When we finally made it back to the hotel that evening, the golden hues of sunset had already melted into the warm glow of the room lamps. I barely had time to kick off my shoes when I noticed Dylan moving with strange determination—dragging the small bedside table that sat between our two separate double beds.
I raised a brow, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. "What exactly are you doing?"
He paused mid-pull, glancing at me with mock offense, as though I had just questioned a master plan. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, his tone utterly serious.
"It looks like you're… redecorating?" I said, struggling not to laugh.
Dylan straightened, tapping the wooden table like it was an enemy he'd just conquered. "Redecorating? No. I'm removing the iceberg that sank the Titanic and caused unspeakable tragedy—the cruel, poetic separation of two lovers." He gestured between our beds, his voice dramatic but his face perfectly composed. "This," he pointed at the table, "is the iceberg."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculous?" he repeated, feigning insult. "No, Ruth. I'm a problem solver. History would have been rewritten if someone had removed the iceberg. I'm just doing my part to make sure such tragedy doesn't strike twice."
"Oh, right," I teased, walking over to him. "And who, exactly, are the 'tragic lovers' in this scenario?"
He didn't miss a beat, leaning one arm against the bedframe with a sly smirk. "Do I really have to answer that?"
I rolled my eyes, but my pulse gave an uninvited jump. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said with that calm, teasing tone, "you're still here, watching me heroically remove furniture obstacles for your sake. You're welcome."
Dylan gave the bedside table one last shove, then looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "You know, you could at least offer to help instead of standing there looking amused."
I crossed my arms and grinned. "You seem to be doing just fine on your own, Mr. Fynder. I wouldn't want to rob you of your heroic moment."
"Heroic moment?" He chuckled, running a hand through his slightly tousled hair. "Ruth, pushing furniture isn't heroic—it's strategic. Come on, give me a hand. Unless you're scared of getting too close."
I shot him a look but couldn't hide my smile. "Scared? Please. Move over."
I stepped next to him, and together we pushed the two beds until they met with a dull thud in the middle of the room. Dylan leaned against one of the frames, looking rather proud of himself.
"Well," he said, straightening his shirt, "this is much better. No icebergs. No tragic lovers. No unnecessary space between us."
I raised a brow, feigning seriousness. "Oh, so now we're tragic lovers?"
He smirked. "You tell me. You kissed me first, remember?"
My cheeks warmed despite my best effort not to react. "That's debatable. I think you kissed me first."
He stepped a little closer, tilting his head just slightly, his voice dropping into that low tone that always made my stomach tighten. "Does it matter who kissed who first? I'm just glad we stopped pretending we didn't want to."
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The playful tone faded just enough to leave behind a charged silence.
I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face, "you're still here helping me push beds together. That means something, Ruth."
Once the beds were pushed together, I sat on the edge with a mock sigh of exhaustion, brushing my hands like I'd just moved a mountain. "Well, Mr. Fynder, your grand plan of destroying the bedside 'iceberg' has been successful. Do I get a medal now?"
Dylan smirked as he sat beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "You get something better," he said, leaning back on his palms casually. "A front-row seat to my charm. Not everyone gets that privilege, you know."
I let out a quiet laugh. "Your charm? Dylan, I've been around long enough to know half of it is just you making things up on the spot."
"Not true," he said, tilting his head toward me, his tone mock-serious. "The other half is natural talent."
I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips gave me away. "You're impossible."
"Impossible to ignore, maybe." His voice softened, and I felt his gaze lingering on me. There was a warmth there that hadn't been before—a gentleness that made my breath catch for a moment.
"Why do I feel like you're looking at me like I'm some puzzle you've figured out?" I asked, trying to sound light but failing a little.
"Because maybe I have," he said simply. His hand moved, brushing against mine, not entirely on purpose but not by accident either. "You know… you're different when you're not fighting me."
I turned slightly, meeting his gaze. "Different how?"
"Soft," he said after a pause, almost as if the word felt too fragile to speak out loud. "Beautiful. Dangerous, but not in the way you think. It's the kind of dangerous that makes a man want to stay."
My throat tightened a little at that. I glanced down, unsure what to say, but Dylan's fingers brushed my wrist gently. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Don't hide from me, my Ceren."
