Savannah

I barked a humorless laugh. "You're so pathetic, Dean."

For the first time, something cracked in his face. His jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed, going darker and sharper. The drunken fog evaporated in a blink, leaving behind something cold, sober, and dangerous.

"Careful, Savannah," he hissed. His voice was no longer slurred. It was a deliberate and calculated promise of harm. "You forget how much power I have."

My body froze. The ballroom noise outside muffled to nothing, as if the door had swallowed the world whole. The bathroom had become a trap, a cage with nowhere to run. The stalls were empty; there was nobody around to help. And Dean held my phone, my only lifeline to the outside world.

The filthy smirk on his face told me he knew exactly what was running through my mind. He knew I was the one holding the least power here.

But still, I refused to go down without a fight.

"You don't scare me," I said, though my pulse thundered so loud I thought he could hear it. It was a lie. He was angry, desperate, and stronger than me.

He stepped forward again—slow, deliberate. "You should be scared. Because when I decide I want something, I always get it. Even you."

My eyes darted around wildly, searching for anything—a weapon, a heavy object, a mirror shard. But the bathroom was stripped bare. Just cold tile and polished chrome.

"Savannah?"

Roman’s voice cut through the suffocating air like a lightning strike.

Dean stiffened instantly, his head swiveling toward the door. At the far end of the hallway stood Roman, his phone pressed to his ear. My phone was still ringing in Dean's pocket.

Roman’s gaze zeroed in on me, pressed against the wall. Then it slid to Dean, looming too close. Every muscle in me loosened in a rush of relief so sharp it nearly buckled my knees.

Roman’s jaw clenched. His entire frame radiated something lethal—a calm so controlled it was terrifying. He stepped inside, filling the small space with his presence.

"Step away from her, weasel."

Dean laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Relax, man. We were only talking."

Roman’s eyes flicked to me. I didn't say a word. I didn't need to. My body told the story—rigid, trembling, cornered.

"Now." Roman’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Step the fuck away before I put my hands on you. Do not test me."

Dean faltered. He hesitated, then grudgingly stepped back. Roman closed the distance in long, controlled strides. He stopped only when he stood directly between us, his back forming an iron wall, shielding me from Dean's sight.

"Her phone," Roman demanded, his palm outstretched, steady as stone.

Dean’s jaw ticked. With a sneer, he yanked the phone from his pocket and slapped it into Roman’s palm. "Fine. Take your little toy back."

Roman passed it to me without breaking his gaze from Dean. I clutched it to my chest, my fingers trembling as I saw the dozens of missed calls and messages from him.

"Go back to your bride," Roman said, his voice deceptively calm. "Before I make you regret staying."

Dean lingered for a second too long, his eyes burning with venom. "Enjoy her while you can," he muttered. He turned, striding down the hallway, his footsteps echoing like gunshots. Over his shoulder, he spat his final words: "She's mine. And I'm going to take her back."

My breath came out in ragged pulls. Roman turned, his eyes sweeping over me, searching for damage. His hand lifted slowly, then brushed my arm with the gentlest touch.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I swallowed hard.

"You're not fine," he murmured, his voice quiet but firm.

"Roman," I whispered, my voice breaking, "I think Dean has lost his mind. He's insane."

His eyes darkened. Not with surprise, but with a certainty that chilled me to the bone. Because Roman already knew.

"What did he do?" he asked.

My chest rose and fell. I wondered if telling the truth was a mistake. Would he create a scene? Would the violence I saw simmering beneath his skin boil over?

"Savannah," his voice was hard and cold. "I asked you a question. And I deserve an answer."

Fear and honesty warred inside me. I couldn't deal with an angry Roman—a man so different from the one who held me last night. I chose the truth.

"He kissed me."

Silence followed. A silence so loud I could only hear the sound of a dripping tap. Roman didn't move, except for the hard, white-knuckled clenching of his fists.

"Where did he kiss you?" he asked, his voice dangerously tight.

"On my lips," I answered quietly. "But I slapped him, so—"

Roman didn't wait for me to finish. The bathroom door slammed against the wall with a deafening thud as he stormed out, heading into the ballroom with murderous intentions.

And I immediately knew that this wedding was over.