Chapter 120 Go Home, Penny Roman “Oops.” Her voice was soft, but the way she said it made my jaw tick. She didn’t even bother to look guilty. She just tilted her glass, swirling the red wine like she owned the place. Her fork had clattered against the porcelain plate while I was speaking with Savannah. A perfect little staged accident. I gripped the phone tighter in my hand and turned slowly, my patience already thinning. “Really, Penny?” She was leaning lazily against the marble counter, fork still dangling between her fingers, eyes glittering with the kind of mischief that could start a war. “Sorry,” she said, utterly unapologetic. “It just slipped.” “That was intentional. You wanted her to know you were at my place.” My gaze swept over her, taking in the faint smirk playing on her lips. “That’s pretty low, even for you, Penny.” She took a slow sip from her glass of red wine, her gaze never leaving mine. “It’s not my fault you’re sneaking around behind your lady friend’s back.” “Lady friend?” I scoffed. “She’s going to be my wife someday.” I corrected her sharply. “And I am not sneaking around.” “Then why not tell her that I’m in your kitchen right now?” she asked, tone dripping with false innocence. “Having the yummiest Alfredo from Chef Antonio, no less.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Most days, I wonder how the hell I put up with you.” She grinned, stabbing a piece of chicken and swirling it through the sauce. “Because I’m your greatest ally. And yeah, I’m the closest person to you in this world. We’ve come a long way, Roman.” I sighed, finally sitting across from her at the counter. The takeout boxes were still steaming, filling the kitchen with the heavy scent of garlic, cream, and parmesan. “Look, Penny,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “Sav means no harm. She just… doesn’t know you like I do. That’s all. She’s a good person. Maybe your last stunt was a little too much for her to handle.” She arched a brow, lifting her wine glass. “A little too much?” she echoed. “Roman, I just played with her. It was harmless. Why is she so serious?” She laughed, the sound ringing through the quiet room. “She nearly ripped me apart over a harmless prank. My God, Roman. Are you certain you want to spend the rest of your life with such a war freak? The next funeral I’ll be attending might just be yours.” My grip on the glass tightened until the stem creaked faintly against the marble counter. “She’s a sweet girl, Penny. You just pushed her too far.” I paused, my jaw tightening. “And for the record, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than my feelings for her. I love her.” “How sweet.” She looked intoxicated as she grinned. “Even more than Dahlia?” The air left the room. For a heartbeat, all I could hear was the hum of the refrigerator. The soft clink of her fork against porcelain. Then — nothing. It was like the entire world had just stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Stopped rotating. I still think of her sometimes — Dahlia. The name burned quietly in the back of my skull. I still see her face when I close my eyes, in flashes that come like ghosts. I still remember the sound of her laugh. The way her perfume lingered long after she left the room. Her wild blond curls. The mischievous glint in her eyes. But I don’t say her name out loud. Not anymore. I've forgotten the feel of that name on my lips. I buried the weight of that name the day I buried everything else that came with it. “Penny,” I said quietly, voice rough, “drop it.” The energy shifted. I could feel it — the air thickened, heavier somehow. Not light-hearted or funny anymore. “You’re planning to spend your life with this girl,” she said, tone sharper now, measured. “You’re claiming to have moved on. Yet she knows nothing about your past. Nothing about your—” “Penelope,” I snapped, the word slicing through her sentence. “I said, drop it.” Her fork froze midair. The silence that followed was suffocating. It was exactly the calm before shit hit the fucking fan. She slowly placed the fork down, careful not to make a sound this time. Then she reached for her napkin, dabbed the corner of her mouth, folded it neatly, and set it beside her plate. Every movement was precise. Deliberate. Practiced. I watched her, chest tight, because I knew this rhythm. It was her way of saying: I’m not done. “What are we, Roman?” she asked softly.Her tone had changed — quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance or playfulness. I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down my face. “You’re my friend,” I said finally. “And my lawyer. What kind of question is that?” She shook her head, almost pitying me. “That’s not what we are, Roman. And you know it.” “Penny—” “Do you plan on lying to your fiancée and yourself too?” she interrupted. “Or is this just another thing you’ll bury under the rug, like Dahlia?” My jaw locked. “Enough.” “But I’m not just your friend, am I?” “Penelope,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice rose, not in volume, but in conviction. “You can’t keep pretending that she never existed, Roman. You say you’ve moved on, that you’re in love again, but you can’t even say her name without breaking apart.” “I will tell Savannah everything,” I said, more to myself than to her. “When she asks, I’ll tell her. I’m not hiding anything. I would never keep the truth away from her.”“And if she never asks?” She pressed on. “Then there's nothing to tell. Ever.” Penny laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Roman, I asked you a question.” She leaned forward, eyes burning into mine. “What. Are. We?” The sudden stillness in her tone made my gut twist. Something shifted in me then—a flicker of suspicion. My eyes narrowed. “Are you recording this?” I demanded. She blinked, caught off guard. “Is that what this is?” I continued, standing abruptly. “Another one of your games? Trying to corner me? Some filthy lawyer trick to get me to admit something on record so you can send it to her?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow,” she said, her tone suddenly cold. “Cheap trick. Really, Roman? You think I’d pull something like that?” “You're a lawyer, Penny.” I folded my arms. “I think you know what you are.” She raised her hand in mock surrender, then reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and set it down between us. The screen lit up. No recording. Just her home screen. She slid it across the marble, eyes locked on mine. “Convincing enough?” “Stop it, Penny.” “Why are you avoiding the question?” she pressed, voice lower now, tighter. I ignored her and picked up the plates, turning toward the sink. The clatter of ceramic filled the silence. My reflection stared back at me from the kitchen window — haunted eyes, clenched jaw. Looking back now, I should’ve listened to Savannah. She told me to stay away from Penny today. I didn’t listen. Maybe a part of me didn’t want to admit she was right. I wanted to cling onto the belief that I knew Penny and could predict her. I started rinsing the dishes, trying to drown out the static in my head. “Roman,” Penny said behind me, tone unreadable. I didn’t answer. “Why is it so difficult for you to admit the truth? It's just us two here.” “Because there’s nothing to admit,” I said, sharper than I meant to. The air felt colder now. I could hear her moving behind me — the scrape of her chair, the slow click of her heels against the tiles. My shoulders stiffened when she stopped just behind me. So close. “You’re lying,” she whispered. I turned. Her eyes were dark, hard. “Penny—” “You lie to yourself every day,” she went on, cutting me off. “You pretend like what we had doesn’t matter. Like Dahlia didn’t exist. Like you don’t still carry her ghost inside you. But it’s there, Roman. It’s written all over your face.” I stared at her, every word scraping against something raw inside me. “Don’t,” I said softly. “Don’t talk about her.” She tilted her head. “Then say it.” “Say what?” “What we are.” I took a step back, shaking my head. “You’re drunk, Penny. Go home. You're fast becoming an alcoholic.” She smiled faintly, holding my gaze. “Maybe. But at least I’m honest.” The silence stretched.She was right about one thing — we’d come a long way. But we’d also gone too far. Penny had always been the kind of woman who wanted control. Not love. Control. And maybe, once upon a time, I gave her a little too much of it. Over me. “Go home, Penny,” I said finally. “Please.” She didn’t move. Her eyes glinted as she whispered, “You still can’t say it, can you?” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose again, trying to steady my breathing. “Say what?” “That I’m your sister-in-law.”