Savannah

The moment my senses returned, the truth tore through me like a physical wound. The clues Roman had dropped—the professor, the club, the past—all led to one horrifying revelation.

Dean hadn't just left me. He had secretly recorded us back then, a private moment stolen and weaponized. And now, he was using it to pull Roman’s strings.

"How could he do something so disgusting?" The words shattered the silence of the room. My body felt too hot, vibrating with a frantic energy I couldn't contain. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the tremors that started deep in my bones.

Roman remained calm. Infuriatingly, impossibly calm. He was still lounging on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head as if the world wasn't collapsing around us. His steady gaze tracked my pacing, unblinking and patient.

"Calm yourself," he said evenly. "I told you, I’ll handle the weasel."

The flatness in his voice only fueled my fury. "How can you be this calm, Roman?" My voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Do you even realize what this means? If that gets out, my life is over."

"Don't say that."

"But it's the truth! Dean is petty enough to do it, especially after last night. He’d burn everything down just to hurt me."

Roman shifted slightly, propping himself up. "He won't. He only wants a guarantee that you won't interfere with the wedding. He thinks this is his insurance policy."

I froze mid-step, a cold, sharp bitterness twisting in my stomach. "That’s it? He’s that obsessed with my sister?"

"So he claims."

The thought of them—Dean and Chloe—made me feel sick. If Dean was threatening to humiliate me, I knew Chloe wasn't just a bystander. They were two of a kind. I forced myself to look at Roman again. "What do I do? I’m terrified he’ll leak it anyway, just for revenge."

"I’ll ensure he erases every trace of it," Roman said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "But you—you cannot react. He can't know that you’re aware it even exists. Not yet."

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. "That's going to be impossible. All I want to do is make him pay for what he’s done."

Roman offered a ghost of a smile. "As satisfying as that would be, we need to be strategic. We'll have a... conversation at the rehearsal tomorrow. Until then, you stay composed."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, becoming heavy and difficult to breathe. I stared at him, a question lodged in my throat like a shard of glass. I was afraid to ask, but the silence was worse.

"You've... seen it?" I whispered.

Roman didn't flinch, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten until they were hard as stone. He held my gaze, refusing to look away.

"I had to know what I was dealing with," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper. "I watched it once, Sav. Only once, to confirm his claims. I never would have looked if there had been any other way to protect you."

A shaky, ragged exhale left my lungs. I felt exposed. Violated. Exploited in a way that made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever. The thought of Roman seeing me like that—vulnerable, unaware, and captured in a frame meant for no one’s eyes but ours—burned through me like acid.

Shame was the first wave to hit, hot and suffocating. But beneath it, a darker, more complex emotion stirred. Roman had seen the worst of the situation, the most private parts of my past, and instead of walking away, he had stepped into the line of fire. He had chosen to carry the weight of this secret alone to spare me the initial blow.

"Why the games, then?" I asked, my voice fraying. "Why not just tell me?"

"Because you would have broken, Savannah. And I need you focused. You're stronger than you think, but even the strongest steel can bend under the wrong kind of pressure."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly unable to hold me. The mattress dipped, and I could feel the heat of him beside me. He didn't reach out, but his presence was consuming, a solid anchor in the middle of my storm.

"So you just... know everything now," I whispered, staring at the floor.

"I know exactly what he’s trying to do," Roman’s tone was clipped, his promise cold. "And if he ever tries to use your past against you again, it will be the last mistake he ever makes."

I should have felt relieved. Grateful. But my mind was a chaotic mess of shame and a strange, dangerous pulse of something else. Knowing Roman had seen me, that he had taken it in and decided I was still worth protecting, shifted something deep inside me.

"Savannah."

I looked up at him.

"I told you once that the day would come when you’d need something from me," he said, his voice quiet and heavy. "This isn't that day. But when the time comes, remember that I’m the one standing between you and the world."

A shiver rolled down my spine. It wasn't fear—it was the realization of the absolute, terrifying power he held over my heart.

"What now?" I managed to ask.

"Now," Roman said, settling back with the quiet confidence of a man who had already won the war, "you leave Dean to me. You walk into that rehearsal tomorrow, and you don't let him see a single crack in your armor."

I watched him, my heart still pounding. He had seen my most vulnerable moment and hadn't flinched. He had claimed the burden as his own. And despite the shame, a part of me—a primal, desperate part—wanted him to keep holding the world together for me.