I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull over and confront Chloe, to reveal the truth-that I had loved Dean first.
That perhaps, deep down, I still did.
But I remained silent. Even if I spoke up, what would it change? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
Chloe’s engagement ring caught my eye as she gripped Dean’s hand, which was now inching up her denim mini skirt. Her mouth hung open, head thrown back, lost in the moment as his hand found its target. Her legs instinctively widened.
I kept my fingers wrapped tightly around the slippery steering wheel, fighting the urge to flinch with every giggle, every moan that escaped her lips.
Dean used to hold me like that.
He used to touch me like that.
I blinked hard, my chest constricting, but I remained silent. I drove on, my silence louder than any words I could have uttered.
I turned on the radio, cranking up the volume in a futile attempt to drown out the softcore scene unfolding in the backseat. But it was no use.
Not when Chloe gripped my headrest in ecstasy.
Not when her underwear dangled at her ankles.
And that was the moment my heart finally shattered.
I switched the radio off and pressed the accelerator as if the very gates of hell were chasing me.
It felt as though an elephant had settled on my chest, making it hard to breathe. It hurt-deeply.
Upon reaching home, Chloe stumbled out of the car, giggling as Dean carried her toward the porch. I stood frozen by the vehicle, fingers curled tightly around the doorframe, nails digging in, watching them with hollow eyes as they disappeared inside, limbs entwined, laughing like a pair of love-struck teenagers.
I didn’t linger.
Once they vanished from view, I walked slowly toward the front door, my fingers trembling as I grasped the handle, yearning for my safe space.
Roman. He was waiting for me inside.
I stepped in, and the door clicked shut behind me.
I ascended the stairs two at a time, shoving our room door open with a sense of urgency.
He was perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes shadowed, posture tense. But when he noticed me, his expression softened, a warmth radiating from him that shattered my last defenses.
I didn’t utter a single word. I didn’t need to.
I simply ran to him.
Straight into the arms that I knew would catch me.
And for the first time that day, I allowed myself to break.
I cried.
The sobs crashed over me in waves-ugly, cathartic, unfiltered. The kind that felt like they could crack ribs and split hearts. I cried until my shoulders shook, my chest heaved, and the pain clawed its way out of me.
Roman didn’t speak. He just held me through it all.
I had never considered myself fragile. Yet he embraced me as if I were allowed to be, just for tonight.
He held me like he understood.
He held me as though I were made of glass.
He held me like he would never, ever let go.
The morning sun poured into the room, illuminating everything with a warm, golden sheen. It was the kind of light that made the world seem almost magical, casting soft shadows and highlighting the beauty of the mundane.
Except for me.
So many memories came flooding back, memories of moments just like this one, where we found ourselves in this familiar embrace. Each time, it was triggered by my emotional turmoil. I would come to him, tears streaming down my face, seeking solace in his unwavering presence.
He would wrap his arms around me, holding me tight, never releasing me until the storm inside me had calmed.
Roman, on the other hand, seemed to glide through life effortlessly. He was the epitome of composure, always in control, never faltering.
I lay sprawled across him, one leg draped lazily over his waist, my cheek resting against the warm, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. It felt like home. His arms encircled me, relaxed yet firm, as if neither of us wanted to be the first to break the spell of this moment.
We were both awake; I could sense it in the subtle way his fingers flexed against the small of my back, the way his chest tightened beneath me with each breath I took.
But silence enveloped us, stretching on for what felt like an eternity.
Until I broke it.
“Am I really that difficult to love?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the question slipping out before I could stop it. It wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud.
I felt him stiffen beneath me, a shift in the air around us.
“Chloe’s not exactly a saint, yet somehow, she managed to ensnare a man who tossed me aside like yesterday’s news. It’s absurd, Roman. You should have witnessed it. It was as if I were invisible.”
Slowly, I felt his fingers tighten against my spine, a silent plea for me to stop. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself.”
I lifted my head, and our gazes locked. His eyes were fierce, burning with a protective intensity that made my heart race.
“You think that because of that weasel? That snake? Sav, if you could see yourself through my eyes-“
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.