The word—Ceren—fell from his lips like something sacred. I looked up, surprised. "You keep calling me that… what does it even mean?"
He smiled faintly, leaning a little closer, his breath warm against my skin. " didnt i tell you too google it ? but ill tell you It's Turkish. It means… my soul, my life. The one who reflects my heart back to me."
The air between us felt heavier then, but not in a bad way. I swallowed, feeling the tension, the quiet tenderness threading through his tone. "Dylan…"
"I mean it," he said softly, reaching up to tuck a loose wave of my hair behind my ear. "You've got no idea how much I like this version of you. Not the agent, not the fighter… just Ruth. My Ceren."
I could only smile faintly, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. "You're really making it hard to keep my walls up, you know that?"
"Good," he said, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like hope. "Because I'm not planning to let you run from me tonight."
For a while, we just sat there on the bed, shoulders close, the hum of the city outside filling the silence. His hand found mine again, this time with no hesitation, and I didn't pull away.
Dylan shifted closer on the newly joined bed, his shoulder brushing mine with that easy confidence he carried everywhere. His eyes caught mine with a glint of mischief.
"You know," he said, his tone calm but teasing, "you keep talking about these walls of yours, but they're not as high as you think."
I frowned in mock confusion. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"
"That night," he said, his voice softening just slightly, "when I sang to you in front of everyone… you cried. My Ceren, don't deny it." His smirk grew a little, but it wasn't mocking—it was almost affectionate. "You tried to hide it, but I saw every single tear glisten in your eyes."
I felt my cheeks warm, and I rolled my eyes to cover the embarrassment. "That was the music, not you. The band was good. And, fine, maybe Justin Timberlake knows how to write a good lyric."
Dylan chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Sure, blame Timberlake if it makes you feel better. But we both know it wasn't just the song, Ruth. It was me. Admit it—I got to you."
I laughed, trying to push him back, but he only leaned in more, his shoulder pressing against mine as he grinned. "You're so annoyingly proud of yourself," I muttered.
"You love it," he countered with that sly grin.
I stared at him for a second, ready with a retort, but his expression softened unexpectedly. "I'm not teasing you to make you uncomfortable, you know," he said. "I liked seeing that side of you. The real one. Not the guarded agent, not the double-agent persona… just Ruth."
Something about the way he said my name made my chest tighten, and I didn't have a quick comeback for once. I looked down, brushing an imaginary crease on the bedspread, but Dylan reached out, gently tilting my chin back up with his fingers.
"Hey," he murmured. "Don't hide from me." His eyes softened into something I rarely saw in him—an openness, a vulnerability. "You're safe here. With me."
The words lodged in my chest like a knot, and for a moment, I just… let go. I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. "You really know how to get under my skin, you know that?"
He grinned, but it was softer now, almost tender. "Good. I plan on staying there."
I couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped me. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously charming," he corrected, leaning back just enough to stretch out on the bed. Then, with a boyish grin, he patted the spot next to him. "Come here. I'm not done proving my point."
I arched an eyebrow. "And what point would that be?"
"That you're secretly in love with my singing voice," he said with a wink.
I rolled my eyes again but settled beside him anyway, lying on my side with my back half-turned toward him. "Dream on, Mr. Fynder."
"Mm," he hummed, moving closer, "don't tempt me."
Before I could react, his arm slipped over my waist, pulling me gently against him. It wasn't forceful, just… natural. His warmth radiated against my back, and I felt his breath brush the side of my neck.
"Dylan," I said quietly, "what are you doing?"
"Cuddling my Ceren," he murmured without hesitation. "Don't pretend you don't like it."
I was quiet for a moment, the sound of his steady breathing filling the space between us. "You're awfully sure of yourself."
"Only when I'm right," he replied, resting his chin lightly near my shoulder.
His hand traced slow, absent patterns along my arm—nothing deliberate, just the kind of touch that sent tiny sparks up my skin. I didn't mean to relax into him, but I did. My head found the curve of his shoulder, and his other hand found mine, fingers brushing over my knuckles before lacing together gently.
"You're warm," I said, my voice softer now, almost sleepy.
"I work out," he teased. "A lot of heat from all those abs you secretly stare at."
I snorted, trying to shove his chest, but he just tightened his arm slightly around me. "Stop being so full of yourself," I muttered.
