12. Dylan
— ? —
Dylan
I’ve been standing in this lobby for two hours.
The receptionist has offered me coffee three times, water twice, and a concerned suggestion that perhaps I should sit down because I’m making the interns nervous.
I declined everything except the chair, which I’m now perched on like a man waiting for a verdict that will determine the rest of his life.
Which, essentially, I am.
The bouquet in my hands is starting to wilt slightly, the white peonies drooping at the edges despite my best efforts to keep them fresh.
I bought them at five this morning from the only florist in Los Angeles who opens before dawn, and I’ve been clutching them ever since, terrified that if I set them down, I’ll lose my nerve entirely.
White peonies. Her favorite. She mentioned it once, years ago, in passing, and I filed it away in the part of my brain that used to pay attention to the small details of her life. That part has been working overtime lately, dredging up memories I should have cherished when I had the chance.
The elevator dings, and my heart stops.
But it’s just a delivery person, wheeling a cart of supplies toward the back offices. I slump in my chair and try to remember how to breathe.
She might not even come in today. Or she might use a different entrance, see me, and call security.
The doubts have been circling since I arrived, vultures waiting for my hope to die so they can pick at the remains.
I ignore them the same way I’ve been ignoring everything else that isn’t Selene.
The studio calls. The interview requests.
The entire industry that’s been trying to lure me back into the spotlight I no longer care about.
None of it matters.
Only she matters.
The elevator dings again, and this time, the doors open to reveal the only person I want to see.
Selene steps into the lobby like she owns it. She probably does.
She’s wearing a cream-colored blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that emphasizes the sharp lines of her jaw. She looks professional. Polished. Completely in command of her environment.
She looks like the woman I fell in love with, back before I convinced her to dim her light so mine could shine brighter.
Her eyes sweep the lobby with the casual confidence of someone who’s comfortable in her space. Her steps falter almost imperceptibly the exact moment she spots me. Surprise flickers across her face. Or irritation. Maybe both.
For a heartbeat, I think she’s going to pretend she didn’t see me.
I can’t let that happen.
“Selene.”
Her name echoes across the lobby, drawing the attention of every person within earshot. The receptionist’s head snaps up. Two interns freeze mid-conversation. A man in a suit pauses his phone call to stare.
Selene’s jaw tightens, but she’s too poised to make a scene. She changes course smoothly, walking toward me with the measured stride of someone approaching a problem they didn’t ask for but intend to handle efficiently.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Riego?”
The formal address stings, but I refuse to let it deter me. I rise from my chair, the bouquet clutched in my hands like a shield against my own nerves as I meet her gaze directly.
“I’m here to talk to my wife.”
Selene laughs, and the sound is sharp enough to cut glass. She rolls her eyes with a theatrical exasperation that would be funny if my entire future didn’t hinge on this conversation.
“Apparently, you’ve got no wife to visit here.” She gestures around the lobby with a sweep of her hand. “This is my office, Dylan. My company. My space. Whatever delusions you’re operating under, I suggest you leave them at the door.”
A pang of pain shoots through my chest, but I shake my head and step closer. The people around us are openly staring now, their conversations abandoned in favor of the drama unfolding in their midst.
“Selene.” I close the distance between us until I’m near enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Warm jasmine and amber. The fragrance I’ve been chasing in every room of our empty mansion. “Please. Just give me five minutes.”
“I gave you seven years.” Her voice is level, but there’s tension locking her shoulders, the way her fingers are curled into fists at her sides. “I think I’ve been generous enough.”
“You have.” I nod, accepting the truth of her words. “You’ve been more than generous. And I’ve been blind and stupid. I’m not here to make excuses for any of it.”
She opens her mouth, probably to dismiss me again, but I don’t give her the chance. I lean in close, close enough that my lips nearly brush the shell of her ear, and I feel her sharp intake of breath at the proximity.
“I was blind, arrogant, and stupid, Selene. I admit it.” I keep my voice low, intimate, meant only for her. “I took you for granted. I let someone else occupy spaces that belonged to you. I was so focused on my own success that I forgot you were the reason I wanted to succeed in the first place.”
