Chapter 132 At My Place The paper crinkled in my hand as I stared at the eviction notice again. It wasn’t shock that hit me—not really. Just that slow, sinking confirmation that this shitty day had found one last way to kick me. I didn’t even go inside first. I turned on my heel and went straight to the landlord’s flat downstairs. If this old bat thinks he can wake up one morning and send me parking, then he really needs to think again. I pounded my fists on his door. “Mr Gremlin! It's Savannah!” I didn't stop knocking. I pressed my ear to the door, hearing some noise from the other side. It actually sounded like he was moving around. “Which Savannah?” I rolled my eyes, tapping my foot on the ground impatiently. “Savannah Hart! Your tenant.” “I'm coming.” He grumbled. Mr. Gremlin opened the door halfway, his gray hair sticking up like he’d just woken up. He was always in a stained undershirt and those same brown slippers. “Mr. Gremlin.” My voice came out flat. “What’s this supposed to mean?” I lifted the paper in front of him. He squinted at it, then gave a half-shrug. “An eviction notice, obviously.” Then he looked at me. “Can't read, Savannah? Thought you graduated college?” “I can read, thanks.” I exhaled. “What I’m asking is why. I’ve paid up until next month.” He scratched his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Yeah, well… the building’s getting sold. New owner wants it cleared by tomorrow. Nothing personal.” “Nothing personal?” My jaw tightened. “You couldn’t have given me a little more than twenty-four hours’ notice?” He shrugged again, unbothered. “It’s outta my hands, sweetheart. Paperwork’s already filed. You can talk to the new management if you want, but they’re not gonna care either.” I stared at him for a long second, and he stared back, bored. The longer I looked, the more I realized there wasn’t a shred of empathy in his face. Just the usual dull indifference of a man who stopped caring about anything that didn’t pay him directly.“You can’t just kick me out,” I said. “I paid rent—two weeks ago. You know I paid.” He scratched at his jaw, slow enough that it felt scripted. “I’ll repeat myself again. We got directions. New management. Moving forward with renovations.” His face registered a hint of pity, the kind you extend to a nuisance. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your deposit back. You’ll be fine.” “And I'll repeat myself again, too. You could have told me earlier,” I said. It came out sharper than I’d meant. Tiredness didn’t make me tolerant. If anything, it narrowed me. He shrugged as if shrugging could erase the notice taped to my door. “Wasn’t my call, love.” “Right,” I said finally. “Thanks for nothing.” I walked back upstairs. My hands were shaking, but not from panic. It was from sheer exhaustion. The kind that made everything feel like moving through water. Inside my apartment, everything looked smaller than usual, like the walls had closed in on me overnight. I dropped my bag on the couch and pulled out my phone. Roman’s number was already there, first on my call list. I dialed his number without thinking twice, anxiously biting my nails. He picked up after one ring. “Sav?” I didn’t trust my voice to stay steady, so I just said, “Can you come pick me up?” There was a pause. Then, quietly, “where are you?” “At my place.” “I’m on my way.” No questions. No hesitation. Just that—calm and sure, like always. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let it out. The next few minutes crawled by. I didn’t pack anything yet. I just sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the eviction notice on the coffee table Roman replaced, my brain looping through everything—Dean’s phone call, his tears, the rain, now this. I felt like I was close to exploding. By the time I heard the low purr of Roman’s car outside, I felt hollow. He was already out of the car and coming upstairs before I could even reach the door. The sight of him—tall, composed, dressed in a maroon sweater and grey sweatpants—made something tight in my chest loosen a little. “Sav.” He whispered immediately he saw me. I didn’t even think. I stepped into his arms. He held me firmly, his scent familiar. When he leaned down, our lips met in a soft, sweet kiss. It wasn’t rushed, just steady. The kind that said I’m here. And you have nothing to worry about now. For a moment, the world stopped spinning. Every horrible event of the day faded. It was just us now. Just me and him. When we pulled back, he brushed his thumb over my cheek. “What happened?” Wordlessly, I reached for the paper on the table and handed it to him. He read it, once. No frown, no curse, no visible reaction at all. Just that still calmness that could be comforting or terrifying depending on the situation. He folded the notice neatly and looked at me. “You’re moving in with me.” “What?” “Tonight,” he said simply. “I’ll have someone come by in the morning to pack your things and bring them over. You just need to grab what you’ll need for the night.” I blinked. “Roman, that’s not—” “Negotiable?” He gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not.”Normally I would have argued. But I didn’t have the strength tonight. My head was pounding, my body sore from the hours on the road. “Fine,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Good.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll help you get your bag.” I didn’t argue. He grabbed a duffel from the closet and stuffed the kind of things you shove when you don’t plan to stay. We packed quietly — toothbrush, clothes, charger, the book I hadn’t had time to finish, and my laptop. The essentials. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was just heavy with the kind of tired understanding that comes when words wouldn’t change anything. When we were done, he took the bag from me before I could reach for it. “You’ve had enough for one day.” I didn’t argue with that either. The drive to his house was quiet. The city lights blurred past, reflected on the glass in colourful streaks. I leaned my head against the window and watched them fade in and out. Then I remembered something. “Why didn't you reply to my text earlier.” I turned. “I waited for you to text back but you never did.” He gripped the wheel tighter. “Forgive me, I was busy. I wasn't with my phone at the time. Must have been when I was… in a meeting.” He said, avoiding my gaze. I nodded, despite detecting that he clearly was hiding something from me. “It's fine, really. I was just worried. That's all.” He didn't say anything else. But by looking at him, I could tell he was troubled. Something was bothering Roman. Something I wasn't aware of. ~~~~ Roman’s house was warm when we arrived, and it smelled like food and wine. He locked the door behind us, set my bag down, and turned to me. “Go shower,” he said gently. “You’ll feel better.” I nodded, not trusting myself to say much. As I disappeared down the hallway, I heard him behind me saying something about needing to finish up some work before we make dinner. That honestly sounded like bliss to me. I'm starving. In the bathroom, the light was soft, the air thick with steam as the water ran. I stood under it for a while, letting the heat loosen my shoulders, my mind still replaying the day in fragments—Dean’s trembling voice, the eviction notice, Roman’s steady hands despite the unexpected predicament. It was too much noise for one day. I needed something else. Something grounding. When I finally turned off the water, the noise felt louder than before. I wrapped a towel around myself and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked dull, almost dead. I was exhausted — but not just from the day. It was something deeper, sharper. Beneath all that exhaustion, there was a low ache. Not emotional, not physical in the simple sense — just this restless need to feel something else. Anything else. Something to drown out the chaos that had followed me from morning till now. I exhaled slowly, watching the fog on the mirror blur my face. And then I knew exactly what I wanted.