Chapter 88 Tell Them, Sav “You’re General Reginald Blackwood?” I repeated like a halfwit, the words tumbling out of me like I’d forgotten how to function. I must’ve looked like an idiot—eyes wide, lips parted, gawking at him. The man across from me inclined his head with the kind of firmness only a man who’d commanded thousands could muster. “I am,” he said smoothly. “So you do recognize me after all.” I nodded, my throat working but no words following. I was too stunned, too petrified, too caught off guard by the sheer weight of his presence. It was like every story I’d ever heard about powerful men had materialized and was now standing in front of me. When I finally managed to move, I gestured stiffly toward the living area. “Please… sit. Make yourself comfortable.” His cane was handed back to him by the young woman at his side. He gripped it with a steady hand, the way a soldier holds a weapon, and moved forward with a faint limp. So slight it could vanish if you weren’t watching closely. But I was watching. My eyes couldn’t leave him. The woman—no, girl—smirked as she strutted past me. Every motion of hers was feline, seductive and cocky. Behind them, the men followed. The room felt instantly smaller, and filled by their presence. I swallowed hard. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Champagne?” Reginald flicked his hand as though dismissing an entire country. “No need. Sit.” I obeyed without hesitation. My body didn’t even consult my mind. I just lowered into the couch like a soldier following orders. Once he’d taken his seat, he gestured to the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Cassandra.” The air lodged in my chest. “Your… wife?” It slipped out before I could stop myself. Not your daughter? I was tempted to ask him. Maybe he made a mistake… right? Must have been a slip of the tongue. She smiled, sharp and satisfied, as if she’d been waiting for my shock. My brain scrambled to catch up. I had assumed she was his daughter, or an assistant, or maybe some kind of publicist. Anything but this. Wife. My jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked far too young, her skin far too luminous, her movements far too seductive. She was no fragile bride clinging to an older man’s wealth. She was sleek and deliberate. Just like a viper. Not that Reginald looked ancient. No. He was fit, broad shouldered, his hair slowly turning silver by age. But that was it. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve placed him at barely forty. But still, the woman seated beside him was quite younger than Roman. That made her being Roman’s stepmother oddly uncomfortable to picture. My thoughts whirled. Roman had a stepmother who could pass as his peer. The way he’d said her name yesterday… the loathing that laced it… now it all made sense. He hated her. And judging by the smug curl of her lips, I'm sensing the feeling was mutual. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but bile climbed my throat instead. “Sorry,” I muttered quickly, realizing my silence had stretched too long. I straightened, pulling my scattered thoughts together. “I’m Savannah.” I extended my hand slightly, though I didn’t know why. She didn’t take it. Her eyes dragged down me with a mocking slowness before she spoke. “Well, I’ll be damned. I would’ve staked my entire fortune that Roman would never stray from his obsession with blondes.” Her lips curved. “So you’re the exception? Roman’s little rebellion against his own type? How quaint.” The audacity of this arrogant bitch. Heat surged through me. My hands curled into fists against my thighs. Why did everyone feel the need to remind me that Roman had a type? That I wasn’t it? Couldn’t a man change his taste? “I see no issue with that,” I said flatly, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “We like things in the present. Then in the future, we won't like them anymore. Happens all the time, Cassandra.” I took note of the fact that her own hair wasn't even blonde. It was jet black. Not even blonde, yet she still dares to speak. She must have noticed me looking at her hair because her smile deepened, almost taunting. She touched the glossy strands framing her face. “It’s a wig, darling. I’m naturally blonde.” Then she winked. The implication hit me like a slap. My stomach turned violently, crawling with disgust. Was she? Was Roman? Ew. The sharp strike of Reginald’s cane against the polished floor cut through the air, silencing everything. His presence shifted the atmosphere instantly.“I trust my invitation was received?” His eyes locked on me. “Yes… sir,” I managed. “And I expect to see you at Blackwood Manor, then?” My mouth opened. Closed. What could I possibly say? Agree without Roman’s knowledge? Refuse and risk insulting the general himself? The weight of the choice pressed down on me until my chest ached. If I said yes, Roman would be furious. If I said no, I’d risk disrespecting a man who could crush me with a glance. “I—” “Is this hesitation a common occurrence?” Reginald’s brows drew together faintly. “I fear it is something worth addressing.” My lips parted again. “Sorry, I was just—” “She will not be attending.” We all turned. Roman. Roman stood at the doorway, a bag held tightly in one hand, his eyes locked on his father with pure venom. And hate. Relief tore through me so suddenly I nearly sagged against the couch. “Roman…” I whispered. Reginald’s gaze hardened, though his expression remained unnervingly calm. “Roman, I believe the young lady can speak for herself.” He rose, Cassandra with him, their movements synchronized. Her eyes raked openly over Roman’s body, lingering far too long. Far too long for me to itch with the intense desire to smack her across the face. Roman stepped forward, his presence filling the space, commanding in a way that rivaled even his father’s. He stopped just before me, positioning himself directly between Reginald and me, his shoulders squared, his body a shield. I couldn't see his father anymore. Just his back. “And I believe I’ve already made her decision known.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Reginald’s cane clicked once against the floor. “Are you challenging me, Roman?” His voice carried the weight of command, the kind that had once ruled an army. Roman’s spine snapped straighter, his jaw tight. “You know damn well I am.” His voice—low, hard, dangerous—was one I’d never heard before. It sent a shiver crawling down my spine. Finally, Reese’s voice broke the standoff. “Why don’t we let her decide?” He leaned back casually, but his eyes glinted with the earlier mischief. “Straight from the horse’s mouth.” The room turned. Every gaze—sharp, expectant, venomous—landed on me. Every single one of them. I swallowed, my throat dry. Roman shifted, his expression unreadable as he stepped aside just enough to let me face them all. He folded his arms, his stance commanding but his eyes burning into me. “Tell them, Sav,” he said quietly, firmly. “Tell them you wouldn’t wish to attend.” The air thickened, suffocating me. My skin prickled beneath the weight of so many stares. The General. Cassandra. Reese. The nameless men who flanked the room like guards. Roman. My pulse hammered so hard I thought it would betray me aloud. If I lied, if I said I didn’t want to attend, I’d be siding with Roman, but I’d offend the General. If I told the truth, that I wanted to see the infamous Blackwood Manor, then I’d be throwing Roman to the wolves, betraying him in front of his obvious greatest enemy. Either way, someone would hate me. Someone powerful. Someone dangerous. My lips parted, but no words came. My heart pounded. My tongue felt heavy. I looked at Reginald. His gaze was unyielding, daring me to defy him. I looked at Cassandra. She was smiling faintly, already anticipating my downfall, enjoying the trap I’d been placed in. Then I looked at Roman. His eyes blazed, not with anger at me, but with desperation—no, warning. He wasn’t just asking me to refuse. He was begging me. The walls seemed to close in, the silence roaring in my ears louder than any sound. I wanted to speak. I wanted to choose. But all I could think was this… Whichever truth I spoke tonight… might very well destroy me.