Chapter 101 You Killed A Man (TW: Chapter 100 and Other Chapters Will Have Mentions Of Violence, Murder, Dark Themes, Grief, Extreme Devotion, Lust, Obsession… A little Dark Romance. Please Proceed With Caution) “What the fuck, Roman?!” The words ripped out of me before the office door even swung shut. My voice bounced off the walls, too loud, too jagged, but I didn’t care. “What the absolute fuck!” Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn't happening. Shit! This cannot be happening. He strolled in behind me like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb on my life, like this was some lazy Sunday stroll. Hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose, mouth curving with that infuriating calm smile. He even had the audacity to shrug. “What did I do now?” I spun on him, trembling with rage, my blood so hot I thought I might combust right there on the polished floors. The bag containing the ice cream looked ridiculous in his hand now. A man covered in invisible blood, carrying vanilla ice-cream. When he set it casually on his desk, I snapped. My purse flew from my hand before I even realized it, aimed dead at his head with all the fury I could muster. He tilted his chin at the last second, letting it whip past. It crashed against the bookshelf, spilling lipstick and receipts across the floor. His smirk made my vision tunnel. “My father was an army general,” he said smoothly. “You’ll have to try harder than a flying purse, my love.” “Smug bastard,” I hissed. My body moved before my brain caught up — charging at him, nails ready, scream tearing out of me like a banshee. My hand arched through the air, aiming to slap him, claw him, something to wipe that calm off his face. Something to remind him that his reckless decision has not just affected Kingston’s life, but it has also changed ours forever. But his hand shot up like lightning, catching my wrist mid-air. His grip was steel. “Not a fucking chance, Savannah,” he bit out, voice sharp as ever. The words were a bite. His grip was a sermon: I am in control.For a second I had the ridiculous, sick thought that that grip was how he’d held me the nights he’d let me break down in his arms—the same pressure, the same certainty. That thought cracked me open from the inside and all the heat I’d been baiting up poured out like lava. The heat of his skin against mine jolted me back, and I yanked free, stumbling. My chest rose and fell in frantic waves, my pulse thrumming against my throat like it wanted to break free. “This is not happening,” I muttered, pacing a circle in the office I’d thought I knew. My shoes made a click-click sound against the floor that sounded way too loud. “This is not happening, this is not—” The buzz of my phone cut me off. From the wreckage of my purse, the vibration hummed. I knew exactly who it was and why, and bile climbed my throat. They all probably heard the news too. And Roman? He didn’t even twitch. He opened the ice cream, scooped, and slid it past his lips like he hadn’t just confessed to killing a man. “Calm yourself, Savannah. Let’s have ice cream.” I stopped pacing, and just stared. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”He nodded. “It’s really good. Come here.” What the actual hell? How can he be so calm after he snuffed out a man's life? How can he sit there and eat ice-cream like none of this was happening? My voice cracked on a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “You just killed someone and you want me to sit down and share dessert? You took a week off to go murder a man. So, you kill people now, Roman?!” His eyes lifted, calm, certain. “Only the ones who hurt you.” The words punched the air from my lungs. I staggered back, clutching my hair, nails scraping against my scalp. “Only the ones who hurt me? That’s your logic now? So what if someone steps on my foot at the mall, you shoot them? If some girl buys the last lipstick shade I want, you slit her throat?” My voice rose to a screech. “That’s your fucking job now? Playing executioner for petty inconveniences?” His palms slammed against his desk, papers rattled, the ice cream toppled. The sound cracked through me like thunder. He stood, his body a looming shadow, fury carved into his face. His eyes burned with something feral, the air around him shifting, heavier, darker. His steps toward me were slow, deliberate, like a predator. But I didn't back down. “That animal did more than look at you the wrong way. That animal did more than get the last piece of your favourite lipstick. That piece of trash did more than step on you at the mall! That bastard raped you! He violated you! He took everything away from you and nobody did anything about it! Nobody! Except me!” His voice climbed with every word, sharp, furious. “Nobody but me. I am the only one who fought for you. The only one who gave a damn. The only one who cared about you enough to get vengeance for what he did! I am the only one who loves you enough to fight for you! And if that is my crime against you, Savannah… then so be it! Because you know what? I'd do it a million times over!” My spine pressed against the wall. His anger crashed over me, and I felt my knees lock to keep me standing. The room got small. The lights seemed too close. It’s one thing to hate, and another to watch someone you love become the executioner. “And you want to stand there,” he snarled, “and tell me I’m wrong? That I’m a monster? Fine. But I don’t regret a fucking thing. Not the hit. Not the pain. Not his death. I’d do it again. Happily. Because he deserved it. Because I love you enough to do what your family never did.”“You're insane.” I hissed. “You’re saying murdering someone is love?” I shot. “You’re saying ordering a hit—planning it, executing someone—was out of love? That’s your justification?” My tongue tasted metal, my mouth trembling. “Yes,” he said. There was no theatrics now. Just flat, lethal conviction. “If love means I go to war for you, if love means I make sure the monster who hurt you never breathes again—then yes. I would burn the world. And if what I did because of my love for you is the reason why you're being this way then he did more damage to you than I feared—” The sound that left my throat was somewhere between a sob and a scream. My hand snapped forward before I thought. The crack of my palm against his cheek exploded in the room. The slap was vicious and clean. His head jerked to the side, his skin blooming red under my print. We both froze. My hand tingled, my chest heaved, my eyes burned. “Don’t you ever—” My voice shook, but my finger stabbed toward him like a dagger. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that again. Ever!” He turned back, his face shadowed, a bitter scoff spilling out. “Speak to you like what? The truth?” His lip curled. “You’ve always hated the truth. The truth is messy. Come on. Be honest. You didn’t want to wake up to it every morning.” His eyes were hungry in a way that made bile rise in my throat. “Fuck you, Roman!” I screamed. My throat felt raw, shredded, but I didn’t care. “Yeah, of course.” His laugh was harsh, cruel. “It’s always fuck you, Roman. But never look in the mirror, Savannah. A man raped you, left you broken, and you swallowed it, smiled through it, pretended you were fine. But the second I make him pay, I’m the bad guy? I did what I had to do out of devotion to you!” “I never said it was fine!” I found myself yelling out. “You were defended too little, too late,” he pushed. “He got to keep his freedom while you kept the scars. I don’t play that game, Savannah. I made the hard choice. I took action where everyone else sat on their hands and faked sympathy.” His chest heaved. His voice broke in the places it wanted to. “If that makes me a monster to the world, so be it. I’d rather be a monster who defended you than a saint who watched you get taken apart.” He ran his hands through his hair crazily, as if he suddenly realized something. “Jesus Christ, Savannah! Are you out of your fucking mind?! You're defending your abuser!” “You killed a man!” I said, my voice sounded pathetic to my own ears. “You killed a person. He had children. He had students. He had a life. Who gave you the right?” It sounded weak even as I said it. His teeth bared, words ripped from him like shrapnel. “Fuck his children! Fuck his job! I don’t bloody care! Do you think I don’t know every detail of that man’s life? Do you think being a father excuses him? He didn’t hesitate when he hurt you. Why the hell should I hesitate to hurt him back? He deserved every second of it.” He yanked his tie loose, chest heaving. My knees threatened to buckle. My hands trembled and I fisted them in my skirt, nails biting into thighs. “How can you say that,” I whispered, because whispering made things that were monstrous less true. “How can you sleep with that in your head? How—how do you wake up and see yourself in the mirror knowing you made someone else die?” I blinked through tears, struggling to breathe. He breathed out, and in that breath there was no regret. “I sleep perfectly well… with your taste on my tongue.”