Savannah

The room was still. The heavy throb of the bass had faded into a lingering echo, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing. I was still close to Roman—dangerously close. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a magnetic pull that made my pulse feel like a jackhammer.

Just for the show, I told myself, though the lie felt thinner than the lace of my outfit.

Roman’s eyes were locked on mine, his pupils dark and blown. His jaw was clenched with a restraint that looked painful. My palm was flat against his chest, and I could feel his heart racing in perfect sync with my own.

"We should stop," I whispered, the words barely finding their way out. "They’re watching."

Roman’s hands, which had been resting on my waist, tightened. His touch was possessive, a silent claim that resonated through every nerve in my body. "Let them," he rasped, his voice a low, dark vibration. "You started this, Savannah."

I leaned in, my lips ghosting against his ear. "We’re just putting on a show... right?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled me closer, his hands moving with a slow, deliberate intensity that made my breath hitch. We were caught in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the five years of suppressed tension finally reaching its breaking point.

Across the room, I caught a glimpse of Dean. He was gripped by a visible, restless jealousy, his knuckles white around his glass. Chloe had gone pale, her smug expression replaced by utter disbelief.

Roman’s mouth found the sensitive skin of my neck, and I couldn't help the soft sound that escaped me. It wasn't for the audience anymore. It was for us. The friction, the heat, the sheer gravity of being this close to him—it was maddening.

"Roman," I panted, my fingers tangling in his hair as the world around us blurred. "This... this isn't acting."

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze burning with a hunger that was raw and unfiltered. "Then stop pretending you want me to stop."

He leaned in, crushing his lips against mine in a kiss that was savage and desperate. It was a war of teeth and tongue, a collision of two people who had played a game for too long and finally lost. In that moment, the "performance" ended, and the truth took over—vivid, terrifying, and undeniable.