Roman closed the laptop with slow deliberation, placing his glasses atop it. Then he turned to me, his gaze piercing as he studied me where I sat frozen on the bed.
His stare pinned me in place, as if I were an insect trapped under glass.
“For starters,” he said, his voice soft yet heavy with meaning, “he asked me to help restore his former position.”
My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What? Oh no.” A wave of embarrassment washed over me. “I can’t believe he’d ask you that. It’s so inappropriate. I’m mortified.”
Roman raised a hand, silencing me. “No need for that. I told him I’d consider it.”
I blinked, my mind racing. “Wait- you’d actually help him? Really? But… how could you possibly do that? Is that even feasible? That sounds outrageous.”
A slow, feline smile curved his lips as he leaned back, fingers lacing together in a display of confidence.
“Lots of ways,” he said vaguely, his tone laced with mystery. “Ways you’d never imagine. Ways that would terrify you if you knew them.”
A shiver raced down my spine. His voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it-a darkness that hinted at a world I couldn’t begin to fathom.
“You can’t be serious,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that belied the gravity of our conversation. “I can pull strings. I don’t mind.”
“Why?” I demanded, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Why would you even want to help him?”
Roman’s gaze sharpened, and his tone dropped, heavy with implications. “That’s the right question, Sav. Why? The hook is…” He let the pause stretch, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest. “You’re the reason he gave it up in the first place.”
The world tilted beneath me. My breath caught in my throat, and my palms grew slick with sweat.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. My throat felt locked, as if the very act of speaking had been stolen from me.
Roman arched a brow, clearly enjoying my unraveling. “You look like you’ve got something to say, Sav.”
I shook my head, the only response I could muster.
“No?” His smile deepened dangerously, a predator savoring its prey. “Alright. Well, your father told me some… interesting stories. But I don’t buy everything. Especially when he’s the one selling.” He continued, leaning closer. “I’d rather hear it straight from those delicious lips of yours.”
The blood drained from my face. He couldn’t know. Not that.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice low and deliberate.
I waited, counting the seconds that felt like hours.
It was only a few moments, but it stretched on, heavy with unspoken words.
“So, tell me what happened with the Kingstons.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The words escape my lips in a rush, sharper than I intended, and I instinctively turn my gaze toward the window. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes, which feel like they can see right through me.
“Sav.” His voice is unwavering, calm, almost soothing. He crosses one leg over the other, a picture of serene authority that sends my heart racing. “Maybe you don’t fully grasp what’s at stake here.”
Suddenly, I feel like I’m on trial for a crime I didn’t commit. He’s the judge, and my fate hangs in the balance of his decision.
He intertwines his fingers and rests them on his knee, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that feels almost suffocating. “Your father has laid some significant accusations at your feet today. And honestly…” He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I don’t buy it. I’m here to hear your side. What happened with the Kingstons?”
The name strikes me like a physical blow. Kingston. My chest constricts, and the air around me feels thin and stifling. The mention of it drags me back through time to a night I thought I had buried deep, to whispers I’ve trained myself to forget.
I freeze. My body is here, perched on the edge of the bed, but my heartbeat has transported me somewhere else entirely… Back to the sound of a locked office door, the scent of chalk dust mingling with paper and cologne.
I cling to my own skin, terrified that if I let go, I’ll unravel completely.
Desperately, I grip my knees, digging my nails into the fabric, seeking some form of grounding.
“…” My mouth feels parched. I am ensnared, pinned to the bed as if invisible hands are holding me down. It’s as if I’m being pulled back into that night all over again. My heart thunders so loudly that I fear it might shatter my ribs. Chloe and Dean are just in the next room, and for a fleeting moment, I’m terrified they can hear the storm raging within me.
“Savannah?” His voice softens, cutting through the turmoil.
I force myself to lift my eyes to his, only to drop them again almost immediately. My lips move before I can rein them in. “What did he tell you?”
He shrugs casually, a nonchalant gesture that belies the weight of the conversation. “His own version. But that’s not the one I want to hear. I need to know your truth.”
The floor beneath me seems to tilt dangerously. His words are steady, but mine scatter like leaves caught in a tempest. A wave of shame washes over me.
“I don’t know how to begin,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“You don’t have to start from anywhere specific,” he reassures me, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re talking to your best friend, Sav. Just… speak.”
I dig my nails into my thighs through the fabric, desperate for something to hold onto. The crescents my nails leave behind serve as a reminder of my anxiety as I take a jagged breath. “I was young.” The words scrape against my throat, raw and unpolished. “Really young. And foolish. And reckless. And wild.”
The list spills out too quickly, rehearsed like lines from a play I’ve performed far too many times. My chest heaves, but I push through. “And he… he was handsome, charming, and he smiled a lot. Too much.”
My mouth twists as I struggle to articulate the memories, but my shoulders betray me, curling inward as if bracing for an impending blow.
I steal a glance at Roman. His expression remains unreadable, his posture elegant and composed, untouched by the storm of emotions I’m laying bare. It feels as if I’m airing my dirty laundry in front of him.
“Go on, Sav. I’m here, and I’m listening.”
I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat feels like a stone. My jaw locks tightly, and I can feel the ache radiating through my teeth, a migraine threatening to take hold.
“His name was Asher Kingston,” I finally manage to say, my voice low and fragile. The sound of his name feels like fire. “He was my professor in college.”
My stomach twists painfully. My palms are clammy, and I find myself fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve, pulling at the loose threads as if they could somehow offer me comfort.
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.