uth it was quite late in the morning, about 12:45. I woke up to the sensation of warmth — not just the kind that comes from sunlight through half-open curtains, but something closer, softer, alive. There was a delicate weight on my chest, like something fragile had chosen to rest there, trusting me not to move too fast, not to break the spell.
As my eyes adjusted to the morning light, I looked down and felt my breath catch.
It was Ruth.
She lay curled against me, her body half-draped over mine, her cheek pressed to my bare chest like it was the only place in the world she found peace. One of her legs was tangled with mine beneath the sheets, her arm stretched across my ribs, her fingers loosely curled as if she'd fallen asleep holding me and never let go.
She looked ethereal—no, real. Too real. Like something the world had tried to steal and ruin, but failed to erase.
Her face, still touched by sleep, looked softer than I'd ever seen it. Those sharp, guarded expressions she wore like armor were gone. Left behind was a face so serene, so heartbreakingly tender, it made my chest tighten. Her cheeks were round and flushed, a soft pink hue against my skin. Her lips—God, her lips—slightly parted, relaxed in sleep, looked so full, so naturally perfect, that it was hard not to stare.
A few strands of her hair had fallen over her face, catching the morning light in streaks of gold and chestnut. I reached up slowly, brushing them away with a gentleness I didn't know I had. My fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her jaw, the line of her temple. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft, like silk and sun.
She stirred at the touch, letting out the faintest sigh, and then burrowed in closer. Her nose brushed against my collarbone, and her lips just grazed my skin, barely there, but enough to send something electric down my spine.
How had I gotten here?
How had someone like me—with everything I've done, everything I've buried—end up holding something so delicate, so good?
She didn't even know how beautiful she looked like this. Vulnerable. Safe. Herself.
And me? I didn't want to move. Didn't want to breathe too loudly and risk waking her. Because in this moment, with her wrapped around me like I was something worth holding onto, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Whole.
There was no weight of past sins here. No noise from the world outside. Just Ruth. Her heartbeat was near mine. Her warmth soaked into every piece of me that had gone cold over the years.
I looked at her again—looked—and I knew.
If heaven had a shape, it would be the curve of her lips in sleep. If peace had a sound, it would be the rhythm of her breathing against my skin.
And if home wasn't a place, but a person...
Then she was it.
Lying there with her curled against my chest, I felt something I hadn't felt in years—peace. Real, unshakable peace. The kind that slips into your bones and silences the constant chaos. I tilted my head slightly, just enough to look down at her, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Her face, soft and relaxed in sleep, seemed almost unreal against the muted light sneaking through the window. The morning sun filtered gently across her cheekbones, giving her skin a delicate, golden glow. Her lashes fanned out against her cheeks, long and still, and a few unruly strands of hair had fallen onto her forehead. I brushed them back slowly, careful not to wake her, my fingers trembling with the weight of the moment.
I smiled—genuinely. Not the hollow grin I wore around others. This smile was different. It came from something real. From a place I thought had long gone numb.
Last night, we kissed—not in desperation or confusion, but in truth. After we exposed the heaviest parts of ourselves. After we bared old wounds that had never quite scarred over. That kiss didn't fix everything… but it started something. Something neither of us dared to name, but both of us needed more than we realized.
It was the kind of kiss that wasn't just lips on lips—it was a quiet apology, a hesitant promise, a shaky bridge built across the years of silence, pain, and distance.
We walked back together afterward. Her hand nestled in mine like it had always belonged there, like the space between my fingers had been carved only for hers. She leaned into me, and I kissed her forehead. It felt like the most natural thing in the world—to press my lips against her skin and silently say, I'm here. I'm sorry. I never stopped caring.
I had craved that moment. Ached for it.
Not because I wanted to feel better about myself, but because I needed her to know that the guilt had never left me. It followed me everywhere. In my sleep. In the mirror. In that way, why did I keep my distance from everyone? I told myself it was because of the workload, the danger, the mess of our lives—but that was just an excuse. The real reason?
I couldn't face the damage I had done.
Ruth didn't deserve silence. She didn't deserve the distance I gave her. And yet, I had watched her suffer and told myself it was better not to get involved again. I convinced myself that walking away meant protecting her.
But the truth?
It was cowardice. Dressed up as responsibility.
The guilt… it didn't just sit heavy on my shoulders. It rooted itself inside me, spreading through every part of who I was. It changed me. Hardened me. Made me cold to the world, because I didn't think I deserved anything warm.
But then she walked back into my life—months ago at that racetrack. Unannounced. Fierce. Beautiful. And everything inside me that I had tried to bury clawed its way back to the surface.
She hadn't crumbled.
She'd grown.
Ruth wasn't someone to be pitied. She was someone to be admired. Despite the brothel. Despite the betrayal. Despite the childhood I'd shattered in ways I'll never forgive myself for—she stood tall, guarded but graceful, like a storm that had learned to walk in the aftermath of its destruction.
And I realized something then—something that broke me and rebuilt me all at once:
You don't get to walk away from people like her.
Because no matter how high her walls, no matter how cold her eyes may seem… she feels. She aches. She bleeds quietly. And I saw that—last night more than ever—when she let me in again, when she didn't flinch at my apology, when she stayed.
I held her tighter, my arm sliding protectively around her waist, pulling her impossibly close. She made a soft sound in her sleep, shifting slightly, her cheek brushing against my chest. My heart clenched. I wasn't used to this kind of intimacy, not the physical part, but the trust that came with it. The kind that said, "I'm safe with you," without needing to be spoken aloud.
My eyes roamed her face—those lips, soft and slightly parted in sleep. Her cheeks, warm and full, pressed gently against me. Every detail felt precious, fragile, like I was holding something the world had tried to ruin but failed.
And all I could think about… was how much I loved her.
Not in the fleeting, romantic sense—but in the aching, overwhelming, soul-bound way.
Because love, real love, isn't just about moments of beauty. It's about surviving the ugliness together. It's about confessing your darkest truths and hoping the other person won't run. It's about holding someone close when your past screams that you don't deserve them—and still, they choose to stay.
Last night, we didn't just kiss.
We found our way back.
