Savannah

Zane. Chloe's ex. Zane, with a silent G.

His hair was messier than usual, and his green t-shirt clung to his frame in a way that felt intentionally careless. His brow and lip piercings glimmered under the mall's bright lights. He still wore that reckless grin that felt like a dare—the look of a man who knew a secret and wasn't afraid to use it.

"Savannah," he said, as if he’d been waiting for me to stumble into him.

"Zane?" I asked, my heart thudding. "What are you doing here?"

He smirked, his eyes flicking toward the boutique where Chloe was giggling with Dean. "Just checking out some... old habits."

My stomach dropped. This wasn't a coincidence. "You two came together?"

He gave a vague shrug. "She needed a ride. I happened to be available."

The ground tilted beneath my feet—my vertigo always picked the worst moments to flare up. Chloe wouldn't stay "missing" for long, not with her past conveniently waiting in the wings. I nodded, pretending the revelation didn't sting.

"See you around, Sav," Zane murmured, his gaze lingering a second too long before he disappeared into the crowd.

By the time we reached the car, Dean was laden with shopping bags, and Chloe was clinging to his arm like a triumphant queen. The drive home was a descent into a private hell. From the driver’s seat, I could hear every whispered endearment from the back. They were lost in each other, their laughter and muffled sounds of intimacy filling the small space.

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Every soft sound from the backseat felt like a needle under my skin. I wanted to scream, to tell them that I had loved Dean first—that a part of me was still mourning what we had. But I stayed silent, driving like the "good sister" I was expected to be.

I turned up the radio, trying to drown out the reality behind me, but the tension was suffocating. By the time we reached the house, I felt like an elephant was standing on my chest. I watched them disappear inside, their limbs tangled, laughing like love-drunk teenagers.

I didn't wait. I hurried inside, my heart racing, looking for the only safe space I had left.

Roman.

I shoved our bedroom door open. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture tense, but his expression softened the moment he saw me. That calm intensity shattered my last bit of restraint. I didn't say a word. I just ran to him.

He caught me, his arms locking around me like a fortress. And for the first time all day, I let myself break. I sobbed—ugly, cathartic waves of grief that cracked my ribs. Roman didn't speak; he just held me as if I were made of glass, promising with his silence that he would never let go.