Chapter 486
Chapter 486
Chapter 276: 1 Hate It Here
Savannah
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I already expected Roman to be irritable and fussy,
That part didn’t scare me. I’d prepared myself for it long before he even woke up. I’d prepared myself for it the same way you brace yourself before stepping into cold water–knowing the shock was coming, yet telling yourself you could handle it.
Roman Blackwood was not a man built for patience, for restraint, or for being told what he could and could not do. He gave orders. He dominated conversations. He bent people and systems to his will simply by existing in them.
He was used to commanding rooms, not being confined to one. Used to people moving at his pace, not the other way around,
Now, suddenly, the world was telling him no.
No sudden movements.
No stress.
No anger.
No control.
Roman Blackwood wasn’t built for any of that.
And the way his jaw tightened every time a doctor spoke told me exactly how well that was going.
He grumbled the entire way from the medical wing to the bedroom, muttering curses under his breath like a storm cloud barely holding itself
together. His irritation had started earlier–the exact moment the doctor suggested transporting him in a wheelchair.
The word ‘wheelchair‘ hadn’t even fully left the man’s mouth before Roman lost his mind.
He’d snapped. No–he’d exploded. And it was ugly, loud and unfiltered.
He’d lost his temper completely, his voice echoing down the halls as he tore into the doctor with a fury that made every nurse freeze in place. Reese and I had rushed in immediately, apologizing profusely, but the doctor had only sighed and waved us off.
“ Perfectly normal, ” he’d said calmly. “ Post – coma agitation, Mood Instability.gression p>
Normal.
Nothing about Roman Blackwood not having control felt normal to me.
1 knew he could be sharp when frustrated. I’d seen him tear into staff at work, watched executives shrink under his gaze. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t impatience.
This was fear dressed up as rage.
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14:45 Fri, Feb 6 BBQ
Chapter 486
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After the outburst, Roman had refused the wheelchair outright. Absolutely refused. No compromise. No discussion. Either he walked on his own, or he didn’t move at all.
And so he walked. Slowly.
Through the long halls of the manor, past rooms that felt heavy with history and secrets I still didn’t fully understand. Through endless corridors, down the stairs, across to the other wing–the other side of the manor to where his bedroom was.
What struck me most was that he didn’t hesitate once.
Despite waking from a coma. Despite the pain. Despite the weakness he clearly hated acknowledging–Roman knew exactly where he was going. His steps were measured, controlled, almost eerily familiar, as if his body remembered the path even when his mind had been somewhere else entirely.
Finally, he stopped in front of a tall, ornate door and without looking back at me, he twisted the handle and pushed it open. I stepped inside
first.
Roman stayed behind. He looked like someone standing at the edge of a memory they weren’t ready to relive.
The room was massive and intimidating in the way only Roman’s spaces ever were. Deep red walls accented with gold detailing. Heavy
furniture carved with intricate designs. And a large bed positioned perfectly at the center of the room, dominating the space. The windows
were shut. The curtains drawn tight.
The air felt… sealed. Like a tomb. As if Count Dracula himself had resided here.
“God,” Roman muttered behind me, his voice low. “I hate it here. ”
I turned.
He stood just inside the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t even really looking at the room as a whole. His gaze jumped from place to place–the walls, the ceiling, the bed–never lingering too long, like he didn’t trust what he might remember if he did.
It struck me then that this wasn’t just a room. It was a graveyard of memories for him. Bitter memories.
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