I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing the soft skin of her temple. She shivers at the contact, and the small reaction sends hope blazing through my chest.
“But I want you back, wife.” The word feels sacred on my tongue, a prayer I’m not sure I deserve to utter. “I will do whatever it takes for that to happen.”
Selene pulls back. She struggles to compose herself. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing slightly uneven, her eyes darting around the lobby like she’s remembering where she is and who’s watching.
“Dylan, this isn’t the time or place-”
I catch her hands before she can retreat further, carefully cradling them in mine. Her pulse hammers against my thumb, rapid and strong, betraying the calm facade she’s trying to maintain.
“I know you’ve built your own life here.” I hold her gaze, willing her to see the sincerity in mine. “I know you’ve created this from scratch and it’s entirely yours. I’m not here to take any of that away from you. I’m not here to drag you back into the life you escaped.”
“Then why are you here?”
The question is barely above a whisper, and I can hear the vulnerability underneath the steel. She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe. The woman I married is still in there, behind the walls she’s built to protect herself from further hurt.
I lift her hands, bringing them to my lips, and press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Her breath catches audibly.
“I’m here to earn the right to love you again.
” I look up at her through my lashes, letting her see everything - the desperation, the hope, the bone-deep regret that’s been my constant companion for a year.
“I fired Claudette a few days after you left. I stepped back from production. I’ve spent the past months realizing that every award, every accolade, every success I’ve ever achieved means absolutely nothing without you. ”
Selene’s eyes are shimmering now, though she blinks rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. “Pretty words, Dylan. You’ve always been good at those.”
“I know.” I accept the accusation without flinching. “And I know words aren’t enough. That’s why I’m asking for a chance to show you instead. Let me prove that I’ve changed. Let me demonstrate that I understand what I did wrong. Let me earn back your trust, one day at a time.”
“And if I say no?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. I take a deep breath and give her the only honest answer I have.
“Then I’ll respect your decision. I’ll sign the divorce papers tomorrow, and I’ll never bother you again.
” The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I mean them.
“But I had to try, Selene. I had to look you in the eyes and tell you that losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
I had to let you know that I’m not the same man who forgot your anniversary and thanked another woman from the stage. ”
I bring her hand up to my lips again, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. “I’ll earn it back, baby. I’ll earn you back. However long it takes. Whatever you need me to do.”
Selene lets out a shaky breath, and I watch her composure waver. Her knees seem to wobble slightly, and she grips my hand tighter, whether for support or to ground herself, I’m not sure.
The lobby has gone completely silent around us. I’m vaguely aware of the audience we’ve accumulated, but I can’t bring myself to care. Let them watch. Let them see Dylan Riego, the man who had everything and nearly lost it all, begging his wife for a second chance in a crowded office building.
Let them see what she means to me.
***
Selene
I need to pull away. Step back. Reclaim my professional composure, and dismiss him with the same cool authority I used last night. This is my office, my space, my kingdom that I built from nothing while he was spiraling in that empty mansion.
I need to remember why I left.
But his lips are warm against my hand, and his dark eyes are desperate and filled with a sincerity I haven’t seen in years, and my stupid heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised the entire lobby can’t hear it.
I’ll earn it back, baby. I’ll earn you back.
The words echo in my head, seductive. It sounds dangerous.
This is the Dylan I fell in love with, passionate, and willing to fight for what he wants.
This is the man who pursued me relentlessly when we first met, who made me feel like the most important person in the world, who promised me forever and meant it.
But promises are easy. Actions are what matter.
I pull my hands free from his grasp. The hope in his eyes dims slightly, replaced by a resigned acceptance that cracks my chest open.
“You can’t just show up at my office with flowers and pretty speeches and expect me to fall back into your arms.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “That’s not how this works, Dylan.”
“I know.” He nods, still holding those ridiculous peonies, the ones I mentioned loving exactly once, eight years ago, during a conversation I assumed he’d forgotten. “I know it’s not that simple. I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight. I’m asking for a chance to try.”