"Not full," he whispered near my ear, "just confident when I'm holding the girl who cried when I sang to her."
I groaned, burying my face in the pillow to hide my laugh. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Not a chance," he said, his tone warm and amused. "Because, Ruth… that was the moment I knew. You're not as untouchable as you think. And I like that you let me see it."
The quiet sincerity in his voice made me pause. I turned slightly in his hold, facing him now, and for a second, all I could do was look into those stormy gray eyes of his.
"You're not that cold-hearted either," I murmured. "I think I'm starting to like this side of you."
Dylan smiled faintly—an honest, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. "Good," he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.
The quiet stretched between us, not awkward but soft and warm, like the silence had its own heartbeat. Dylan's arm was still around me, his hand resting lightly at my waist, his thumb tracing small, lazy circles against the fabric of my top. I felt my own heartbeat quicken under his touch, a warmth spreading from my chest down to my fingertips.
"You're thinking too much," he said softly, his voice almost a murmur against my hair.
I tilted my head back just enough to look at him. "And how would you know?"
His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Because I can feel it. You get this… stillness. Like you're holding your breath even when you're not. And I don't like it."
I chuckled under my breath. "You don't like me thinking?"
"I don't like you overthinking," he corrected, his voice firmer now. "Not when you could be doing something better. Like… this."
Before I could respond, he tightened his arm around me, pulling me so close I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. His warmth enveloped me completely, the scent of his cologne lingering—something clean and sharp, mixed with the faint musk of his skin. My forehead brushed against his collarbone, and without thinking, I nestled closer.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes soft.
"Hmm," I hummed, trying to hide how much I was melting into him. "You're… too warm. It's like hugging a furnace."
"Good," he said with a grin I could feel against my hair. "Then I'm doing my job right."
I tilted my head just enough to meet his gaze, rolling my eyes. "What job?"
"The job of keeping you here," he said smoothly. "Right where you belong, my Ceren."
The way he said it—low, certain, like it was a truth he'd been holding onto—sent a flutter straight to my chest. I tried to deflect it, because that's what I do, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"You know," I said softly, my voice playful but trembling at the edges, "you're not the easiest person to like. You're stubborn, annoying, ridiculously smug…"
"Mm-hmm," Dylan murmured with a smirk. "Go on. Tell me how irresistible I am."
I bit my lip, my cheeks warming. "And despite all that… I think I might love you."
The silence that followed was different—charged, but not heavy. Dylan's hand stilled against my waist, and his eyes locked on mine like I'd just knocked the air out of him.
"Say that again," he said, his voice low and rough.
I tried to play it off, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "What? That you're stubborn? Oh, I'll gladly repeat—"
"Ruth," he cut in, his tone softer now, but firm enough to stop me. His gaze was searching, like he needed to be sure I meant it. "You love me?"
i hesitated only a second before nodding, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I do. God help me, I do."
The look on my face—pure, unfiltered emotion—made my chest tighten. i didn't say anything right away. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath warm and uneven.
"You have no idea what you just did to me, Ceren," he whispered, his thumb brushing my cheek. "I've wanted to hear that more than I can ever explain."
she smiled softly, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "Well, consider your ego fed for the night."
i laughed quietly, the sound warm and full, before pulling me closer until I was almost half on top of him. His arms wrapped around me, his hold protective but gentle. I let out a small sigh and rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum under my ear.
"You know I'm not letting you go now," he murmured, his lips brushing the top of my hair. "Not after this. Not after you."
"Good," I mumbled, my eyelids growing heavier. "Because I'm exactly where I want to be."
I shifted closer against Dylan, my head resting on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm that calmed me more than I wanted to admit. My fingers absentmindedly traced the lines of his shirt, feeling the warmth radiating through the fabric.
The memory of earlier—the song he sang—still played in my mind. The sound of his voice, low and raw, hadn't left me. I tilted my head slightly, glancing up at him. "Dylan…"
"Mm?" His voice was a soft rumble above me, and I felt it vibrate through his chest.
"That song you sang earlier," I whispered, almost embarrassed to bring it up. "It's been stuck in my head all day. Not just the tune… but the way you sang it. Like every single word meant something."
