From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 508

Chapter 508

“Reese, calm down,” Savannah said gently, stepping toward him. “We

were talking. We can keep talking. There’s no need to start a fight.”

“Exactly,” he snapped. “We were talking. Then Roman walked in and started barking orders like everyone owes him obedience. If he gets to be unpredictable, maybe I will too.” He jabbed a finger toward me. “Maybe that’s the only language you understand. You’re not the only

one who’s crazy, Roman.”

“Control yourself,” River pleaded. “Please.”

He ignored her again.

“What is he even angry about?” Reese went on bitterly. “That Savannah is in my room? That we’re speaking privately? What does

he think I’m going to do–sleep with her? Over my dead body.”

“Stop it!” Savannah shouted, voice breaking, “What is wrong with

you?!”

Reese turned to her, something fierce and exhausted in his

expression.

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“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” he said. “Why don’t you tell him

you came here because you don’t want him involved in Dahlia’s case

anymore? Why don’t you tell him you’re afraid he’s walking toward

something that will destroy him? Why don’t you tell him you think

our father will retaliate–against you… against the baby… if Roman

keeps pushing?”

The room went silent. Savannah stared at him in horror.

“Why don’t you tell the man you’re going to marry,” Reese continued

quietly, “that you’re afraid you’ll become a widow before you even

have the chance to be a wife.”

Savannah shook her head slowly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“There,” Reese said, stepping back. “I said what you couldn’t. You’re

fucking welcome, Savannah.”

River whispered, “Oh my God.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I just simply looked at Savannah. “That’s

what you think?” I asked softly.

She covered her face, sobbing. “No… it’s not like that-”

“Not like what?!” The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

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She flinched. The sound of my voice alone made her recoil. Slowly, as if carrying an invisible weight, she walked to the bed and sat down. Her shoulders curved inward, fragile and exhausted.

“Roman,” she whispered, “I’m tired. I don’t want to do this anymore. I

feel like… there are three people in this relationship.”

The words struck harder than any accusation.

I swallowed once. “Dahlia was my wife,” I said, forcing each word into shape. “You speak as if she meant nothing. Before there was you,

Savannah… there was her. She was my world.”

Memories I never allowed to surface pressed against my mind.

“She lived in this house. She practically died in this house. My father

and the men who followed him treated her like she was disposable.

She didn’t just lose her life–she lost her dignity. And you expect me

to ignore that? To walk away from what was done to her?”

Savannah looked up, tears trembling on her lashes.

“The love I had for Dahlia ended the moment I chose you,”

continued. “But respect does not die that easily and neither does the

past nor what she suffered. She deserved justice. She deserved

protection. She deserved more than what she was given.”

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My voice dropped, rough with restrained emotion.

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