Chapter Sixteen Sunny
I don’t remember grabbing my shoes. Or my purse. Or the card key from the table.
I only remember the feeling.
Like someone cracked open my ribs, scooped out everything soft, and left hollow space where my chest used to be.
I slip out of the penthouse quietly—no slammed doors, no dramatic exit. That’s never been my style.
My style is vanishing.
I press the elevator button with shaking hands and stare at the mirrored walls. I barely recognize the woman looking back. Her eyes are red. Mascara smudged. Chin trembling.
Disposable.
That’s what my reflection whispers.
Disposable girl. Disposable fiancée. Disposable story.
I try to swallow the burn in my throat, but it doesn’t go away.
He told me distance would protect me. He told me I was safe.
But when I saw that headline—
DYLAN KNIGHT: NIGHT OUT WITH MYSTERY WOMAN
and her hand on his arm…the floor fell out from under me.
Because I suddenly understood something terrible:
You can hold someone like they’re oxygen at night—and still be the air they release in the morning.
Cold air hits me like a slap when I step onto the street. Vegas glitter felt unreal—New York feels like pain.
I wrap my arms around myself and walk. Fast.
Past the marble lobby. Past the car waiting for Dylan that I refuse to acknowledge. Past security guards who try to ask, Miss Emerson, should someone accompany you?
I shake my head and keep going.
The world is too loud. Taxi horns, laughter, conversations, clinking glasses.
I feel invisible in the middle of it.
Which should feel safe.
It doesn’t.
I head toward the riverfront walkway—where city lights hit the water and make it look like magic. I wanted magic so badly once.
I sit on a bench, knees pulled to my chest. I clench the ring on my finger—not real, not earned, not mine—and I ask myself the question I’ve been afraid of:
What if I am only ever wanted for what I can give? Sensitivity. Warmth. Compliance.
And when I need something for me—when I need to be held instead of holding—there is no one left.
A sob rises in my throat before I can swallow it.
I bury my face in my hands and cry for all of it.
Trevor’s cruelty. Myself—for staying. Myself—for leaving. Dylan—because I wanted him to pick me for no reason other than love.
“Sunny?”
My body goes rigid.
That voice—I could pick it out of a hundred.
Slowly—like I might turn to stone if I move too fast—I lift my head.
Trevor stands ten feet away.
Dark hoodie. Hands in pockets. Casual. Like running into him is an accident. Like this isn’t the nightmare I’ve been fleeing.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You look… tired.”
My throat closes. I stand immediately—heart pounding.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
He smiles. It used to look charming. Now it looks like a wolf lifting its lips before it bites.
“You disappeared,” he says. “Just vanished. I was worried.”
“You weren’t worried,” I say. “You were angry.”
His eyes flicker. I hit a nerve. Good.
“You left me alone,” he continues. “After everything I did for you—”
“What you did to me,” I whisper.
He steps closer. I step back.
“Don’t rewrite history, princess.” His voice drops. “You were impossible to love.”
I flinch.
Not because I believe him—but because once, I did.
And he always knew where to aim.
“I’m leaving.” My voice is shaking, but it exists. That matters.
I shoulder past him.
One step. Two.
His hand closes around my arm.
Hard.
Pain shoots up to my shoulder. My pulse slams against my ribs.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he hisses.
I try to yank free—but he tightens his grip.
“You think you can run to someone richer,” he spits. “Someone bigger. Someone who isn’t going to see what you really are—”
I choke on a breath. “Let go.”
His fingers dig in deeper.
“I said—let—go—”
He leans in, breath sour against my cheek.
“No,” he says. “You come when I call.”
Then—
A shadow falls over us.
Large. Silent. Deadly.
A voice like winter cuts the air behind him:
“Take your hand off her.”