Chapter Fifteen Dylan
The first lie I ever learned was that control keeps you safe.
If that were true, I wouldn’t feel this… unsteady. Like one touch from Sunny could crack me open.
After Ethan left, after her laughter in the rain, after the almost-kiss that nearly broke my restraint—I knew what needed to happen.
Distance.
For her sake. For mine. For the empire that can’t survive if I’m consumed by a woman who already owns pieces of me I never meant to give.
So I leave early. Before she wakes.
My phone buzzes nonstop—Connor, attorneys, board members. Marcus Blake is circling like the vulture he’s always been. He wants blood. And Sunny… she is the wound that looks weakest.
I slam into the glass door of the conference room. Connor is waiting—brow raised.
“You look like hell,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” he counters. “And before you say you don’t lie—yes, you do. You lie to yourself constantly.”
I don’t have time for this. “Where are the projections?”
Connor blocks me. Actually blocks me—with his body.
“Did you sleep?” he asks.
“No.”
“Did you talk to her about what you’re feeling?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her you’re planning to choose her—”
“Enough,” I snap—voice low, lethal. “She doesn’t need my chaos. She needs space.”
He watches me for too long. Then—softly: “Or maybe she needs you not to disappear every time she gets close.”
I look away. Because if I don’t, I’ll punch him. And he’ll deserve it.
Marcus Blake sits across the table like a man who rehearsed this moment in the mirror.
“Knight,” he smirks. “How’s the fiancée?”
I don’t react. Predators only bite when a vein shows.
He keeps going. “Messy situation you’ve created. Rumors. Headlines. Naked photos. Teachers don’t make good billionaires’ wives. Bad optics.”
Connor places a file between us. “Stick to business, Marcus.”
Marcus smiles at me. “Tell me, Dylan. Do you lose sleep wondering what she sees in you? Or do you just assume she’ll stay because you gave her a bed?”
My pulse spikes. I say nothing. Because silence is more dangerous.
He leans back. “Vote is scheduled. One month. You’ll be out—unless you make better choices about who you let into your life.”
There it is. The threat. The line.
My choices. My life. Sunny—caught in the crossfire.
I stand. “Meeting’s over.”
Connor follows, but Marcus calls after me—
“Careful, Knight. Empires are hard to build. Easier to burn.”
Avoidance Is a Slow Violence
I don’t return to the penthouse until late.
I tell myself it’s strategy. But the truth is simpler: I’m afraid of how I’ll look at her. Of what I might say. Of what I can’t undo.
She’s curled up on the couch, cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, sleepy eyes lifting when I step in.
“You weren’t here,” she whispers.
“I was working.”
She nods, but I see it—the flicker of disappointment, the one I caused.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I want to say yes. I want to tell her everything. I want to fall.
Instead—“I’m fine.”
Distance. A blade pressed between us.
She tucks her knees up to her chest. Looks out the window.
“You don’t have to protect me by disappearing,” she murmurs.
That one sentence almost breaks me.
Almost.
I force my voice steady. “Go get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another public appearance.”
Her lashes lower. She nods. But she doesn’t look at me again.
It happens just as she walks down the hall.
My phone buzzes.
Headline Alert: Dylan Knight: Mystery Woman in Red – Night Out Without Fiancée
A photo fills the screen.
Me. Leaving the restaurant hours ago. A woman—blonde—leaning toward me. Her hand on my arm. Angle chosen to kill.
Sunny stops when she sees my expression.
“What is it?” she asks.
I don’t answer fast enough.
So she walks toward me—slow—reaches for the phone—and reads it over my shoulder.
Her breath leaves her body.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… gone.
“Oh,” she whispers. Soft. Quiet.Destroyed.
“Sunny—”
She steps back—hands shaking.
“Right,” she says, voice barely audible. “For the cameras. For the plan.”
Her eyes shine—and this time, she doesn’t hide it.
Then she walks away.
And I just stand there—holding the phone—realizing the thing I feared most came true.
She believes she is disposable.
Because I let her think it.
Door clicks shut. Not loud. But final.
And I have never been more alone.