Chapter 90: Don't Go

Roman I tossed the note into the fireplace on my way upstairs, watching it curl and blacken before the flames devoured it. I couldn’t risk Savannah seeing it. Not when I was already treading on ice with her. Each step up the staircase felt heavier than the last, dread clinging to me like a second skin. The house was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. I should’ve been relieved that Reese was gone, that he had finally thrown himself and his loudness out of my home like the brat he was, but instead the silence wrapped itself around my throat. And threatened not to let go. When I stopped in front of my bedroom, the air felt different. It was cold, and still. My instincts warned me to prepare for war from the girl upstairs. Jesus Christ. How pathetic was this? I was Roman Blackwood, and yet I stood hesitating at the door to my own bedroom, afraid of the storm waiting inside. Afraid of her. Savannah. She was my best friend. My fiancée. My anchor in this goddamn mess of a life. And yet now, she was a