Chapter 233: Who Was Shot?

Savannah The first thing I thought when I heard the gunshot wasn’t I’m going to die. It wasn’t we’re all going to die. It was—who was shot? The sound cracked through the room like glass shattering inside my skull. Loud. Violent. Final. That for a split second, the world froze, suspended between before and after, and my body reacted before my mind could catch up. My eyes went straight to Roman. I scanned his immaculate white shirt in a blind panic, searching for red. My heart slammed against my ribs as my gaze dragged over his chest, his stomach, his side—anywhere a bullet might have torn through him. Nothing. No blood. No spreading stain. I sucked in a sharp breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, relief crashing over me so hard it made my knees weak. But that relief barely had time to settle before something else sliced through the air. A sound. A sharp, broken inhale. It didn’t come from Roman. It came from Paula. For a second, my brain refused to process it. Refused to accept wha