Savannah

The drive back was heavy with a silence that didn't mean peace. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around your neck and squeezed, making every breath feel like a chore.

The rain had softened to a mere drizzle by the time we reached the house, but the storm inside me was still raging. Roman’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles white, as if he were holding onto the remnants of his control. I sat beside him, my fingers nervously picking at the hem of my dress—a constant, tactile reminder of what we’d just done.

We hadn't spoken since the car started moving again. There was too much unsaid, too much to process. My body remembered the heat, the weight, the intensity, but my mind was caught in a desperate tug-of-war between lingering pleasure and rising guilt.

As we pulled into the driveway, the living room lights were still on. Someone was awake.

Roman circled the car and held the door open for me. I mouthed a silent thank you, avoiding his eyes, and walked briskly toward the front door. I knew he was watching me, his gaze a physical weight against my back.

I didn't know how to look at him without seeing the images I was trying so hard to suppress. How was I supposed to face my best friend after he’d claimed me in a way that left no room for doubt? We’d crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed.

So, I did what I do best when I’m overwhelmed. I ran.

Lizzie was on the couch, curled under a thick blanket, watching a horror movie with a scrunched-up face. She always did that—subjecting herself to things that terrified her just to prove she was brave.

"You know you're scared," I said softly, approaching her.

She jumped slightly, then smiled. "Hey, you're back."

"You okay?" I whispered, managed a weak smile.

"Just building resistance against Pennywise," she replied. A scream erupted from the TV, and she nearly knocked over her popcorn.

I sat beside her, pondering her words. Facing your fears makes it easier to overcome them. Lizzie was facing a cinematic monster, while I was running from the man currently walking through the front door. I felt like a coward.

Roman walked in, his posture rigid. His eyes found mine immediately, his jaw clenching. I sucked in a breath and looked away.

Lizzie’s eyes darted between us, her expression shifting from curiosity to a sharp, comical squint. She could feel it—the air in the room was thick enough to choke on.

"You're not asleep yet?" Roman asked, his voice still holding that post-adrenaline huskiness.

"Nah," Lizzie said, though she was now looking at me with a knowing intensity. "Just finishing up."

Roman nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long before he checked his phone. "Do you still want those waffles? I'll place the order."

"Yes, please," I managed to say.

He climbed the stairs without another word, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lizzie turned to me. "Spill."

"Spill what?" I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I’m not blind, Sav. I know something happened. It’s written all over your face... and that dress looks like it barely survived the night." She suddenly grabbed my left hand, exhaling when she saw the ring. "Thank God. It’s still on."

"Lizzie..."

"Look, running fixes nothing," she said, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "Roman isn't running. He looks like a man who knows exactly where he stands. We’re Harts, Sav. We don't run from chaos."

She gave me a quick hug, then pulled back with a dramatic cough. "Also, you smell like trouble and expensive cologne. Go take a shower."

I flushed crimson and hurried upstairs, clutching my heels in my hand.

When I pushed the bedroom door open, Roman was at the desk, typing furiously on his laptop. The room felt smaller than usual. I dropped my shoes and turned my back to him, trying to find a sense of normalcy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently, not looking up yet.

"No."

"Savannah."

"I said no, Roman."

He sighed, closed his laptop, and stood up. I could feel him behind me, the sheer gravity of his presence making my skin hum. I reached for a clean shirt—one of his, because it was the first thing I found—and tugged it over my head. It smelled of him, grounding and terrifying all at once.

"I shouldn't have let it happen," I whispered, the words falling out before I could stop them. It was easier to say that than to admit I wanted it to happen again. "It was a mistake."

Roman crossed the room in two strides, grabbing my hand before I could pull away. "Stop."

"I can't stop."

He stepped closer, his voice low and urgent, forcing me to look at him. "Why do you keep running from what's right in front of you?"