He looked down at me, his eyes catching mine in the dim light. "That's because every word did mean something," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I sang it for you, Ruth. All of it was for you."
My breath caught. I didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever said something so genuine to me. No one had ever made me feel… seen. "You really mean that?" I asked softly.
He smiled faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. "I don't sing for just anyone. But you… you've been my mirror for a long time now, even when I tried to deny it. You see me, even when I'm at my worst. And I think… I think I don't ever want you to stop."
Something in my chest tightened. I swallowed hard and pressed my hand to his chest, right where his heart beat strong and steady. "When you sang those words," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "it felt like you were looking right into me. Past all the walls, all the scars. You saw me. And that… terrified me."
His hand slid gently into my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek. "Don't be scared. Not with me. I see all of you, Ruth. The real you. And I'm not going anywhere."
I let out a shaky laugh, leaning my forehead against his collarbone. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," he murmured, his breath warm against my hair. "But you're worth it. Every second. Every wall I have to break through."
My chest warmed, my cheeks heating, and I couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto my lips. "Stop saying things like that," I said with a soft laugh. "It makes me feel like I'm falling all over again."
"Then fall," he whispered, kissing the top of my head. "I'll always catch you, Ceren. Always."
''You keep calling me that. Ceren. You've never explained what it means." i said
He hesitated, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek. "It's… Turkish. It means 'my soul.' Or… 'the soul that touches mine.'" His voice was lower now, almost uncertain. "It felt right. You feel like that to me."
For a second, I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened at the weight of those words. My soul. No one had ever seen me that way.
He gazed down at me, something soft and unguarded in his expression. "Did it touch your heart?"
I smiled, my hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. "More than I want to admit."
I nestled closer, feeling his warmth surround me like a cocoon. "I could stay like this forever," I murmured, closing my eyes and breathing him in.
I smiled faintly, my forehead pressing against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His warmth seeped into me like sunlight through a cold window, and I didn't want to move—didn't want this moment to vanish like some cruel dream.
"Promise you won't leave me," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the dark. "Promise I won't wake up and find out this was all some horrible, mean stunt."
Dylan shifted slightly, his hand cupping the back of my head as if to keep me close. "Ruth," he said softly, his tone carrying that rare gentleness he rarely let anyone see. "I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not unless you tell me to."
I tilted my head up to look at him, the dim glow from the bedside lamp catching the sharp edges of his face. "You say that like you mean it."
"I do." His thumb brushed my cheek, lingering like he was memorizing every inch of my face. "I've let you slip away once. I'm not stupid enough to let it happen again. You're stuck with me now, Ceren."
The nickname warmed me in a way I couldn't explain. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch, my voice trembling just a little. "Good. Because I don't think I'd forgive you if you left."
He smiled—one of those small, rare smiles that felt real, unguarded—and pressed his lips to the top of my head. "Then sleep. When you wake up, I'll be right here. No stunts, no games. Just me and you."
Something about the certainty in his voice untied every knot in my chest. I nestled closer, letting his arm wrap tighter around me. "Okay," I murmured, my voice heavy with sleep. "But don't think this means I won't fight you for the covers later."
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling against my ear. "You can have all the covers you want, sweetheart. I just need you."
I smiled to myself, a small, fragile smile that I hadn't felt in years. For once, the little fairy tale I used to watch growing up—those soft, hopeful stories about love and safety—felt real. It wasn't just some dream on a dusty TV screen anymore.
I felt loved.I felt cared for.
The way Dylan held me, his arm draped over me as if I was the only thing worth protecting in this entire world, made me feel something I hadn't felt in so long—alive. Not broken, not dead inside, not a ghost of someone who once dreamed. Alive.
I closed my eyes, my thoughts whispering fears I didn't want to hear. I just hope my mind doesn't play games with me this time. I hope I get a good night's rest—a sleep not carved with nightmares but filled with peace. The kind of peace I've tasted, just a little, in these past weeks with Dylan.
Sure, I've had nightmares. I still wake up some nights drenched in cold sweat, my chest tight from memories I don't want. But it's different with him. Nothing as bad as before. Nothing that leaves me screaming or hollow.
Because now, I know I'm safe.I know I'm protected.And somehow, I know he won't let me slip back into that darkness.
