Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

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.

I didn't kiss back at first. I couldn't.

Because my brain was scrambling to make sense of what was happening. Was this a dream? Had the sleep taken me too far, dropped me into some vivid fantasy spun from years of wanting?

But then—

His hand cupped my cheek, and the warmth of his touch grounded me.

His mouth moved against mine, coaxing, insistent, until my body betrayed me and responded. And when his tongue brushed against the seam of my lips—when he deepened the kiss with practiced ease and pulled me in like he had every right to—I knew.

This wasn't a dream.

Dreams didn't feel like this. Dreams didn't taste like this—real and raw, hungry and desperate all at once.

Dreams didn't steal the breath from your lungs and leave you trembling.

And then, he nipped my lower lip—soft but purposeful—before pulling back just enough to let his words fall against my skin.

His voice was low. Rough. And far too intimate.

"I hope that answers your question."

Question? What question? Did I ask one just now?

What was the question again?

My heart was thundering. My thoughts were still trying to catch up. But I knew exactly what question he meant.

The one I'd asked just before I fell asleep.

Why did he care who I married?

This was his answer.

Not a speech.

Not an apology.

Just this—a kiss that shattered years of restraint.

And now I couldn't un-know it.

Couldn't undo it.

And no matter how confused or furious or breathless I was—my world had already shifted.

Because Dylan, my stoic shadow, my silent guardian, had just crossed the line.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted to push him back—

—or fall all over again.

"You . . . you like me?"

"No," Dylan said, his voice low and rough, his hot breath ghosting against my skin. It made me shiver.

He didn't pull away. He just hovered there, close enough that I could feel the tension buzzing in the air between us like a live wire.

"I love you," he murmured. "From the first time I saw you."

My breath caught. My chest clenched like it was caving in. "That's a lie," I said, my voice cracking as my eyes burned. "You never told me. You always pushed me away."

He shook his head, barely, as if even that small movement hurt. "You're right. I never said it. But I showed you. Every day."

Something twisted in my stomach. I wanted to deny it again—but I couldn't. Because as soon as the words left his mouth, the memories came rushing back.

How he always walked three steps behind me, never beside. Always watching, silent. Like a shadow I could never reach. I thought it was duty.

But now, I remembered the way his gaze lingered on me when I wasn't looking. The way he'd always know when I was about to cry—even before I did.

The nights I'd get home late and find soup left on the counter. Still warm. My favorites—he memorized them without asking.

That time I broke my heel at the charity event, and before I could even feel embarrassed, he was there. Carrying me, without a word. Acting annoyed, but his arms were gentle. Too gentle.

Or when I cried in the garden and told him to leave. He didn't. He stood there in the rain with me, like he was willing to drown in it, too.

I always told myself those were just part of his job. That he was trained to protect, to notice, to care—professionally.

But maybe . . . he wasn't just doing his job.

Maybe the warmth in his hands, the silence he shared, the way he never let anyone else get close to me… maybe those were all quiet declarations I never understood until now.

"I thought you were just being . . . responsible," I whispered, my throat thick. "Like I was a mission."

"You were never a mission to me," Dylan said, his voice rough, strained—like each word tore from someplace buried deep. "You were the reason I stayed. The reason I kept my distance. Because I'm never going to be enough for you. You won't have any future with me."

He paused, his jaw tight. His eyes flickered with pain—real, raw pain. "And I made a deal with your father. I made a promise. And now . . . I broke it."

His voice cracked at the end, and I felt it like a ripple through my chest.

Dylan never broke promises. Not to anyone—especially not to my father. His loyalty ran deeper than blood. If he made a vow, he kept it. No matter what it cost him.

But this . . . this wasn't just about duty anymore.

My heart pounded. "So why . . . ?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Why now? After everything? After all that pushing me away . . . the distance, the silence. Why now?"

He looked at me, truly looked—like he was finally letting himself see me without all the walls.

"Because I broke," he said, a whisper more vulnerable than I had ever heard from him. "When I heard you were going to marry that guy . . . I snapped. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I told myself a hundred times to stay quiet, to be your shield and nothing more. But when I imagined him—touching you, owning you—my chest felt like it was being ripped apart."

He stepped closer, and his eyes were on fire now. "You're mine, Lina," he growled, each word heavy with possession. "You've always been mine. And I can't pretend anymore."

Before I could even react, his hands gripped my waist and he pushed me gently—but firmly—onto the bed.

The air between us thickened, charged with years of buried emotion and things left unsaid. I gasped, but not out of fear, out of sheer happiness.

Happiness of knowing that every time he held himself back, of every glance that lingered too long, of every unspoken feeling now pouring out all at once.