Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

Dylan turned on his heel before I could respond, walking away with that same silence he always had.

And just like that—he was gone.

Gone, like the moment had meant nothing.

Gone, like I had meant nothing.

I stared at the space he left behind, the ache in my chest growing heavier by the second. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the half-finished glass of milk. I drank it all in one go, not because I was thirsty, but because I didn't know what else to do.

I just needed to do something.

Anything.

The warmth of the milk was lost on me now. It sat in my stomach like stone.

I placed the glass on the counter with more force than necessary, trying to keep my breathing steady.

My eyes burned—not from tears, not yet—but from the frustration of everything we hadn't said. From the stupid hope that had dared to rise in me again.

From the truth I had tried to deny for so long.

He had always been able to affect me with so little.

And now, with just a few words, a stare, and a carefully emotionless exit, he had left me spiraling all over again.

I turned and stomped back to my room, arms wrapped tightly around myself. I didn't care if I looked childish. I didn't care if the floor creaked with every frustrated step.

All I knew was that the night felt colder now.

And there was no way in hell I was getting any sleep after that.

Not with his voice still echoing in my head.

Not with his eyes—haunted and hurting—still burned into my memory.

I slumped on my bed and closed my eyes, hoping to get Dylan's image out of my head.

I knew I wouldn't stop thinking about him tonight.

I knew sleep would evade me, like it always did after fights—especially ones that ended with his back turning, his voice stripped of warmth, his absence lingering in the room long after he walked away.

And yet . . . somehow, sleep came.

One moment I was pacing in my thoughts, rehearsing all the things I should have said. The next, my eyes fluttered shut—and everything went black.

It didn't make sense. I wasn't tired. I hadn't felt even the slightest pull of exhaustion. If anything, my heart had still been racing when I lay down.

But the darkness was sudden. Heavy. Unnatural.

The last thing I remembered was the warm glass of milk.

The one Dylan handed me.

A thought pierced through the fog of my fading consciousness: Did he drug me again?

He'd done it before—only with light sedatives, when my insomnia was at its worst. Never without reason. Never without care. But he never asked. And I never confronted him about it either.

I just let it slide, because deep down, I knew it came from a place of concern.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I didn't want his quiet protectiveness. I didn't want his calculated choices wrapped in care I didn't ask for.

I didn't want him.

Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.

If I truly wanted to forget him . . . I'd have to start acting like it. I couldn't keep letting him hover at the edge of my life—too close to ignore, too far to touch.

Tomorrow, I would cross the line.

I'd reassign him. Hand him over to Cole, or someone else in the family who actually needed his protection. Someone who could look at him without their pulse stuttering.

I needed a new bodyguard.

Someone who wasn't him.

Definitely not him.

But before I could finish that vow in my mind—before I could even shift under the covers—everything faded.

And the next time I opened my eyes . . .

I wasn't in my room.

The distant sound of waves greeted me first—soft, rhythmic, unfamiliar.

Wind brushed gently against my skin, scented with salt and something faintly floral. I blinked up, confused, disoriented, heart already racing.

The ceiling above me wasn't mine. It was open sky—dusky and pale, streaked with the last hints of dawn.

I bolted upright, the coolness of the stone beneath me grounding the panic trying to rise in my chest.

Where was I?

This wasn't my room. This wasn't my house. This wasn't anywhere I recognized. This was a hut. A modern comforting hut like you would see in expensive private resorts.

And then I heard footsteps.

Slow. Purposeful. Familiar.

I turned—and there he was.

Dylan.

Moving toward me with that same quiet control he always had, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something I hadn't seen since we were young.

Something unguarded.

"Where am I?" I asked, voice sharp, eyes locked on him.

He stopped a few feet away, watching me with that unreadable look that always made me feel like he knew more than he ever said.

"Somewhere safe," he said quietly.

I narrowed my eyes. "You drugged me, and brought me here?"

A pause.

"Yes."

My breath caught.

He didn't deny it. He didn't offer excuses.

I blinked at him, utterly disoriented. The sound of waves still crashed softly in the distance, but my world had narrowed to the man standing just a few feet away.

"What?" I said, breath catching. "Why? What's going on here?" Was I in danger that he had to bring me here in the middle of nowhere?

Dylan didn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, he closed the distance between us in three steady steps. His eyes never left mine—burning with something deeper than I'd ever seen before. Something wild, restrained for too long. Something he had fought to bury for years.

And then he leaned in.

Before I could move, before I could even process what was happening—his lips were on mine.

The kiss wasn't tentative. It wasn't gentle.

It was decisive.

Like he'd made up his mind the second I opened my eyes in this place, and there was no turning back now.

My breath hitched, my mind going blank. Everything short-circuited. Logic, reason, restraint—gone. Swallowed whole by the feel of his mouth pressed firmly against mine.