Roman

"When we agreed to go out tonight, I never imagined we'd end up in a place like this," I said, my voice tight with a warning.

Chloe took a sip of her drink, waving a hand toward the velvet-drenched interior. "Oh, come on, Roman. Dean thought we needed something more... exciting before the wedding. It’s high-end, exclusive. What happens within these walls stays here."

This wasn't some sleazy roadside bar. It was an upscale lounge—all honeyed shadows, polished mahogany, and the scent of expensive cigars and mystery. On the stage, performers moved with a fluid, silken grace that felt more like art than entertainment.

We were in a private lounge, a bottle of Moët chilling in a silver bucket beside us. Dean, already appearing a bit too relaxed from the alcohol, poured the champagne with unnecessary flair.

Savannah muttered, "We could've just gone for tacos."

"Where’s the adventure in that, Sav?" Dean shrugged, his eyes scanning her with an intensity that made my blood simmer. He leaned in, reeking of spirits, and whispered something crude about their past intimacy.

Savannah gasped, her face flushing with a mix of shock and fury.

I didn't think; I acted. I grabbed Dean by the collar, pulling him close until he could see the cold promise in my eyes. "If you ever speak to her like that again," I whispered, "I will ensure you don't make it to your own wedding."

He blinked, the smirk faltering for a split second before he retreated to Chloe’s side.

"So, sis," Chloe said, resting her chin on her hand, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "You never told us the real story of how you and Roman met. Tell us. We have all night before the... main event."

Savannah cleared her throat, regaining her composure with a sharp, brilliant smile. "It started with a pen," she began.

She spun a story of corporate life, of nervous energy, and how she’d accidentally chewed on my expensive Montblanc pen during a high-stakes meeting. She described our first encounter as 'chaos and calm personified'—how we went from professional rivals to best friends, and finally, to something more.

Even the weasel looked impressed. Chloe’s smile, however, tightened. "How lucky you are, Sav. Always attracting men who seem so far out of reach."

"It's not luck, Chloe," Savannah countered smoothly. "It’s a connection. Something you wouldn't understand if you’re constantly looking for what belongs to others."

The air in the booth turned frigid. Savannah placed a hand on my thigh, a silent claim that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

Before the conversation could turn even more venomous, a hostess appeared and whispered to Chloe. Chloe’s eyes lit up with a wicked, triumphant light.

"Don't be nervous, sis," Chloe purred. "The show is about to start. And you’re the star."