Chapter 105 Why Do I Face Execution? Roman I felt it the second her body stiffened in my arms. The shift was small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to me it was deafening. Her heartbeat thudded against my chest like a trapped bird desperate to break free. The rhythm was frantic, uneven, betraying everything her lips wouldn’t say out loud. Savannah was scared. Of me. Of what I'd just told her. And she had every right to be. I had disappeared without a word, then returned with blood under my nails and a dead body that I created. If I had told her the truth from the beginning—if I confessed that I would be gone because I was going to hunt down her abuser, staining my hands with his blood—she’d run. She would look at me with the same haunted terror I’d seen once before in her eyes, the night she told me everything about him. About what had been done to her. That’s why I didn’t tell her.She didn’t belong in this world. My father’s world. Mine. Ours. Her innocence, her softness, they were already fragile threads barely holding together. If I snapped them with the weight of my truths, she would shatter. And I… I couldn’t survive that. So instead of telling her, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I planned. I maneuvered. I controlled the pieces of the board until they fell into the position I wanted. The day I drove her back to her apartment, I’d already decided what to do. She wouldn’t stay there for long. Not when she was exposed, not when the very walls might echo with memories she should never relive. I tracked down her landlord. A pathetic, greedy man with a belly round like a barrel and skin slick with sweat. It took less than ten minutes of conversation to dangle money in front of him, an amount triple the value of the building. His eyes bulged, his hands shook, and before I’d even finished the offer, he was already fumbling for the paperwork. He thought he’d conned me. Thought he’d outsmarted the Blackwood name by selling a building at an inflated price. Poor fool. He had no idea that what I wanted wasn’t his property—it was her. I signed my name across those papers without hesitation, the ink drying faster than the smile slipping across his oily face. Soon Savannah would receive an eviction notice. And when that happened, where would she go? Straight to me. Straight into my arms. Straight into my bed. Straight into the place where she belonged. Not just because I wanted it, but because it was the only place she'd truly be safe. Would she be happy if she knew? Of course not. She’d argue, curse, hit me, throw those sharp little glares at me that cut deeper than any blade. She’d tell me I was controlling, manipulative, selfish. And she’d be right. But would I ever tell her what I’d done? Fuck no. Because how could I explain to her that she was the most important thing in my world? How could I tell her that every move I made was to ensure she never slipped from my grasp, even if my affection might become her undoing? I know I’m selfish. I know I’m a bastard. I know I’m dragging her into a cage of my making. But I also know this: everything I’ve ever loved has withered. Everything I’ve ever touched has died. Just like Mom. Just like Dahlia. Just like Naomi. They all die. It follows me. Us.Not with Sav. Everything's different with her. It's exciting. It's all new. And I'll be fucked if I let history repeat itself for the fourth time. The pattern follows me like a curse. Love something too much, and watch it be ripped away. But not this time. I won't let it happen. She is different. She has to be. Because if she isn’t, then I’ll burn this whole cursed world to ash before I let it take her too. I love her. I'm crazy about her. The truth settles in my chest like a brand, burning and permanent. I’ve known it for longer than I want to admit—probably from the first time I saw her. It was inevitable. How could anyone see her and not fall for her? She’s everything light and fire and storm. She’s smart, stubborn, and witty. She cares with a depth that terrifies me, and when she smiles—God, when she smiles—it feels like the sun breaking through storm clouds I didn’t even know I was standing under. And yet, even as I breathe in the scent of her hair and memorize the fragile beat of her heart, a question gnaws at me: does she love me back? I don’t know. Maybe she sees me as a friend, a shield. Maybe she only tolerates me because I wedge myself into her life. Maybe I’m fooling myself, clinging to scraps of affection and twisting them into something bigger. I'll look stupid for sure if she only sees me as just a friend. But I believe she does at least like me. Even just a little. That is certain. But I think she feels something. I see it in the way her eyes soften when she looks at me, in the way she lets her walls drop for a moment, in the way she trusted me enough to share her story with me. She let me carry part of her pain, and in that moment, she made me more than a bystander. She made me part of her survival. That means something. It has to. And for that, I can finally sleep well at night. But her story carved something into me, something permanent. When she told me about him—about what Asher Kingston had done to her, about what the others had taken from her—I made myself a promise. I would erase him. I would rip him from existence so thoroughly that even his shadow would disappear. He'd never exist in the same world as her. I would fight that battle for her. I would get that revenge.I would take down everyone who had ever hurt her, starting with him. ~~~~~~~ Flashback Finding Asher Kingston hadn’t been difficult. Men like him always thought they were untouchable, hiding behind polished shoes, manicured reputations, and expensive cologne. But underneath, they were nothing more than cowards. All it took was one thread pulled from the seams of his life, and the entire suit unraveled. He appeared exactly as I pictured. Too slick, too clean, the kind of man who polished his conscience along with his cufflinks. He looked too principled. Too put together. Too professional. But I knew better. I knew what lay beneath those glasses and neatly styled hair. I knew the evil that existed beyond that smile and the filth that was beneath those crisply ironed suits. My men dragged him from his glass office and into a room stripped of everything except floor and windows. They tied him to a chair bolted to the floor and left him there until I returned to New Hope. By the time I arrived, he was half-conscious, his head lolling forward, his face already battered from their impatience. I stepped into the room, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. His breathing was shallow and uneven. I slapped his cheek twice, sharp enough to sting. “Asher Kingston.” My voice was calm, measured. “Wake up.” His head lolled, then jerked. A groan rattled from his throat. One of my men—broad, hot-tempered, unable to resist—landed a brutal punch to Asher’s jaw. The crack echoed in the room, and this time his eyes snapped open. Panic bloomed in them immediately. “Who are you people?” His voice was shrill, high-pitched, weak. “Do you know who I am? You can’t—” I cut him off with my fist slamming into his nose. A loud crack echoed, and a spray of blood followed. He screamed, thrashing, but the ropes around him held him firm. “Who are you?” he sputtered, blood running down his lips. “Name your price. Whatever it is, I’ll pay. I’ll give you anything you want!” His words tumbled over themselves, frantic, desperate. “Was it Monica? Did she send you? That bitch—did she pay you to kill me? Double it. Triple it. I’ll pay you more. Bring her to me, and I’ll pay you ten times—” His words broke off into spittle.Even my men laughed. I crouched in front of him, tilting my head. “You think I need your money? I’m insulted.” He blinked at me, wild-eyed. “Then what do you want from me?” I leaned closer, letting him see every ounce of the truth in my face. “My name is Roman Nicholas Blackwood. My father is General Reginald Blackwood. I know my last name rings a bell. So now you understand—your money means nothing to me. But your life…” I let the pause hang like a blade above his head. “…that’s priceless.” Recognition slammed into him. I saw it in the way his pupils blew wide, the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow, the way his entire body sagged like a man realizing his own death sentence had just been read. “I see it’s finally sinking in,” I murmured. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “Why… Why would the general send his son after me? I delivered on our last deal. I did what he asked me to do. I kept him out of the blowup. Why… Why do I face execution?” The words froze me on the spot. For the first time that night, I felt cold—ice racing through my veins, sinking into my bones. My breath caught in my chest, my mind stuttering on one impossible thought. My father had business with him too?