?”

I looked back at his hand.

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“Can you do that again?” I whispered. “Just once. Even a finger.”

Nothing.

The machines continued their steady rhythm, indifferent to my desperation.

I let out a humorless breath. “Guess River’s seeing double now.”

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The funny thing was that I’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in my head. Always imagined him awake. Always imagined the yelling. The accusations. The fists.

I never imagined confessing to a man who couldn’t respond. But maybe that was why I finally found the courage.

“At least you won’t remember this,” I murmured. “And you won’t feel the pain.”

Or so I thought.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, palms damp.

“When Dahlia died…” My voice cracked before I could stop it. I swallowed hard. “I almost lost my damn mind.”

The words felt heavy, sticky, like they didn’t want to leave my throat.

“I was hellbent on figuring out what went wrong. I went through everything. I needed answers. Needed someone to blame.”

The machines beeped softly.

“And I did find out. I just… couldn’t tell you.”

I laughed quietly, bitterly. “Part of it was because you were grieving. Another part was because you hated me. You blamed me for everything

that went wrong in your life back then.”

I glanced at his face, still and asleep.

“But the real reason?” I exhaled slowly. “The real reason was because the person you ran to for comfort… was the one responsible for it all.”

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