I let out a chuckle last night and pulled her closer, careful not to wake her. Ruth wouldn't normally nestle against me like that. She guarded herself too well, but something between us had shifted after our walk back to the hotel.
We were both exhausted. We'd barely spoken before she drifted off, her head finding its place on my chest, her breath soft and steady against my skin.
I hadn't dared move. Not an inch. Because moments like that, her trust, her warmth, were rare. My arm stayed around her, my fingers brushing her back lightly, just to remind myself she was there, real.
And God, I could have stayed like that forever.
My thoughts were interrupted by a soft, sleepy sound from her. Ruth stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open like the morning light easing into a room. For a brief moment, she looked at me—really looked at me—and a small, unguarded smile curved her lips.
Then I saw it—the exact moment realization struck her. Her gaze flickered around, taking in where she was, and her breath hitched. In an instant, she sat up, her hair falling messily around her face, cheeks flushed a deep pink.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean to—God, we were just talking and I…" She glanced down, her hands twisting in her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to guilt-trip you or—like—you shouldn't have let me just… sleep with you like that."
Her voice carried a mix of nerves and embarrassment, every word tumbling out like she was afraid of what I'd think.
My thoughts were interrupted by a soft, sleepy sound from her. Ruth stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open like the morning light easing into a room. For a brief moment, she looked at me—really looked at me—and a small, unguarded smile curved her lips.
Then I saw it—the exact moment realization struck her. Her gaze flickered around, taking in where she was, and her breath hitched. In an instant, she sat up, her hair falling messily around her face, cheeks flushed a deep pink.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean to—God, we were just talking and I…" She glanced down, her hands twisting in her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to guilt-trip you or—like—you shouldn't have let me just… sleep with you like that."
I sat up slowly, leaning against the headboard, watching her with an amused but soft expression. "Ruth," I said calmly, "you don't have to apologize for… falling asleep."
She frowned, her embarrassment still evident. "It's not just that. I mean—I literally just crashed next to you like I own the bed. It's… weird. I don't do that."
A small laugh escaped me, quiet and warm. "Do you really think I'd mind? After everything we talked about last night, after everything we've been through? You falling asleep here was probably the first time I've seen you… actually relaxed."
Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, as if caught off guard by the sincerity in my tone. "Relaxed?" she repeated softly, almost testing the word.
"Yeah," I said, leaning forward slightly, my elbows on my knees. "You're always carrying the weight of something—your past, your demons, this… job. Last night, for a few hours, you weren't. You were just you. And if letting you sleep here gives you even a tiny break from all that, I'll take it."
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to argue, but no words came. Instead, she looked at me with this strange mix of surprise and something I couldn't quite name.
"I'm still sorry," she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost shy.
I shook my head, smiling faintly. "You're impossible. You don't owe me an apology for… existing next to me, Ruth." My tone softened as I added, "If anything, I should thank you—for trusting me enough to let your guard down, even for a night."
She blinked at me, a little caught off guard again. "You're not supposed to say things like that, Dylan," she muttered, trying to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
"What, honest things?" I teased lightly.
"Yes," she said with mock seriousness. "They're… confusing."
"Well," I said with a shrug, "get used to being confused. Because I'm not taking back what I said."
My thoughts were interrupted by the softest sound—a little coo from Ruth as she shifted against me. Her lashes fluttered open, and for a heartbeat, she just stared at me with this half-sleepy daze. Then it hit her. Her body stiffened, her cheeks flushed a faint pink, and she sat up like she'd just been caught doing something scandalous.
"Oh God," she mumbled, pushing her hair back. "I— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just… fall asleep here. I swear I didn't plan to—this wasn't—I…"
I raised a brow, half-smirking. "You're acting like I'm about to call the cops on you for falling asleep, Danan."
She shot me a glare, clearly flustered. "I mean, it's weird, okay? Sharing a bed with you—like this—it's just… I'm not used to it."
"Oh, so I'm that terrifying, huh?" I teased, leaning back casually against the headboard. "The big bad Dylan Fynder, scary enough to make a girl apologize for a nap."
She grabbed a pillow and smacked me with it lightly. "Shut up."
I laughed, catching the pillow before she could pull it away. "Careful, Ruth. You might make me think you like being here."
She froze, her lips parting slightly, as if she wasn't sure how to fire back. I watched her, her flustered silence giving me a certain satisfaction. Then I leaned in a little, my voice dropping just enough to make her blink.
"You know," I said slowly, "I wasn't planning on letting you go anyway."
Her breath hitched just slightly. "What… what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I continued, my tone softer now, almost serious, "you can stop worrying about whether you belong here or not. Because you do. You can fall asleep on me a hundred more times and I won't complain. Not once."
She blinked again, that sharpness in her eyes softening for just a moment. "You're… insufferable," she muttered, though her voice wasn't nearly as harsh as the words.
I smirked, leaning back again like I hadn't just made her heart skip. "Yeah, but I'm your insufferable, at least for now," I smirked .
Ruth looked away, her cheeks still flushed, like she was trying to shake off the weight of what I'd just said. I watched her in silence for a moment, the memory of last night flickering in my mind—her lips on mine, hesitant but real, like she was letting a wall crumble piece by piece.
"You know," I said, my tone lighter now, "you should've seen yourself sleeping last night. Peaceful. Almost angelic. Hard to believe this is the same girl who once promised she'd kill me."
Her head snapped back toward me, eyes wide. "I did not promise—"
"Oh, you did," I said with a grin, cutting her off. "Multiple times. Very convincingly, I might add. But now look at you—falling asleep on the guy you were supposed to take down. I'd call that character development."
She grabbed the pillow again, threatening to throw it. "You're impossible."
"Guilty," I said, smirking, then softened my tone as I reached out and gently caught her wrist before she could hit me. "But if I'm being honest…" I paused, my thumb brushing over her pulse. "…I like this version of us. Where you're not the enemy. Where I don't have to pretend I don't care."
Her breath caught slightly at that, and I could tell she was trying to read my face, like she wasn't sure if I was teasing or being completely serious.
"And last night…" I continued, my voice quieter now, "That kiss? Yeah. It wasn't just a moment for me. I don't do things I don't mean, Ruth. Not anymore."
