Chapter 140 Talking About Dahlia Savannah I stayed up late intentionally—long after he'd gone upstairs—waiting to see if he’d come downstairs again. Maybe he’d want something to eat, maybe just a glass of water, or maybe… maybe he’d come down looking for me. For the first hour, I heard nothing. I thought he wouldn’t come down after all. But then, I heard the soft sound of his bedroom door opening upstairs. My breath caught. Every part of me went on alert—the way it always does when it’s about him. My heart pounded in my chest as I strained to listen. His footsteps were quiet, careful, almost too soft, like he didn’t want anyone to hear him. And I hated that. I hated the caution, the restraint, the way he moved through this house like a stranger instead of the man who used to own every inch of it—and every inch of me. I wished he’d storm down the stairs instead. Slam a door. Look angry. Kiss me senseless and fix everything that’s broken. But Roman was too composed for that. Too calm. My stupid, sexy man.The sound of his steps grew louder, closer. I straightened immediately on the sofa, my robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. My palms felt clammy. My mouth was dry. I didn’t even know what I was planning to say to him if he actually came down here. But the moment he stepped into the living room, our eyes met like magnets. For a second, neither of us spoke. He just stopped there, half in shadow, half in the dim light like earlier. His eyes—those deep, weary eyes—found mine instantly. And for a second, it almost felt like we’d both forgotten how to breathe or move. “Hey,” I said, too quickly, desperate to catch the moment before it disappeared. He blinked. “You’re not asleep yet?” “No,” I lied softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I couldn’t sleep.” I leaned forward slightly, trying to sound casual, though the robe betrayed me again, slipping lower. “What about you?” “I don’t feel too good tonight,” he said, his voice low. “I'm probably just a little… hungry.” “Do you need my help?” I asked immediately. He hesitated. “No. Don't worry, I wouldn’t want to stress you.”“I insist,” I said quickly. Too quickly. He looked at me for a long second—too long—and then nodded once. “Okay.” I got up, trying not to look too eager. Trying not to look like a woman starving for her fiancé’s attention. But when I followed him into the kitchen, my chest ached anyway. He walked ahead of me, shoulders broad beneath a plain white t-shirt. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. Even from behind, I could see how tired he looked. And yet, God help me, he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “What do you feel like eating?” I asked, opening the refrigerator. “There’s… a bit of everything here.” I laughed awkwardly. He didn’t laugh back. “Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.” “Okay,” I murmured, busying myself with ingredients. The silence was heavy. The only sounds were the faint clatter of pans and the cabinets. Normally, silence with Roman was peaceful. Comfortable. But tonight, it was thick, strained, and it sat between us like a wall we both didn’t know how to climb.Still, I felt him watching me. His eyes on my back. His presence a gravity I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. But when he finally spoke, it startled me. “How have you been, Savannah?” I turned to look at him, caught off guard. “Uh… I’m okay. I’ve been fine, I guess.” I tried to smile, though my voice trembled slightly. “What about you?” He didn’t look away. His eyes stayed locked on mine. “Lost,” he said quietly. “Empty. It’s fucking hard.” My hand froze mid-stir. My heart clenched at the honesty in his tone. “Roman, I didn’t mean to—” “Don’t apologize. Please,” he cut in softly, his gaze falling to the counter. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I wasn’t honest with you. I wasn’t man enough to tell you everything.” I swallowed hard, feeling the air thicken. Fear prickled in my stomach. Discussions about his past only ended up drifting us further apart. “Roman, please,” I whispered. “Let’s not talk about any of that—” “I used to be married.” The words hit like a slap.For a heartbeat, I couldn’t even move. The pan in my hand slipped, clattering onto the stove with a loud metallic clang. I barely noticed the sting of the hot handle against my palm. “What?” My voice came out cracked and uneven. “You… you were married?” He nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Yes.” I stood there, frozen, feeling the world tilting beneath me. I didn’t know what to feel—shock, betrayal, disbelief. A part of me wanted to laugh it off, pretend I misheard. But I hadn’t. His silence was too real, too heavy. “To who?” I asked, my throat tight. He hesitated, then finally