Chapter Twenty-Five Dylan
The sound of the drawer closing is what wakes me.
Soft. Careful. Like someone trying not to be caught.
Sunny stands across the room, cardigan pulled tight around her shoulders like armor. Her back is to me—still as glass. And I know instantly:
She found the ring.
Slowly, she turns.
Tears cling to her lashes. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Her silence is a question.
When?
Why?
“How long?” she finally whispers.
I sit up, sheets falling to my waist. “Before Vegas.”
Her breath catches like someone cut the air from the room.
Before the fake-marriage charade. Before the headlines. Before she stumbled into my penthouse in the rain.
Before everything she thinks makes us inevitable.
“I bought it,” I say, “the night I saw you at Ethan’s graduation party. You wore a black dress. You laughed—at a joke no one else heard. And I—”
I swallow.
Because this is the bone-deep truth I have never spoken aloud.
“I knew then that if I ever married, it would be you.”
She stares at me—eyes wide, raw disbelief carved into them.
“But you never said anything,” she whispers.
“I couldn’t.” I rake a hand through my hair. “You were Ethan’s sister. You were younger. You were untouchable. And I was—”
A weapon. A reputation. A name she shouldn’t bleed for.
“I spent ten years convincing myself wanting you would ruin your life,” I say quietly. “And now…”
I look at her hands—clenched, trembling.
“And maybe I was right.”
She slowly sits on the edge of the bed—between distance and collapse.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks.
Because you were light. Because I was dark. Because I didn’t want my shadows on your skin.
Instead I say, “Because you deserved a choice that wasn’t already rigged by fate.”
Her eyes soften. Then harden.
“That sounds beautiful in theory,” she says. “But right now it just feels like decisions were made about my life without me.”
The knife lands exactly where it should.
“It wasn’t meant to take away your power,” I say. “It was my way of holding myself back.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do with this. With you. With all of it.”
Her voice is paper-thin.
“I need to breathe,” she whispers. “I need to think without feeling like the world is watching me choose.”
I nod.
Because I won’t cage her. Not when I love her.
“You can go,” I say. The words tear on exit.
Her head snaps up—shock flashing across her face.
“I don’t mean forever,” I add quickly. “I mean right now. If you need space—have it. If you need time—take it. I’ll wait.”
Three small words. Too small for how big they feel.
“I’ll wait.”
Her throat works around a sob she refuses to let out.
She stands. Walks toward the door. Pauses—hand on the frame.
“Don’t follow me,” she whispers. “Please.”
And then she’s gone.
The door shuts.
And I let it.
Because love is not a cage.
Even when every instinct in me is to lock the world out and hold her until she forgets how to hurt.
I don’t chase her. I give her minutes. Enough time to get to the lobby. To step out—
That’s when I hear it.
Screaming.
Not fear—press.
I run to the window.
A swarm of cameras encircle her—microphones shoved inches from her face flashes blinding her reporters howling like wolves around prey.
“Sunny, is the billionaire dumping you now?”
“Did you trap him with the fake marriage?”
“Is your suspension because of sexual misconduct with parents?”
She folds—shoulders rounding—hands lifted like she might shield her head.
Like the world itself is striking her.
A punch of ice slams through my bloodstream.