She froze, her lips parting slightly, and I caught the way her fingers tightened against the pillow she was holding.
"You don't play fair," she muttered softly.
I chuckled, leaning in just a little, close enough for her to feel the warmth of my breath. "Maybe not. But I don't plan on letting you forget that kiss anytime soon. And I sure as hell don't plan on letting you walk out of my life again."
i tilted his head slightly, studying me with that infuriatingly knowing look. "You're blushing," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.
"I am not," she shot back quickly, adjusting the loose strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face.
"Oh, you definitely are," I said, leaning closer as if inspecting me. "It's kind of cute, actually. Who knew the ruthless double agent could turn this red?"
she grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it against his chest, which barely moved him. "You're enjoying this way too much, Fynder."
"Of course I am," i admitted with a grin. "You're always so guarded, but when you let that wall slip, even for a second—" i paused, his voice softening as he caught my gaze. "It's my favorite thing about you."
she stared at me for a moment, unsure of whether to roll my eyes or just melt into the bed. "You're so full of yourself," she muttered, though my voice didn't sound as convincing as I wanted.
i smirked, leaning back but still watching me like he'd just won a silent battle. "Maybe. But I'm also full of very good ideas."
"Oh, really? Like what?" she asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Like the fact that we both skipped breakfast," i said, standing up and casually fixing the cuffs of his shirt. "And if we don't get brunch soon, you're going to get all grumpy and try to stab me with a butter knife."
She tilted my head, fighting a smile. "You make me sound so charming."
I chuckled. "You are. But you're also hungry. So, let's go. I know a place nearby. Come on, let's go.''
'' let me get changed first ''she said and dashed to the bathroom and I smirked looking at her and freshed myself aswell.
Ruth emerged from the bathroom just as I was fixing the cuffs of my shirt. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
She was dressed in a light yellow skirt that brushed just above her knees and a soft white top that fit her perfectly—effortless, bright, like the morning sun had chosen her to mirror its glow. Her brown hair was loose today, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made me pause longer than I should have.
I'd seen her look fierce. I'd seen her look guarded, tired, and broken. But like this—fresh-faced, simple, glowing—she looked untouchable.
"You're staring," she said, adjusting the hem of her skirt, her voice low but teasing.
I blinked, clearing my throat and trying to mask the way my chest had tightened. "I'm… observing," I replied, echoing my own words from the elevator yesterday. "You clean up well, Danan."
"'Clean up well?'" she repeated, smirking as she grabbed her gloss from the dresser. "That's the best you've got?"
"Would you prefer I tell you that you look—" I stopped myself before saying something stupid. But she was already looking at me, waiting. "—like the kind of girl who could ruin a man before he even knew he was falling?"
Her hand froze mid-air, gloss brush still in hand. "That's… oddly poetic for you."
I smiled faintly, shaking my head as I grabbed my coat. "Come on. Let's get breakfast before I say something else that surprises you."
The ride to the rooftop restaurant was quiet but not tense—just a comfortable silence where I could steal a few glances at her. The sunlight caught the yellow of her skirt every time she shifted, making her look like something too delicate for the world we lived in.
When we reached the top, the restaurant greeted us with the smell of freshly baked bread and warm honey. The view alone was enough to steal anyone's breath—Antalya stretching out below us, rooftops and the glimmering sea.
I pulled out a chair for her before sitting down across from her, unable to help the way my eyes lingered.
"You keep staring," she teased again, lifting an eyebrow.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table. "Maybe I'm trying to figure out how someone like you ended up stuck with someone like me."
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Maybe you're not as terrible as you think, Dylan."
I smiled .'' yeah ofc I'm not that bad but still a man can never wonder too much ,you know.''
She glanced at me with a soft, warm smile just as the waiter handed us the menus. Her eyes scanned the list with quiet interest before she closed it with a decisive nod and ordered menemen—a hearty Turkish dish of scrambled eggs with tomatoes and peppers. I followed, choosing a serving of börek alongside menemen, adding fresh juice and a plate of waffles to bring a touch of sweetness to our meal.
The plates arrived with a comforting warmth, filling the air with the rich, savory aroma of butter and spices. The menemen's vibrant colors—golden eggs folded into deep red tomatoes and flecks of green peppers—made it look as inviting as it smelled. She picked up a piece of bread, scooping a bit of the eggs onto it, and took a bite with a soft hum of approval.
"This is so good," she said, her voice carrying that hint of delight that made me smile without trying. "Turkish breakfasts never fail."
I tore into the crisp, flaky layers of my börek, the cheese inside stretching slightly as I pulled it apart. "You're right. It's like comfort on a plate," I replied, watching her as she reached for her juice, her fingers brushing against the condensation on the glass.
"So," I began, pointing my fork at her plate, "you're just going to sit there pretending that your menemen tastes better than my börek?"
She smirked, slowly tearing another piece of bread. "I don't have to pretend. It is better. Look at it—it's practically glowing. Yours looks like… well, a sad pastry trying to keep up."
I chuckled, cutting into the flaky layers of my börek. "Careful, or I might take that as a challenge. Want a bite? I promise, it's life-changing."
She raised a brow, feigning suspicion. "What if this is some evil trick? What if you're just trying to get me addicted to cheese and butter so I stop judging your weird food combinations?"
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice with a grin. "Maybe I just want to see you admit I was right for once."
Her laugh was quick and light, the kind that makes you want to keep saying stupid things just to hear it again. "You've got a better chance of me sharing my menemen than admitting that."
"Oh?" I teased, extending my fork toward her plate. "Then prove your loyalty. One spoonful. Just one. I'll trade you a piece of waffle—look at this beauty." I cut a piece of waffle, syrup dripping slightly, holding it out like a peace offering.
She glanced at the bite and then at me, her lips curling into a sly grin. "Bribing me with waffles? That's low, even for you."
"It's called negotiation," I said. "Smart people call it strategy."
She tilted her head, pretending to think before leaning in slightly. "Fine. One bite. But if it's terrible, I'm blaming you for ruining my breakfast."
"You're welcome in advance," I said, sliding my plate toward her. As she took the bite, her expression softened, and she gave a small, defeated sigh.
"Damn it," she said, eyes narrowing playfully. "It's good."
