Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

Dylan hovered above me, breathless, eyes searching mine. But he didn't move further—he waited.

For me.

And that's when I realized . . .

He had never stopped protecting me. Even now, he waited for permission. Even now, he gave me the choice.

But the part of me that had ached for him for years—the part I buried under anger and confusion and loneliness—answered before I could speak.

My hand reached up and touched his cheek.

"You should've told me sooner," I whispered, barely able to hear my own voice over the pounding of my heart. "Because I think . . . I've known. Deep down, I always knew. But I needed you to recognize your feelings for me first."

Dylan turned his face slightly, the edge of his jaw tight, but I caught the faintest blush coloring his ears. It was so rare to see him vulnerable like this, and it made my chest ache.

"I'm telling you now," he said, his voice hoarse with conviction. "I love you, Lina. And I don't care what happens anymore. I don't care if your father or your brother kills me for this. For once—just once—I want to be with you without any chains. No rules. No duty."

His words struck like lightning—bright and searing and impossible to ignore. My hand reached for his cheek before I even realized it, cradling the side of his face. I forced him to meet my eyes.

"I don't care if you think you can't give me a future, Dylan. I can work. You can work. That's more than enough for me. And as for my father and brother . . ." My voice caught, but I pushed on, "I'll fight them if I have to. I'll even disown myself from the family if it means I get to choose you."

He looked stricken at that, pain flickering behind his gaze. "No," he said, low and firm.

But I pressed my forehead against his and held his face with both hands now, refusing to back down.

"Don't say that. I don't want to be apart from you any longer, Dylan. I've waited years for this—waited for you to look at me like more than someone you had to protect. Don't tell me that after you kidnapped me, dragged me all the way here, and confessed everything . . . you're just going to back out now?"

He stared at me, the air between us tight with everything unsaid. Then slowly, a smirk curved on his lips. He kissed the back of my hand gently, lingering there like he was sealing a vow.

"Of course not," he murmured. "I will fight for you. Now and forever."

Warmth bloomed in my chest, but before I could respond, he added more seriously, "But . . . what about that guy?"

I blinked, startled. "Daniel?"

His expression darkened. "Yeah. Him. You were going to marry him, right?"

I felt a tight pang in my chest. Daniel. I owed him so much. He had been kind, constant, someone I could rely on when everything else in my world felt unsteady.

"We're . . . not really in a serious relationship," I admitted. "It was always more for the benefit of others. For appearances. He's my friend—one of the best ones I have. But that's all."

Dylan didn't seem convinced. "Are you sure?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because that's not how I see it."

I hesitated.

Was I sure?

There had been a time when I considered it—when marrying Daniel felt like the smart thing to do. Like the safe option. But even then, a part of me held back. Not because Daniel lacked anything, but because he wasn't him.

"I'm sure," I said finally, softer now. "Daniel . . . he's amazing. He really is. And for a time, I thought maybe . . . maybe we could work. But even he knows. We both have someone we love most. Deep in our hearts, we've always known."

Dylan looked at me then, long and hard. And then something in him eased—his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes softened. He leaned in again, not to kiss me this time, but to rest his forehead against mine, a sigh escaping his lips.

"I should've told you long ago," he whispered. "All those times I pulled back . . . it wasn't because I didn't feel anything. It was because I felt too much. And I was afraid."

I swallowed hard. "Afraid of what?"

"Of not being enough. Of betraying your father. Of hurting you. Of losing you . . . if I gave in to what I really wanted."

I smiled bitterly. "And I thought you didn't feel anything at all."

We stayed like that for a moment, the silence between us thick with years of repressed emotions, missed chances, and unspoken words.

But beneath all of it was something stronger—relief. Hope. The possibility of something real.

Then Dylan looked at me again, his eyes dark with a glint of mischief. His thumb brushed gently along the curve of my jaw, and my breath hitched.

"I have a confession to make," he murmured, his voice unusually solemn, as if what he was about to say had been sitting heavy in his chest for years.

I blinked, wary. "What is it?"

He hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to actually say it—but then that dangerous little smirk of his returned. "Those nights . . . when you couldn't sleep, and I gave you warm milk or tea?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah?"

He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping into that husky tone that always sent a tingle down my spine. "Sometimes I may have . . . added a few sleeping drops."

I stared at him, my eyes slowly widening in suspicion. "Sleeping pills? Wait—you drugged me?" I knew.

He held up a hand. "Only mild ones! The gentle kind. You were having nightmares, remember? I couldn't stand seeing you like that."

My jaw dropped. "Dylan!"

But he wasn't done.

"And," he added quickly, "while you were asleep, I may have . . . kissed you."

" . . ." Now that I didn't know.

Silence. A long one.

"You what? You kissed me?!"

He nodded without an ounce of apology on his face.