Chapter Twenty-Seven Dylan
People think power vanishes in one dramatic moment.
But I can pinpoint the exact second mine died:
When the final hand raised in that conference room—and Connor didn’t look at me.
He couldn’t. He acted for the company. For shareholders. For survival.
Marcus Blake sits at the head of the table—my chair—and smiles like a king born in victory rather than theft.
“Knight Capital will move forward,” he says, “without Dylan Knight.”
My name—my legacy—spoken like an inconvenience.
The gavel hits wood.
And just like that—
It’s gone.
Security doesn’t drag me out.
They don’t have to.
I walk out myself.
Past suits that used to nod in respect now looking at me like a fallen myth.
Outside, New York keeps moving, traffic howling, horns blaring, lights flashing, indifferent.
I breathe.
It feels like swallowing broken glass.
My phone buzzes.
Not a headline. Not a threat. Not a shareholder.
Jenna: Sunny hasn’t answered me in an hour. Her ex was seen near the school. Where are you?
Cold slices through me.
Last night she said she needed space.
I gave it.
And now the space might kill her.
I don’t think. I run.
I shove through crowds. Traffic lights mean nothing. Cars screech. Someone yells. The world blurs.
All I can see is her—hands shaking eyes wide surrounded by cameras saying I’m still in love with someone I may have to walk away from.
She isn’t walking away.
Not from me. Not today.
The lot is empty now.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Then—
A muffled cry.
A scuffle.
I follow the sound to the alley behind the playground—shadows swallowing everything except two silhouettes.
Trevor.
And Sunny—backed against the fence his hand gripping her arm, eyes squeezed shut.
My pulse detonates.
I don’t remember closing the distance. I don’t remember the first hit.
I only remember his body hitting pavement my fist hitting bone and fury hitting bloodstream like fire.
“You think you own her? "My voice is unrecognizable—feral. Deadly. "All you’ve ever owned is fear.”
He coughs, spitting blood, laughing weakly.
“And now you own nothing.”
His words hit like a bullet—because ten minutes ago they became true.
“Dylan—”
Soft. Fragile. Pleading.
Like she’s begging me not to cross a line I can’t come back from.
I freeze.
My fist hovers above Trevor’s face—bone ready to break pain, ready to spill.
And I stop.
For her. Only her.
I stand—breathing hard.
Hands shaking.
Heart burning.
Sunny steps toward me—touch barely there—but enough to pull me out of the dark.
“I’m okay,” she whispers.
And I believe her more than the silence that surrounds us.
Police sirens slice through the night—fast, violent, absolute.
Someone called them.
Someone watched.
Someone waited for the perfect moment when I would lose everything then lose more.
Officers barrel into the alley—guns drawn at my chest.
“Hands where we can see them!”
Sunny gasps. “No—please—he was helping—!”
It doesn’t matter.
Blood on my knuckles. Trevor groaning on concrete. Powerless billionaire on his knees.
I lift my hands.
Cold metal closes around my wrists.
And for the first time in my life—I understand what it means to be unable to protect her.
As they drag me past her—
She reaches out, fingers shaking, voice breaking, whispering the one word I never thought I’d hear:
“Don’t go.”
But I already am.