I grinned, smug. "And yet, I don't hear the words 'you were right.'"
She stabbed her fork into her menemen, pointing it at me like a warning. "Don't push your luck. I might take my compliment back."
We both smiled, our eyes meeting between bites, stealing soft glances that said more than words ever could. There was a quiet pull in the way she looked at me, like she was reading thoughts I hadn't spoken.
After breakfast, the day stretched before us like something waiting to be discovered. Dylan paid the bill with that quiet confidence of his, sliding a few bills onto the tray without breaking our gaze.
"Come on," he said, shrugging into his jacket. "I want to show you something. You'll like it."
The city outside had shifted with the late morning light, its colors more vivid, every detail sharper. Antalya wasn't loud like the cities I was used to—no blaring horns or constant shouting—just the hum of life, a softness wrapped around its beauty. The narrow cobblestone streets glistened faintly as if they'd been polished overnight. Small cafés spilled onto the roads with their painted chairs and tables, flowers hanging from iron balconies in shades of pink and red, swaying lightly in the breeze.
Ruth walked slightly ahead of me, her light yellow skirt moving with each step, brushing softly against her legs. Her hair, loose and slightly wavy, caught the sunlight like strands of copper and gold. She didn't even seem to notice how she looked—but I did.
"Stop staring," she said without looking back, her voice a mixture of amusement and warning.
"I wasn't staring," I said, smirking. "I was just… taking in the view."
She glanced over her shoulder, catching the deliberate way I said it, and her lips twitched into a smile. "The view, huh?"
"Don't flatter yourself," I teased. "I was talking about the buildings."
"Sure you were," she muttered, but I didn't miss the faint color rising on her cheeks.
We turned a corner, and suddenly the street widened into an open stretch near the beach. The scent of sea salt hit me first, then the sound of engines. A crowd had gathered around the road, voices buzzing with excitement.
Ruth's eyes widened as she took in the scene—bikes, sleek and gleaming, lined up like predators ready to pounce. Their riders stood nearby, helmets in hand, looking as if they belonged to another world entirely—tattooed arms, ripped leather jackets, smirks that came from living recklessly.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, a note of excitement in her voice.
"A race," I confirmed, my grin widening. "And not just any race. This—" I gestured toward the lineup "—is going to be fun."
She turned to me, that familiar competitive spark lighting her eyes. "Fun for me, maybe. You sure you're up for this?"
I raised a brow. "Are you… challenging me?"
"Do you want me to?" she said, her tone both daring and playful.
"Careful," I said, stepping closer. "I don't play games I can't win."
Her lips curved into a sly smile. "Then maybe you should sit this one out, Mr. Fynder."
I let out a short laugh, low and amused. "Oh, Danan, I can't wait to watch you eat those words."
We walked closer to the lineup of bikes, and I could already feel the tension of the race—the smell of oil, the faint heat from engines, the sharp tang of rubber from tires that had seen too many roads. A man in his thirties, wearing a leather jacket, eyed us as we approached.
"You two here to watch or ride?" he asked in accented English.
"Ride," I answered smoothly before Ruth could speak.
Ruth crossed her arms, arching a brow at me. "Did you just sign me up without asking?"
"You were going to say yes anyway," I said with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she walked toward a black Ducati, running her hand along its seat like she'd done this a thousand times. "This one's mine," she said, her voice steady but tinged with challenge.
I walked to a dark green Yamaha, gripping the handlebars. "Try not to get too attached, Danan. It'll hurt when I leave you behind."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're awfully cocky for someone who doesn't know how fast I can go."
"I've seen how fast you can go," I said, stepping closer, my voice dipping just slightly. "And I'm not afraid of a little speed."
"Good," she said, meeting my gaze. "Because I don't plan on slowing down."
I chuckled ,'' don't cry when I leave you in dust .''
The engines roared to life, their growls vibrating through my chest as I gripped the handlebars. I glanced sideways at Ruth, who was already leaning slightly forward on her Ducati, her expression fierce and determined. The sunlight hit her face, catching the curve of her cheekbone, and for a split second, I almost forgot we were about to race.
"You sure you're ready for this?" I called over the noise, my voice dripping with challenge.
She shot me a look that could have cut through steel. "You're stalling because you're scared, aren't you?"
I smirked, revving my engine just enough to make her bite her lip. "Scared? Danan, I'm just giving you a head start in my head so I'll enjoy watching you lose."
"You talk too much, Fynder. Let's see if you can keep up," she shot back, her grin daring me to try.
A man stepped forward, raising his hand to signal the start. The crowd around us buzzed with excitement, some shouting in Turkish, others whistling. My heart pounded—not from nerves, but from anticipation. This wasn't just about speed; this was about the thrill of chasing something I couldn't name.
"Three… two… one!"
The man's hand dropped.
We shot forward, the bikes roaring like caged beasts finally set free. The wind slapped against my face, sharp and exhilarating. Beside me, Ruth surged ahead for the first stretch, her hair flying out from under her helmet like a wild banner.
"Is that all you've got?" I yelled over the rush of air, inching closer.
She laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. "Don't get too comfortable back there!"
The road curved sharply along the beach, the ocean flashing beside us like liquid silver under the sun. I leaned into the turn, every muscle tight and alive, my tires skimming dangerously close to the edge. Ruth handled her bike like she was born to ride, her body tilting low, perfect control radiating from every move.
"Not bad," I called out, pulling up beside her again. "But you're not winning this one."
"In your dreams," she shouted back, and before I could blink, she shifted gears and shot forward, her Ducati roaring like it had a mind of its own.
The world blurred—streets, sand, the distant cheers of the crowd—all of it melted into the sound of our engines and the hammering of my pulse. For a moment, it felt like nothing existed except the two of us, racing neck and neck, daring the other to give in.
As we neared the final stretch, I pushed my bike harder, but Ruth glanced at me, her eyes flashing with determination, and grinned.
"You're not catching me, Dylan!" she shouted.
I leaned closer, my voice low and teasing. "We'll see about that—"
But before I could push past her, she surged ahead with a sudden burst of speed, crossing the finish line just a second before me.
We slowed down, the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins, until we came to a stop near the end of the road. Ruth ripped off her helmet, her cheeks flushed, strands of hair sticking to her forehead.
