Dennis's POV
Savannah loves me.
My pulse stuttered when I caught sight of that familiar figure. Even without her signature lavender perfume, my hands trembled uncontrollably. Could it really be Savannah?
Reality hit hard when she spun around. A wig, obviously. The woman before me was nothing more than a cheap imitation of Savannah, bearing some resemblance but lacking every ounce of my wife's natural beauty.
She moved closer. I tensed. Savannah hadn't been my type initially. It was her fierce spirit that ensnared me so completely I couldn't break free. I kept sinking deeper, like drowning in saltwater where each gulp only intensified my desperate thirst.
So this pathetic lookalike only annoyed me. Her body stirred nothing in me.
Had I become permanently broken? I wasn't exactly celibate before Savannah, far from it. So why couldn't I stop thinking about the woman who destroyed me on live television?
"Who the hell are you?"