“And what does that look like, exactly?” I cross my arms, putting physical distance between us. “You camp out in my lobby every morning? Send flowers to my office? Make grand romantic gestures until I cave out of sheer exhaustion?”
“No.” He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the moment.
“I was thinking something more practical. Like bringing you lunch when you forget to eat because you’re too caught up in post-production.
Or sitting quietly in the corner while you work, just so you know someone’s there. Or-”
“You’re not sitting in the corner of my office.”
“What about the lobby? I’ve gotten quite comfortable here. The receptionist and I are practically friends now.”
I glance at the receptionist, who gives me a helpless shrug and a look that clearly says he’s been here since before I arrived, and he’s weirdly charming about it.
“Dylan, this is insane.”
“Probably.” He offers me the bouquet, his expression sheepish. “But I’ve spent a year being sane and sensible, and all it got me was an empty house and a broken heart. I figured insanity was worth a shot.”
I stare at the peonies, their white petals remaining perfect despite the hours they’ve been waiting. He remembered. After all this time, after everything that happened, he remembered that I love white peonies.
It’s such a small thing. Such an insignificant detail in the grand scheme of all the ways he failed me.
But it matters.
It matters because the Dylan who forgot our anniversary, who thanked Claudette from the stage, who reduced me to a housekeeper in front of the entire industry - that Dylan wouldn’t have remembered my favorite flower.
This Dylan remembered.
This Dylan is standing in my lobby at nine in the morning, holding a wilting bouquet, telling me he’ll do whatever it takes to earn me back.
This Dylan is either genuinely changed or a better actor than I ever gave him credit for.
“I’m not saying yes.” I reach out and take the flowers, and his face transforms, joy breaking through the desperation. “I’m saying I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“I have meetings all day. I don’t have time to-”
“I’ll leave.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll go right now. I just wanted you to know that I’m serious, Selene. This isn’t a whim or a desperate attempt to save my reputation. This is me, fighting for the only thing that’s ever truly mattered to me.”
He takes a step back, then another, giving me space. His eyes never leave mine, and the intensity in them makes my stomach flip in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.
“Can I call you?” he asks. “Not today. I know you’re busy. But… sometime?”
I should say no. I should maintain the boundaries I’ve carefully constructed over the past year. I should protect myself from the possibility of getting hurt again.
“You can call me tomorrow.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “After six. Don’t you dare call during working hours.”
The smile that breaks across his face is radiant, transforming his tired features into the man that felt achingly familiar. “Tomorrow after six. I’ll be counting the minutes.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Too late for that, wife.” He’s walking backward toward the exit now, still grinning, still looking at me with desperate hope. “I’ll see you soon, Selene Vance. And for the record.” He pauses at the door, his expression turning serious. “The film was extraordinary. You should be incredibly proud.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing through the lobby doors, leaving me standing there with an armful of peonies and a heart that’s beating way too fast.
The receptionist clears her throat. “That was… something.”
“It was ridiculous.” I bury my nose in the flowers, inhaling their delicate scent. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
“The romantic kind of ridiculous, though.” She grins at me. “If my ex showed up like that, I’d probably melt into a puddle.”
“I’m not melting.”
“Of course not.” Her grin widens. “Do you want me to find a vase for those, or are you going to clutch them like that all day?”
I look down at the peonies, cradled against my chest protectively.
I’ll earn it back, baby. I’ll earn you back.
“Find me a vase,” I say finally. “And clear my schedule after six tomorrow.”
The receptionist’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re going to give him a chance?”
“I’m going to let him try.” I start walking toward my office, the flowers still pressed close. “Whether he succeeds or not remains to be seen.”
But even as I say it, a shift happens in my chest. A door I’d locked, cracking open just the slightest bit.
Maybe that’s foolish.
Maybe I’m setting myself up for more heartbreak.
But the alternative is spending the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I’d let him in again.
And I’ve spent enough of my life living with regrets.