"Say it," she demanded, breathless but smiling.
I raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"
"That I just wiped the floor with you."she smiled her eyes sparkling/
I laughed, shaking my head. "Fine. You won, Danan. But don't let it get to your head. I was just letting you have your moment."
"Sure you were," she teased, tossing her helmet onto the seat of her bike. "You'll need days to recover from that loss."
I stepped closer, handing her a water bottle I grabbed from the sidelines. "Careful, or I'll demand a rematch tonight."
She smirked, taking a long sip. "Anytime, Mr. Fynder. But be ready to lose again."
And damn, watching her stand there with the ocean behind her, the sunlight catching in her hair, and that victorious smile… losing didn't feel so bad.
"Congrats, Ruth!" a voice called from behind us, cutting through the sound of the crowd and the distant revving of engines.
I turned sharply, my instincts kicking in before my mind could catch up. The voice was familiar. Too familiar.
And then I saw them.
Miles. Standing there like he owned the place, his usual easy grin plastered on his face. And next to him—Chase, hands shoved in his pockets, nodding in my direction as if this was just another casual meet-up.
What the hell were they doing here?
My expression shifted instantly—colder, sharper. I didn't like surprises, especially not when they involved them.
Ruth, of course, lit up like the sun had personally decided to shine for her. Her smile was wide, unguarded, and she chuckled softly as she stepped toward them. "What are you two doing here? What a coincidence," she said, her tone warm, almost teasing.
Miles didn't waste a second before pulling her into a sidelong hug—something I didn't appreciate in the slightest. My jaw tensed, but I kept my composure, reminding myself that Miles had always been the touchy one.
Still, I didn't like it. Not one bit.
I extended my hand, shaking Miles' first, firm and cool, then Chase's. "Didn't think I'd see you here," I said flatly, though I knew my eyes betrayed the flicker of irritation I felt at seeing Miles' arm casually slung around Ruth's shoulder like he had every right.
Ruth, either oblivious to my mood or intentionally ignoring it, stepped back and turned toward Miles with a playful grin. "You saw that, huh? I beat Mr. Black Heart himself," she said, jerking a thumb in my direction. Her voice was pure mischief, and the way she laughed made my chest tighten for reasons I didn't want to admit.
Then, as if that wasn't enough, she twirled a strand of hair and added with an almost smug smirk, "Actually, I beat both you and Dylan. Guess I'm just that good."
Miles chuckled, giving her a look I didn't like—like he'd known this side of her for years and I was just catching up.
Miles raised a brow, his grin curling into something a little too knowing. "Wait—you two?" he said, glancing between me and Ruth like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't quite fit. "Since when do you hang out with Dylan, Ruth? This is… new."
Chase, quieter but equally skeptical, tilted his head. "Yeah. Last I heard, you two couldn't be in the same room without throwing daggers—literal or verbal." His gaze lingered on me for a moment, searching, as if expecting me to confirm some secret truth.
Ruth laughed, a little too casually. "Relax, guys. It's not like that. We're just—"
"Working," I cut in smoothly, my voice calm but carrying a weight that left no room for doubt. I slid a glance at Ruth, then back to them. "She's assisting me on a project. Strictly business."
Miles' grin didn't fade—if anything, it sharpened. "Business, huh? That must be some very interesting business if it has Ruth smiling like that."
I felt a flicker of irritation coil in my chest, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I stepped closer, just slightly, my presence brushing against Ruth's as I rested my hand lightly against her back—casual enough to seem harmless, but deliberate enough that Miles noticed. His smirk faltered for half a second.
"She's good at what she does," I said with an even tone, though my eyes didn't leave Miles'. "So, yes, she's here. With me."
Ruth looked up at me, a tiny, almost imperceptible blush crossing her cheeks at my words. I wasn't trying to make a claim, not really. But something inside me—the part that still burned from seeing Miles hug her—wanted to remind everyone where the lines were.
Chase let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. "Wow. Never thought I'd see the day Dylan Fynder calls someone 'good at what they do' without a hint of sarcasm." He grinned at Ruth. "Guess you must be special."
"Or maybe he just doesn't like losing to me," Ruth shot back, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she nudged me with her elbow. "Not everyone can handle getting smoked in a race by yours truly."
I arched a brow, leaning down just enough so only she could hear. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I'm demanding a rematch before the day's over, and this time, no mercy."
She smirked up at me, completely unfazed. "You talk big for someone who came in second place."
Miles laughed, but there was something behind his laughter—curiosity, maybe even suspicion. "This is… weirdly fun to watch," he muttered. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the two of you aren't at each other's throats."
I gave him a half-smile, deliberately slow. "People change."
Chase inhaled the cool air and smirked. "Yeah, they sure do. We were just here for a race, too. Saw an ad online and thought, why not? Didn't think we'd run into you two, but I'm not complaining—nice surprise." He tilted his head slightly, eyes bright with suggestion. "There's no pub around here, but I know a small café that feels like one—wooden counters, dim lights, the works. What do you say? Drinks on me?"
Dylan's gaze slid to me for a second, like he was reading my thoughts, then he said, "Yeah, sure. Let's go."
I felt Ruth's hand brush against mine, hesitant at first, and I took it gently, threading my fingers through hers. She blinked at me—just a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes—but she didn't let go. We followed Chase, who led the way with a kind of easy confidence, like he already belonged here.
The street narrowed as we walked, lanterns glowing softly against the evening sky. I glanced down at Ruth's profile; her hair caught the light in coppery strands, and for a moment, the world felt quieter, like even the city was holding its breath. She didn't say anything, but I could feel that subtle, unspoken shift in her—like she was letting me in just a little more than before.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the beachside café where we'd settled. The air smelled faintly of salt and citrus from the nearby stalls, and a small local band was playing just a few feet away. Their instruments hummed softly—guitar, violin, and a hand drum—mixing with the murmurs of people gathering around to watch them.
I took a slow sip of my drink, the chilled glass sweating in my hand. Beside me, Ruth laughed at something Miles had said, her shoulders shaking slightly. There was something about the way her hair caught the warm glow of the sun—soft waves of brown tipped with gold—that made it hard not to watch her.