said, “Penny’s sister.” The air left my lungs. “Her… sister?” He nodded again. “Yes.” My chest tightened so hard I had to grip the counter behind me just to stay upright. Penny used to be his sister-in-law? That explains the bond. “What was her name?” I asked quietly, my voice shaking. “Dahlia.” His tone softened. “Her name was Dahlia. She was Penelope’s twin.” Twin.I blinked, trying to process. Twin. Not just sisters. Identical. The same face. The same voice. Same person, just split in two. Oh my God. No wonder he’d looked at Penny that way and spoke to her that way—not with desire, but with something familiar. Remembrance. Familiarity. “How—how did I not know?” I breathed out. “All this time, Roman? You let me meet her, talk to her, fight with her—and you said nothing?” He lifted his gaze, his eyes full of quiet pain. “It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. I was scared of losing you.” My hands trembled. “You think that’s fair? You think I wouldn’t have understood?” He closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not about fairness. It’s about pain. About fear.” I opened my mouth, then closed it again. My heart was pounding so loudly it hurt to hear it. “Where is she now?” I asked finally, the question trembling out before I could stop it. “Your ex-wife. Dahlia.” He went still. Completely still. Then, softly, “She’s dead.” Everything stopped. Even the air around us.“She died in a car crash,” he continued, his voice breaking around the words. “We had an argument the previous night. It got bad. She was six months pregnant and staff said she started bleeding at home. She called me, but I was in a meeting and I didn’t answer. She… she was terrified of driving. Always was. Never drove for a day. But she got in the car anyway to drive herself to the hospital.” His voice wavered, eyes glistening. “She never made it.” My heart shattered quietly in my chest. “She lost control halfway there,” he whispered. “The car flipped. They said nobody could have survived that. But the baby in her womb did. She miraculously survived for a few days then…” He trailed off, his hand pressing against his mouth, his eyes closing as though even speaking her name was punishment. Tears burned my eyes, spilling down before I could stop them. I took a step forward instinctively, wanting to hold him, to comfort him—but something in his posture told me not to. The distance between us wasn’t just physical. It was a chasm carved out of grief and guilt, years deep. And now I understood why he flinched every time I mentioned his past. Why he avoided certain topics. Why he pulled away when things got too much, too close to where it hurt. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me enough. It was that he’d already buried love once—and it nearly buried him too. I covered my mouth, shaking. “Roman…” He opened his eyes and looked at me, and for the first time in days, I saw him—not the cold, distant man who’d shut me out, but the broken soul behind the walls. “I loved her,” he said quietly. “And I killed her.” “Don’t say that.” “It’s the truth. I've never admitted it to myself.” His voice cracked. “If I had just answered the damn phone, she wouldn’t have gotten into that car. She wouldn’t have died. Her baby would have lived.” My tears came harder. I shook my head, unable to stand the pain in his words. “You didn’t kill her, Roman. You made a mistake. You were human. You were busy. You—” He shook his head. “No. You don't understand.” “You're wrong. I do understand. I understand that your wife and your child—” “She was not my child.” His voice was heavy. “She was Reese’s baby. Not mine.” I had to remind myself to breathe after that statement knocked the oxygen out of my lungs. “What?” “My wife was having an affair with my brother.” He admitted. “She told me she was pregnant and I did the maths. It didn't add up. I was on a work trip then and I knew she was lying. When I finally checked her phone, I saw texts exchanged between her and Reese. When she told him she was pregnant, he asked her if it was his.” He inhaled deeply, as if saying this was robbing him of oxygen. “And what did she say?” I asked gently, careful not to scare him away now that he's finally being honest. “She said yes. And told him she was scared of what ‘he'd do if he found out’.” He chuckled, the type that clearly had nothing to do with amusement. “I've never told Penny or anyone else this, but in those texts, my wife and my brother plotted to take me out if I found out the truth.” I gasped. And suddenly it all came back to me. The general's words that day he was here. “I ordered you to make sure your brother's wife stays put, Zachary. Not bed her. Again.” It finally made sense now. They weren't talking about me. They were talking about Dahlia…