I slipped into dreamland, where everything was soft and quiet, almost like a world painted in pastel colors. For once, nothing was wrong. There was no weight pressing on my chest, no shadows creeping in from the corners of my mind.
But then I heard it.
A scream.
A woman screaming for her life. The sound tore through the haze of my dream like broken glass. My vision shifted, and suddenly, I was back there—back in that room, the one I used to stay in at the brothel. The walls were peeling, the stench of fear thick in the air, and there he was.
Marcus.
His hand was raised, striking a woman so hard she collapsed with a choked cry. She screamed again, raw and broken, and I froze. I couldn't move. My body shook violently, my voice caught in my throat. All I could do was watch as the monster turned his head, his eyes finding me like a predator spotting its prey.
"Your turn," his voice snarled in my head as he came closer, steps heavy, cruel. His hand reached for me—
I woke up with a gasp, my whole body jerking upright. My chest was tight, so tight, like there wasn't enough air in the room. I clutched at the sheets, my breaths coming out in short, painful gasps.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe.
The nightmare still clung to me, claws sinking deep, and all I could hear was my own pulse pounding in my ears.
"Ruth."
Dylan's voice broke through the fog. Low. Urgent. Steady.
I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest, grounding me when my mind wanted to spiral. He was warm. Solid. Real.
"Shhh, I've got you. You're okay. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice rough but calm, a tether keeping me from falling apart.
"I—" My words broke into gasps. "I can't—can't breathe—"
"Yes, you can," he whispered, his palm gently pressing against my back, rubbing slow circles. "Breathe with me. Just listen to me. In… and out. That's it. You're here. Not there. No one is touching you. Not while I'm here."
His voice was firm now, protective in a way that made my chest tighten for a different reason. I focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest against my cheek.
Little by little, my trembling began to ease.
I clung to Dylan like a lifeline, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would drag me back into that nightmare. My breathing was still uneven, shaky, but his voice—steady and low—kept pulling me back to the surface.
"You're here, Ruth," he said softly, brushing the damp strands of hair from my forehead. "Not there. Not with him. He can't touch you now. I won't let him."
His words made my throat tighten, a hot lump forming as a tear slipped down my cheek. "It felt so real," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Marcus… he was there. I could hear her screaming. I was frozen. I—I hate that I still feel like that scared girl."
"Don't," Dylan said firmly, tilting my chin so I'd meet his gaze. His eyes were dark but tender, holding me steady. "You are not that girl anymore. You're standing here, stronger than you realize. Those memories don't define you."
"But they haunt me," I admitted, my chest tightening again. "No matter how far I run, I still hear it all. The walls, the screams… the feeling that I'll never escape."
"You will," he said, his voice dropping even lower, every word deliberate. "Because I won't let the past win. I won't let him win. Ruth, as long as I'm here, Marcus will never come near you again."
I let out a trembling breath, something raw and fragile breaking inside me. He said it with such conviction that I almost believed it,almost believed I wasn't broken beyond repair.
For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick and heavy but not suffocating. His forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling, and I felt his thumb trace slow circles against my skin like he was grounding both of us.
"Dylan…" I murmured, my voice trembling. "Promise me… promise you won't let go. Not after this."
"I promise," he said without hesitation, his voice a vow. "I'm not letting go, Ruth. Not now. Not ever."
He held me tighter, his chest warm against my cheek as he murmured something soft—Turkish words I didn't fully understand, but they sounded like comfort. Like a prayer.
Dylan shifted slightly, his hand still resting on the small of my back, steadying me as if afraid I'd crumble. He pressed a soft kiss to my temple—so light I almost thought I'd imagined it—and whispered, "Come on, Ruth. Let's get some air."
I let him guide me, his arm snug around my shoulders as we moved toward the balcony. The glass door slid open with a faint click, and a cool wave of early morning breeze rushed in, brushing against my damp cheeks. I stepped out, the world outside startlingly quiet, almost sacred.
The city was still asleep beneath us, its narrow streets faintly glimmering with the last traces of night dew. The horizon was beginning to break open into shades of gold and lavender, the first blush of sunrise spilling softly over the rooftops. Somewhere far away, I could hear the distant call of seagulls and the lazy hum of waves rolling onto the shore.