"You're staring again," Chase muttered to me with a teasing grin, leaning over slightly so only I could hear.
I smirked without looking away. "Observation is a skill, Chase. Something you should pick up instead of narrating my life."
"Right," he said, raising his glass, "or maybe you just like the view."
Before I could respond, Ruth caught our exchange. "What are you two whispering about?"
"Dylan's intense staring habits," Chase said without missing a beat.
I leaned back with a lazy smirk, meeting her curious gaze. "What can I say? Someone's got to keep an eye on you. You're trouble."
She narrowed her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement there. "Oh, please. The only trouble here is you pretending you're not the type who secretly enjoys watching live music and sipping drinks like this."
I raised a brow. "And what makes you so sure I enjoy this?"
"Because you haven't stopped smirking for the past twenty minutes," she said with a small smile, her voice soft but certain.
Miles chuckled, leaning on the back of his chair. "I have to admit, I've never seen Dylan this… relaxed. It's unsettling."
"Unsettling?" I shot him a look, feigning offense. "You make it sound like I'm a mob boss on holiday."
"Aren't you?" Miles quipped with a grin.
Ruth snorted into her drink, trying not to laugh. The sound alone tugged at something in me, and I found myself smiling despite trying not to.
The band shifted into a slow, almost romantic melody, and the sound floated through the open space like a whisper. Couples nearby started to sway lightly to the rhythm. Ruth glanced at them, then back at me, catching me watching her again.
"You're not thinking of asking me to dance, are you?" she teased, her tone light but her eyes holding a challenge.
I smirked, leaning in slightly. "Why? Scared you'd say yes?"
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "You really think I'd dance with you?"
Miles and Chase both choked on their drinks, laughing. "She's got you there," Miles said, pointing at me.
I shook my head with a grin. "Keep laughing, but if I remember correctly, you both lost to her on the track. So maybe you're the ones who should be scared."
Chase lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'll give her credit. She's faster than most of us. But dancing? That's your challenge, Fynder."
The hum of conversation around us softened as the small band in the corner tuned their instruments. A mellow, soulful tune began, the kind that pulls everyone in without even trying. The acoustic guitar strummed gently, joined by a violin that carried a faint, almost wistful melody.
I chuckled as Ruth hooted softly, leaning in with a smile. "Well, let's do a dance—but a sing-along seems nice."
Miles glanced at me, his brow lifting. "A sing-along? Sure… want me to request a song?"
Before I could say anything, Ruth's shoulders tensed slightly, and she shook her head quickly. "No, no… I'll just wait and see if they play something I know—or like."
She tried to sound casual, but there was a nervous softness in her voice that made me smirk.
Just then, the band shifted into a familiar song, something slow and rich, with a chorus that everyone seemed to recognize. A few people around us started humming along, while others softly sang under their breath. Without meaning to, the four of us gravitated closer to the small crowd forming near the band.
Ruth stood beside me, close enough that her arm brushed against mine as we moved with the group. Miles and Chase were already clapping in rhythm, half-singing with lazy grins, while Ruth looked like she was debating whether to join in at all.
There was no loudness here, no chaos—just a simple joy radiating from the music and the people who sang along.
Miles and Chase joined in without hesitation, humming the melody, their voices low but cheerful. Ruth and I stood next to each other, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her shoulder brushing mine every now and then.
I glanced at her, catching the way her lips moved slightly, barely forming the words, almost too shy to join in. Her eyes were fixed on the band, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face.
Before I realized it, I started humming the tune under my breath—slowly, quietly, just enough for her to hear.
Her head turned slightly toward me, her eyes flicking up to mine like she wasn't expecting it.
"You know this song?" she whispered, her voice just above the music.
"Yeah," I murmured back, my voice low and even. "My uncle used to play it all the time. Guess it stuck."
She smiled—soft, real—and for a moment, the world outside this little square didn't matter. She didn't join in singing, but her lips curved just enough to make me want to keep humming, like I was doing it just for her.
Miles and Chase were lost in the rhythm, lightly tapping their feet, their earlier teasing gone as they just enjoyed the moment.
The band shifted into another song, and the soft opening chords of "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake filled the warm evening air. I turned toward Ruth, catching her by surprise as I gently took her hand and guided her closer.
Her brows lifted slightly, as though she wasn't sure what I was doing, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let me slide my hand around her waist, pulling her just close enough for her to feel the quiet strength in my hold.
"Dance with me," I murmured.
Her lips parted as though to protest, but when the singer's voice carried through the melody, she just nodded softly, and I felt her relax into me. The world beyond her seemed to fade—the laughter of the crowd, the chatter, even the band itself. All I saw was her.
I took a deep breath, my forehead leaning almost against hers, and I started to sing, my voice low and quiet—just for her.
"Aren't you somethin' to admire?'Cause your shine is somethin' like a mirrorAnd I can't help but noticeYou reflect in this heart of mine…"
She smiled, but it wasn't her usual teasing smile. It was soft, almost fragile, as her eyes locked on mine with a kind of wonder I hadn't seen before. I tightened my hold on her waist, singing the next lines just a little closer, like a confession:
"If you ever feel alone andThe glare makes me hard to findJust know that I'm alwaysParallel on the other side…"
By the time I reached the chorus, she was smiling so intently at me, like every word I sang cut right into her soul. I felt my own throat tighten, but I kept singing, each word truer than I ever thought possible.
"'Cause I don't wanna lose you nowI'm lookin' right at the other half of me…"
A small, wet shimmer appeared in her eyes. She tried to blink it away, but I saw it. When the first tear slipped down her cheek, she clenched my shirt in her fists, holding onto me like I was her anchor.
I paused just long enough to brush my thumb across her cheek, wiping it away before anyone else noticed. My chest ached, seeing her like that. I leaned in slightly, whispering between the lyrics, "Shh, don't cry… or I'll start thinking I really am that good, my Ceren."
Her breath caught at the word. "Ceren?" she asked softly, tilting her head. "What does that mean?"
I smiled faintly, pulling her just a little closer, the corners of my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I murmured, "Google it when we get back."
I didn't stop singing.
