The rain was a torrential downpour by the time we reached the car. Roman didn't say a word, his hand a firm, grounding presence on my back as he ushered me into the passenger seat. The tires screeched as we peeled out of the lot, the engine roaring with the same fury that was radiating off the man beside me.

The silence was suffocating. Streetlights blurred past in violent streaks of orange and white.

"Roman—"

"Don't," he bit out, his knuckles white on the wheel. "You should have told me he was capable of that."

"I didn't know!" my voice cracked. "I was caught off guard."

He slammed the brakes, swerving the car onto a dark shoulder of the road. The silence that followed was louder than the rain hammering against the roof. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with a fire I’d never seen before.

"He thought he could touch you," Roman said, his voice trembling with restrained rage. "He thought he could corner you while you were vulnerable. I should have ended him right there."

In that moment, Roman didn't look like a corporate executive or a "fake" fiancé. He looked like a man protecting the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

"Stop acting like you're my boyfriend," I blurted out, the words born from a need to protect myself from the intensity of his gaze.

"I’m your fiancé," he countered.

"Fake!" I yelled. "It’s fake, Roman. Don't forget that."

Rage and something much deeper flashed in his eyes. He unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged across the console, his mouth crashing onto mine. This wasn't the "show" from the club. This was desperate, hungry, and real.

I tried to pull back, shaking my head. "No... there’s no audience. We shouldn't..."

Roman grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me back into the heat of his embrace. "I don't need a fucking audience, Savannah," he growled against my lips. "I want you."

And that was it. The walls I’d spent years building came crumbling down. I kissed him back with a ferocity that matched his own, my hands clutching his shirt as we lost ourselves in a war of teeth and tongue. Every groan, every touch was a confession. We weren't acting anymore, and that was the most terrifying realization of all.