Dylan leaned against the railing beside me, his broad shoulders cutting a confident line against the rising sun. His presence radiated something I couldn't name—calm, warmth, safety. He looked at me for a long moment before he spoke, his voice low but steady.
"You're stronger than you think," he said. "Even when you wake up shaking like this, even when your past tries to claw its way back… you still stand." He turned slightly, his fingers brushing my hand on the railing. "Do you realize how rare that is? Most people break and stay broken. But you—" His eyes softened, and I saw something raw there. "You keep fighting."
My chest tightened, my throat aching as I tried to form words. "It doesn't feel like fighting," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Most days, it feels like I'm just… surviving."
He tilted his head, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. "Surviving is the first step to winning, Ruth. You've already lived through hell—and you walked out of it. That's more than I can say for most."
His hand found mine on the railing, his fingers warm and strong as they curled around mine. I didn't pull away. Instead, I let myself sink into the quiet moment, the rhythm of his breathing grounding me.
"Why do you always know what to say?" I asked softly, trying to hide the quiver in my voice.
"Because I've been there too," he said, almost like a confession. "Not in the same way you have, but… I know what it's like to lose pieces of yourself and not know if you'll get them back. I look at you, Ruth, and—" His jaw flexed slightly, as though the words were too heavy to push out. "I don't want you to feel like you're alone in this. Not with me here."
A lump formed in my throat, hot and heavy, and I couldn't hold his gaze anymore. I looked out at the horizon, my hand tightening in his. The sun had broken fully now, warm light flooding the city below.
"You've changed," I murmured after a moment. "The Dylan I knew years ago… he wasn't like this. He was colder. Sharper. I didn't think he could—" I stopped myself, my breath catching. "You're… different now."
He chuckled quietly, though there was no mockery in it—just something deep, thoughtful. "Maybe I just needed to find something worth changing for." His eyes found mine, and I felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and unflinching. "Or someone."
The silence that followed felt alive, humming between us, pulling me closer to him in ways I didn't know how to fight. I turned slightly, my shoulder brushing against his chest, and the contact sent a shiver down my spine.
"I don't know what I'd do if you left," I admitted quietly, almost afraid to hear my own words.
He reached up, gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing just below my eye as though he could wipe away every ghost still clinging to me. "You're stuck with me now," he murmured. "I didn't plan on letting you go… not after last night. Not after everything."
My heart fluttered, a strange mix of fear and longing, and I found myself leaning into his touch without hesitation. The warmth of his palm, the sincerity in his voice—it felt like everything I'd been running from and everything I'd needed all at once.
"Dylan…" I whispered, not sure what I was trying to say.
"Shh," he said softly, his forehead resting against mine. "Just… breathe with me."
i breathed with him and sat on the chair at the trrace slightly holding my self and waited till morning light rose, dylan kept holding my hand and whispered sweet nothings slightly giving me some space.
Soon the morning light washed over us, soft and golden, painting everything in a fragile calm. Dylan pulled out one of the chairs on the balcony and sat down, leaning back like he owned the sunrise. He gave my hand a slight tug.
"Come here," he said.
I hesitated for a second, unsure, but he gave me that look—half amused, half commanding—and I found myself stepping closer. He reached for my waist, his fingers warm against my skin even through the fabric of my light top, and gently pulled me onto his lap.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice low, his breath grazing my neck.
"Not bad," I teased, pretending to adjust as I leaned back against his chest. The steady thump of his heart was oddly soothing.
"Good," he murmured, his chin brushing the side of my temple. "Stay here."
I settled in, the cool morning breeze threading through my hair, while Dylan's arms wrapped around my waist as if I was meant to be there all along. His gaze drifted toward the horizon for a moment, but I caught the slight shift in his expression when the sunlight hit the scar by his eye—the thin, pale line that always made me wonder what had happened.
My fingers traced it gently before I could stop myself. "Does it hurt? Even now?"
He didn't flinch. Instead, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You mean this?" he said, tilting his head slightly so I could see it better. "Not anymore. Though it wasn't exactly my favorite souvenir."
I turned a little in his lap to face him, curiosity sparking in my chest. "Souvenir from what? You've never told me how you got it."