"Aren't you somethin', an original?'Cause it doesn't seem merely assembledAnd I can't help but stare, 'causeI see truth somewhere in your eyes…"
She closed her eyes for a moment, just letting my voice sink in, her forehead now resting lightly against my collarbone. I felt her warmth, her heartbeat faint but steady against my chest.
When I sang the final verse, I wasn't just singing anymore—I was saying everything I'd never found words for.
"Show me how to fight for now,And I'll tell you, baby, it was easy…Comin' back here to you once I figured it out,You were right here all along…"
By the end of the song, she was smiling through glistening tears, her fingers still gripping my shirt like she didn't want to let go. I brushed another tear away with the pad of my thumb and tilted her chin so she'd look at me.
"You felt it, didn't you?" I asked quietly, my voice low, almost unsteady.
She nodded, her lips trembling in the faintest smile. "Dylan… that song. Your voice…" She paused, her throat tight as she whispered, "It was beautiful. I mean it."
"Good," I said softly, my eyes locked on hers. "Because I meant every word of it."
Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushed faintly, and for a moment, she just leaned into me, letting her head rest against my chest as if she belonged there. And maybe, in some unspoken way, she did.
Just as the song faded and I felt Ruth's fingers relax slightly against my chest, a familiar voice cut through the warm hum of the crowd.
"Well, well, look at you two," Miles drawled, his tone dripping with mischief.
Ruth blinked, her face flushing as she quickly stepped back, smoothing her skirt like she'd been caught doing something scandalous. I caught her wrist briefly—just a second, a silent "don't"—before letting her go.
Chase smirked, arms crossed, and nodded toward us. "Didn't think we'd walk in on this. Dylan Fynder, of all people, singing in public? And not just singing—serenading. That's… new."
Ruth bit her lip, looking between them with wide eyes. "We were just—"
"Dancing," Miles finished with a grin. "Yeah, we saw. I mean, wow. Look at you two. If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone's finally learned how to not scare people off, Dylan."
"Funny," I said flatly, adjusting my jacket like their teasing didn't faze me—though I could see Ruth struggling to hide her flustered smile. "I didn't know you both moonlight as comedians."
Miles chuckled, glancing at Ruth. "He's even got a smile. You see that? This guy doesn't smile for anyone. What have you done to him, Ruth?"
Her cheeks went even redder. "Nothing! It's not—"
"Uh-huh," Chase said, smirking. "Nothing at all. Just a slow dance, a heartfelt ballad, and about thirty witnesses. Casual."
Ruth groaned softly, rubbing her forehead. "Can we not make this a big deal? It was just a song."
Miles leaned closer to her with a grin that said otherwise. "Yeah, sure. Just a song. That's why he was looking at you like—"
"Miles," I cut in, my voice carrying a quiet warning edge that made him pause mid-sentence. He raised his brows but backed off with a small laugh.
Chase shook his head, still amused. "Alright, alright. We'll let it go. For now."
But as I glanced at Ruth, her gaze flickered to mine, and I caught the faintest smile on her lips. She could deny it all she wanted, but that moment between us, the song, the way her tears had fallen it wasn't "just a song."
Chase looked at me and said,'' so this will a great media sensation huh ?''
Ruth's fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, her face pale beneath the soft evening lights. I could feel her panic like a pulse in the air—sharp, almost trembling. She wasn't wrong. We were walking a razor-thin line. Both of us knew that whatever this was—us—couldn't go public. Not yet. Not when every step of this mission was a chess move, and one wrong slip could send everything crashing down.
I shifted slightly, leaning closer to her, my hand brushing against her knee under the table. She stiffened for a second, but I gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, my thumb moving in slow circles—steady, grounding.
I looked at Miles and Chase, their teasing smiles still hanging there, half-curious, half-playful. "I'll tell you guys later," I said firmly, letting my voice hold enough weight that they didn't push further. My eyes flicked to Ruth briefly, her wide gaze darting to mine. "But not a word of this leaves here. Not to Marcus. Not to Dustin. No one."
Miles's grin faltered, replaced by a subtle understanding. Chase, ever the sharp observer, tilted his head, watching me like he was reading between every line I hadn't spoken.
"Got it," Chase said eventually, nodding. "We won't say a thing. But Dylan…" He smirked faintly, lowering his voice. "This is new. Seeing you this… human."
I ignored the jab, keeping my focus on Ruth. She still looked like she wanted to disappear into the crowd, but I gave her knee another squeeze, leaning just slightly so my shoulder brushed hers. "Hey," I murmured low enough for only her to hear, "it's fine. I'm not letting anything happen to this. Or to you."
Her breath hitched—just barely—but she gave the smallest nod, eyes softening as she stared at her lap.
Before I could say more, Ruth's attention shifted, her gaze caught on something near the entrance. I followed her line of sight and saw a scruffy little puppy wagging its tail, looking up at strangers with big, pleading eyes. Ruth stood almost immediately, her earlier tension melting away into a soft smile.
"I'm just—uh—going to say hi," she said, already moving toward the dog. Her skirt swayed as she crouched down near the entrance, cooing softly as the puppy licked her hand.
I watched her for a moment, that unguarded joy on her face catching me off guard. God, she was beautiful when she wasn't even trying.
Miles leaned back in his chair, pulling me back to the moment. "She's something else, huh?" His tone was light, but there was weight behind the words.
"Yeah," I said without hesitation, my eyes still on her.
"You're serious about this?" Chase asked, brows raised. His voice wasn't mocking—just curious, almost protective. "Because, Dylan… you know the history. What happened back then. You hurt her."
I turned to them, my jaw tightening slightly. "I know. And I'm not proud of it. But I'm not that guy anymore."
Miles folded his arms, giving me a look like he was testing every word I said. "You better not be. Ruth's been through enough, man. She doesn't need history repeating itself."
I exhaled, running a hand down my face. "She's not the enemy, and neither am I. Not anymore. I… like her. More than I planned to."
miles smiled,'' that's great to hear I hope you keep her protected but when chase mentioned media she tensed up whats with that.''
Dylan leaned forward, his elbows resting casually on the table, though his tone carried the kind of sharpness that made both Miles and Chase pay close attention. His gaze briefly flicked between them before settling on Chase.
