From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 502

Chapter 502

He leaned into me immediately, forehead resting lightly against my shoulder like a man exhausted by his own vigilance.

“You don’t sound crazy,” I whispered. “You sound scared. And it’s not weakness.”

He huffed softly, almost embarrassed. “I hate feeling like this. Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe I’m overthinking things and practically losing my mind. I probably sound stupid and insecure”

“No. You don’t.” I said quickly.

“Fuck, I almost felt stupid saying that out loud.” He admitted. “That’s

not something to say out loud.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me.” I whispered.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said something that made my heartbeat slow and heavy. “I

just want to protect you, Sav. Properly and completely.”

I pulled back slightly, searching his face. “And marriage does that?”

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“It makes it clear,” he said. “To them. To everyone. You’re mine.

You’re under my protection. Not… temporary. Not replaceable. Not negotiable.”

The intensity in his voice stole my breath.

“And if they want to touch what’s mine,” he added quietly, “they’ll know exactly what they’re declaring war against.”

I understood then that this wasn’t about ceremony. It was about territory.

I squeezed his hands. “I will marry you whenever you want,” I said softly. “Even today. Even right now. I don’t care about dresses or witnesses or timing or extravagance.”

—

For a moment, something bright flashed across his face relief. Then it faded just as quickly.

Worry crept back in.

My stomach dropped at the look on his face. “What is it?”

He hesitated–which scared me more than anything he could have

said outright. “There’s something else,” he admitted slowly.

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I braced myself.

“I’m afraid marriage might make things worse.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. “Worse?” I repeated. “How could

it-”

His gaze locked onto mine. “If you become my legal wife… you and

our child might enter a countdown.”

The air in my lungs froze. Every word he spoke next felt like ice

sliding down my spine.

“My mother was legally married when she died,” he said. “Every

woman who died in pregnancy in this house… every one of them was

a wife. Not a fiancée. Not a girlfriend.”

Silence swallowed the bathroom.

I tried to think. Tried to breathe. Tried to dismiss the idea as

paranoia. But I couldn’t. And that was because Roman wasn’t a man

who invented fear without reason.

“What if that’s what he wants?” Roman continued, voice low. “What if

he provokes me into marriage because that’s when the evil pattern

completes itself?”

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My pulse hammered painfully in my ears. “You think your father…” I couldn’t finish.

“I think he plans,” Roman said quietly. “And I think he waits.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“But then why push us?” I whispered. “Why provoke you into wanting this?”

Roman’s eyes darkened. “Because desperation makes people predictable.”

A tremor moved through me.

He noticed immediately. His hands came to my arms, steadying me. “Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

I did.

“Nothing is happening to you,” he said firmly. “Nothing happens

without me knowing. Without me standing in front of it.”

His certainty wrapped around me. But still, fear lingered.

“So what do we do?” I whispered.

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He exhaled slowly. “That’s the problem,” he admitted. “Marriage protects you socially… but may expose you physically.”

The weight of that choice pressed heavily between us. Protection or risk. Visibility or vulnerability. Love or caution.

I pressed my forehead lightly against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“If we don’t marry,” I said quietly, “he keeps undermining me. He keeps treating me like I don’t belong.”

Roman’s arms tightened around me.

“And if we do marry,” I continued, “we walk into something we don’t

fully understand.”

Neither option felt safe. But neither of us had ever lived safe lives.

After a long moment, I looked up.

“Then we choose together,” I said softly. “Not out of fear. Not out of

pressure. But because we decide what happens to us.”

He studied me as if weighing something far deeper than the words

themselves. “You trust me that much?” he asked quietly.

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“With everything,” I answered. “With my life.”

His forehead rested against mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

I smiled faintly. “That’s not your decision to make.”

A breath escaped him–somewhere between a laugh and surrender.

His arms wrapped around me fully, pulling me close enough that the

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