Chapter Fourteen Dylan
Ethan looks like he’s about to commit murder.
And I’m the only man in the room worth killing.
He shoulders past me into the penthouse suite like he owns it—storming straight toward Sunny, who’s still sitting on the bed, cheeks flushed, hair wild, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Sunny,” he says—raw, choking on her name. “Are you okay?”
She nods—but her voice betrays her. “I’m fine.”
Fine. A word she only ever uses when she’s breaking.
Ethan turns toward me. His eyes cut like glass. “Get. Out.”
Sunny jerks upright. “Ethan—no—”
I don’t move. I don’t flinch. I meet him stare for stare.
“Not happening,” I say.
His jaw ticks. “You think I won’t take you down right here? You think I won’t drag her out of this place and get her as far away from you as possible?”
I step closer—slow, controlled—so he knows I am not afraid.
“You don’t even know what happened tonight,” I say.
“No?” His laugh is cold. “Because from where I’m standing, I see my vulnerable sister. On a hotel bed. With a man who swore he’d never touch her.”
Sunny stands, voice trembling. “Ethan—stop—he didn’t—”
He cuts her off. “He almost did. And that’s enough.”
Sunny goes silent. Her shoulders fall like he just took her voice away.
Ethan doesn't see it. But I do.
And I hate him for it.
“You don’t get to decide her choices for her,” I say.
“It’s my job to protect her.”
“No.” My voice sharpens. “It’s your job to support her. Protection is what happens when someone chooses you to stand beside them.”
He freezes.
Because he knows—right now—he is not the one she chose.
Ethan’s voice wavers—not angry now. Afraid.
“She was supposed to call me,” he says, quieter. “She was supposed to tell me she was okay. That she made it out. That she was healing—”
Sunny inhales sharply.
“I wanted to,” she whispers. “But I didn’t know how.”
The confession guts the room.
Ethan looks at her—really looks—and sees the pieces he didn’t notice before. The shadows under her eyes. The way her hands tremble. The leftover fear.
His anger deflates. It turns to shame.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice cracking.
She folds her arms around herself. “Because I thought… you’d say I deserved it.”
Ethan staggers back like she struck him. “Sunny—no—never—”
She looks down. And I see it—she believes it. Somewhere deep, she still believes she deserved the pain she lived through.
And I want to burn every man who ever made her feel that way.
Ethan drags a hand through his hair. “Fine. You didn’t call me. But you should’ve called someone. Not—him.”
I step forward. “Say it again.”
He lifts his chin. “You’re the absolute last person she should be near.”
“Yet she’s here,” I say. “With me.”
Sunny watches us, caught between past and present, love and fear, brother and… something else.
Ethan lowers his voice. “You once told me commitment is a prison. And now I’m supposed to believe you married my sister to protect her?”
Sunny flinches. Ethan doesn’t see.
I do.
“Yes,” I answer.
Ethan’s fists clench. “Then prove it.”
He points to Sunny. To the woman we are destroying between us.
“If you actually care about her—just her—and not your ego, or your image, or your empire, then let her decide.”
Silence. Raw. Surgical.
Sunny swallows. “Decide… what?”
“Whether she wants to stay,” Ethan says. “Or come home.”
My heart punches against bone.
I don’t speak. I don’t touch her. I just watch.
Because this is her choice. Her story. Her voice.
Sunny steps toward the window—hands shaking, staring down at a Vegas that glitters like a thousand open jaws.
“I don’t know who I am without running,” she whispers. “I’ve been running for so long I don’t know how to stop.”
Her eyes lift—first to Ethan. Then to me.
And then she says:
“I’m not going with you.”
Time stops.
Ethan exhales—relief and victory tangled.
But Sunny isn’t finished.
“I’m not going with you,” she repeats. “Because I’m staying here.”
With me. Without saying my name. She chooses.
Ethan turns slowly—horror dawning. “Sunny…”
She shakes her head. “I’m tired of men deciding my life. I need to learn to choose myself. And right now… being here helps me breathe.”
Shock. Fear. Resolve.
Ethan looks at me—hatred trembling with heartbreak.
“I swear to God,” he says, voice deadly quiet, “if you hurt her—there isn’t a corner of this earth you can hide from me.”
“I know,” I answer.
Because I believe him.
Ethan steps toward the door—then pauses.
“One more thing,” he says, turning back.
His jaw works, like the words taste bitter.
“Mom knows,” he says.
My stomach drops.
“She knows Sunny’s missing. She knows she’s not with me. And if she finds out she’s with you—”He shakes his head. “There will be a storm you can’t control.”
The door slams. Silence swallows us whole.