"Well, since Chase already knows a little," Dylan began, voice low and steady, "I guess it's time you both hear the whole picture. Or at least most of it."
Miles raised a brow but stayed quiet, waiting.
"I asked Chase for some information about Ruth… about her past," Dylan continued. "You both know bits and pieces of her story. But there's more. A lot more."
He paused for a moment, his jaw tightening as if the weight of what he was about to say was heavier than he wanted to admit. "Dustin Orgetsev is planning an attack on my bases, my businesses. Hackers, raids, connections—he's been trying to worm his way in for months now, and so far, he hasn't been all that lucky. But he's persistent."
Chase's expression hardened slightly at the name, while Miles frowned, leaning back in his seat.
Dylan's voice grew quieter, but sharper. "Dustin knows about my past with Ruth. And he went for the lowest move possible. He contacted the brothel in New York—the one Ruth was trapped in." He looked at them both meaningfully. "I'm sure you've heard something about that."
Neither of them spoke, but the sudden shift in their expressions was enough to tell him they knew some of it, just not everything.
"Her parents were in debt to them," Dylan went on, his voice softer now, like he hated even saying it. "When they died, the debt fell on her. She's been paying it back the only way Marcu,s the bastard who runs it would allow. Dustin offered Marcus a deal. Keep Ruth under his thumb. Use her as leverage. And… he did. She was sent to spy on me. Feed Dustin information."
Miles' jaw clenched, and Chase let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. "You're saying Ruth…" Chase started, trailing off.
"I'm saying Ruth is working as a double agent now," Dylan cut in firmly. "Not because she wants to. Because I gave her a choice, and she's risking her life walking that line. Dustin thinks she's still feeding him information. Marcus thinks he has her loyalty. But I know better now. She's working with me."
There was a quiet beat of tension. Miles' eyes flicked toward Ruth's direction, but Dylan was already looking there—at the girl crouched near the entrance of the club, laughing softly as the puppy nuzzled against her hands. For a moment, she didn't look like someone carrying the weight of hell on her back. She just looked… free. Innocent.
Dylan's chest tightened, a deep breath filling his lungs as he looked at her. God, she deserved more than this life. She deserved more than double-crosses and debts and scars no one could see.
Miles followed Dylan's gaze, his voice low but heavy. "And you trust her? After everything?"
Dylan's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yeah. I do. More than I trust anyone right now."
Miles let out a low breath, his sharp gaze still on Dylan. "You know, a few months ago, I would've called you insane for even letting Ruth stay near you… let alone trust her. But now…" He paused, his eyes softening for a rare moment. "Now I think you're not just trusting her. You care about her, don't you?"
Dylan's jaw tightened at the bluntness of the question, but he didn't deny it. "I wouldn't let her take this risk if I didn't care," he admitted, his voice quieter, heavier. "She's been through enough hell already. And if I have any say in it, Dustin will never lay a finger on her again."
Chase leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Dylan with a knowing smirk. "I knew something was different when you didn't throw her off the track that day. You don't get soft, Dylan. Not for anyone. But you're… different with her. It's like you're not carrying all that ice anymore."
Dylan chuckled dryly. "Soft isn't the word I'd use."
"No," Miles interjected, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "but you look at her like you'd burn the whole city to keep her safe. That's not the Dylan we grew up racing with—that's something else."
There was a silence between them for a moment. Dylan's gaze had drifted back to Ruth, who was still crouched with the puppy, her hair glowing softly under the late afternoon light. He felt something ache in his chest—a strange kind of peace, like seeing her smile was enough to silence the noise in his head.
"I hurt her once," Dylan said finally, his voice low. "Back in school. And I've carried that guilt longer than I'll ever admit. But now… I'm not making that mistake again. I don't care what Marcus or Dustin thinks they have over her. I'll take both of them down before they even get close."
Chase exchanged a look with Miles—one that said more than words. Protective as they were of Ruth, hearing Dylan speak like this settled something unspoken between them. They weren't just worried friends anymore; they were relieved.
Miles cracked a small smile. "Then I guess we don't have to worry about her with you. You've got that look in your eyes, Dylan. The one that says you're not letting her go."
Dylan's lips curved slightly, his eyes still fixed on Ruth. "I don't plan to."
Ruth came back toward us, the little puppy trailing after her like it had chosen her as its favorite human. She had that soft, rare smile that made her eyes almost glow. For a moment, the whole world seemed to pause, her presence quieting everything around her.
"I think I just made a new friend," she said, crouching briefly to scratch the puppy's ears before straightening up. "He's cuter than all three of you combined."
Miles smirked. "Debatable. But I'll let you have this one."
Chase laughed. "Careful, Ruth. If you keep complimenting random puppies, Dylan's going to get jealous."
Ruth shot him a puzzled look, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Jealous? He's not—" She stopped herself, suddenly unsure why she was even defending it. "You're ridiculous."
I couldn't help the small, knowing smile tugging at my lips. "He's not wrong," I said smoothly, my voice lower as I looked at her. "You smile more at that puppy than at me."
She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint blush creeping along her cheeks. "Maybe the puppy's just more charming."
"Not possible," I countered, my tone effortlessly confident.
Miles and Chase exchanged a look—one that screamed we see what's happening here—but, mercifully, they didn't say anything. Not yet.
Instead, Miles tilted his head. "You two have been… spending a lot of time together, huh?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge of curiosity he didn't bother hiding.
Ruth blinked, suddenly feeling like all eyes were on her. "We're just… working together. That's all."
I rested a hand on her knee, subtle but grounding. "Work and more," I said smoothly, though not enough to make her panic. "We're figuring things out."
She glanced at me, her lips parting as if to say something, but instead she stayed quiet, biting back whatever words were on the tip of her tongue. Her hand absentmindedly rested on mine for just a moment before pulling away.
Chase's grin widened. "Huh. Looks like someone has changed."
"Yeah," Miles added, raising a brow in amusement. "Last time we saw you two together, you were practically at each other's throats."
I smirked faintly, leaning back in my seat. "We still are. We just… found better ways to distract ourselves."
Ruth shot me a sharp, wide-eyed look that screamed Stop talking, but I only chuckled under my breath. Miles and Chase tried and failed not to laugh.