He took a slow breath, his eyes narrowing as though he was looking at something far away. "It was during a mission in Istanbul… about three years ago. We were trying to intercept a high-profile arms deal—very messy operation. I was supposed to extract a target, but things went sideways fast. One of their men had a blade—fast, quiet, the kind of guy who didn't blink. I barely saw him coming. If I hadn't turned when I did, he'd have slit my throat instead of just leaving me with this."
My hand stilled on his cheek, the thought alone making my stomach twist. "You… you almost died?"
His gaze flicked back to mine, and for a moment the playful Dylan I knew seemed stripped away, leaving only raw honesty. "Close enough that I thought it was over. And all I could think about at that moment was how much I hadn't done. How much I'd wasted being… angry at the wrong things. At the wrong people."
I bit my lip, quietly absorbing his words. My fingers trailed down from the scar to his jawline, feeling the slight tension there. "You hide it well. The fear. The weight of all that."
He let out a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I've been trained to hide it. To keep my face unreadable, my pulse steady. But scars—they're proof that you survived. Proof that the world tried to break you and failed." He paused, his gaze softening. "Kind of like you, Ruth."
The words hit deeper than I expected. I turned my face slightly, pressing my forehead against his, my voice barely above a whisper. "You really see me like that?"
"I see you for exactly who you are," he murmured, his thumb stroking slow circles over my hip. "Someone who's been through hell but still stands tall. Someone I…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening slightly as though catching himself.
"You what?" I prompted softly.
He met my gaze, something unspoken passing between us before he finally said, "Someone I don't want to lose. Ever."
My heart thudded hard against my ribs, and I felt a warmth bloom in my chest that I wasn't sure I could handle. "You're not going to," I said quietly. "Not if I have a say in it."
He smiled then, a slow, rare smile that reached his eyes. "Good. Then I guess I'm keeping you right here for a while," he teased, tightening his arms around me.
"On your lap?" I laughed softly, leaning into his shoulder.
"Exactly where you belong, my Ceren," he murmured, the words carrying a weight that settled deep in my chest. His hand cradled the back of my head as he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that wasn't rushed or demanding but slow, deliberate—like a promise he fully intended to keep.
The warmth of his mouth lingered, soft and unyielding, and I felt something inside me loosen—a knot I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying for years. His kiss wasn't just affection; it was reassurance, a vow that no matter how broken my past was, he wouldn't let me drown in it.
When he pulled back, just slightly, his forehead rested against mine. His breath was warm against my lips as he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Ruth. Not tonight. Not ever. You hear me?"
I nodded, though my voice caught in my throat. "I hear you," I managed, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though to anchor myself.
His arms tightened around me, and I felt the slow thump of his heart beneath my palm. It was steady, grounding, and I let my eyes close, leaning into him like the world could fall apart and I'd still be safe here, on his lap, on this balcony, in this moment that felt like it was ours alone.
"Dylan…" I started, my voice soft, unsure.
"Mhm?" His thumb traced a slow line along my jaw, coaxing me to look up at him.
"I don't think I've ever… felt this," I admitted, my words trembling but real. "Not just safe. But… wanted. Like I'm not just another piece of someone's game."
His expression softened, and there was a raw honesty in his eyes as he said, "You're not a piece. Not to me. You never were." He leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face with almost reverent care. "You're the whole damn thing, Ruth. The part I didn't even know I was missing."
I swallowed hard, emotion catching in my chest, but all I could do was hold his gaze and whisper, "Then promise me."
He tilted his head slightly. "Promise you what?"
"That this isn't just another mission for you. That I'm not just… someone you'll walk away from when it's over."
Dylan's jaw tightened, and his grip on me firmed, pulling me flush against him. "You think I could walk away after this?" he asked, his voice low, almost rough. "After hearing your voice break when you told me what you've been through? After seeing you fight for your own light when the world tried to snuff it out? No, Ruth. I'm in this. I'm in you."
The sincerity in his voice made my chest ache, and before I could respond, he kissed me again. It was deeper this time—full of warmth and something unspoken that neither of us dared name but both of us felt.
When we finally broke apart, breathless but quiet, I rested my head against his chest and murmured, "Okay. Then you're stuck with me, Fynder."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," he replied with a smirk I could feel against my hair. You are my girl. I touched my forehead with hers