When I arrived at my base earlier, the stench of death greeted me like an old enemy. The metallic tang of blood coated the air, heavy and suffocating, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder. My boots crunched over shattered glass and spent shells, each step echoing the silence of a massacre that had already taken place.
Multiple bodies lay sprawled across the floor—some of mine, some of his. Dustin's men were easy to recognize, even in death. The same ink branded their skin, his company logo scrawled like a sick badge of loyalty, as if that tattoo could ever make them worthy of something more than being disposable pawns.
A slow, sharp breath hissed through my teeth, the sound almost a growl. My jaw locked so tightly I thought my molars would crack. And then… something snapped. The rage, the white-hot fury that had been clawing at my ribs since I got the call—it bled out, spilling through every muscle, every nerve.
By the time I reached my car, it felt like there was a lion caged in my chest, roaring for blood. I drove to the next base, every streetlight, every honking car a blur. I wasn't thinking anymore. There was no strategy, no careful calculation like I was known for. There was only the need to hunt.
When I pulled up, the scene was chaos. Gunfire ripped through the air like thunder, screams tangled with the sharp cracks of rifles. Men clashed in the courtyard, my people trying to hold the line while Dustin's mercenaries swarmed like rabid dogs.
The second my boots hit the ground, I stopped being Dylan Fynder, the composed man who plans five steps ahead. I became something else—something primal. My senses sharpened, narrowing in on the rhythm of battle, on every breath and movement around me.
I raised my gun and squeezed the trigger. The first man went down before he even realized I was there. I didn't stop. Another bullet tore through someone's chest, the spray of blood misting the air. My movements were brutal, unrelenting, a dance of violence I'd perfected over years of survival.
One of them lunged at me with a blade; I ducked low, slamming my shoulder into his stomach before shoving my gun beneath his chin and pulling the trigger. The spray of warmth against my face barely registered. My mind was gone, overtaken by the beast inside me.
The sound of my own gunfire was deafening, blending into the pounding of my heart. One shot, two, three—each bullet was a promise, each body that dropped was a message: You don't touch what's mine.
By the time the last of them hit the ground, my hands were shaking—not with fear, but with the raw adrenaline still coursing through me. My clothes were soaked in sweat and blood, the scene around me nothing short of carnage.
The last of Dustin's men hit the ground with a dull thud, his body crumpling like a marionette whose strings had been cut. My ears rang with the aftermath of gunfire, that hollow, lingering silence that follows carnage. The stench of blood was thick, clinging to my skin, soaking into my clothes. I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving like a war drum. My hands trembled, not from fear—no, fear was for men who had something to lose—but from the boiling rage that had rooted itself deep in my veins.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, my gloves slick with a mix of sweat and blood. "Status," I barked into the line when one of my men picked up."Sir… three of our bases were hit simultaneously. We're holding on two, but the fifth… we lost it. We don't have word on who—"
"Who's leading the defense?" I snapped, cutting him off, my voice low and venomous."W-William, sir. He's regrouping the men—"
"And Ruth? Did she make it home?"
A pause. Just a pause, but it was enough to rip the air out of my lungs."Sir… we haven't heard from her since she left with Karim. The car was supposed to—"
My entire world tilted. My grip on the phone tightened until I heard the faint crack of its casing. "Find that car," I snarled. My voice was pure steel, laced with fire. "If she's not safe, I swear to God, I'll burn every corner of this city down until I find her."
I didn't wait for a response. I ended the call, my mind spiraling into a dark place I hadn't visited in years. A place where I stopped being Dylan Fynder, the man who could keep it all together, and became the monster everyone feared.
I stormed out of the base, my boots pounding the ground like the footsteps of death itself. My men scattered out of my path, their eyes wide—they knew better than to get in my way when I was like this. My fingers curled into fists so tight, I could feel my nails biting into my palms.
The car door slammed so hard behind me that I was surprised the glass didn't shatter. My breath was ragged, my vision blurry with rage. I could only picture her—Ruth. My Ceren. I could see her sitting in that car, unsuspecting, probably smiling faintly the way she does when she's lost in thought. And now… where the hell was she? Who had her? My knuckles were white on the steering wheel as I gunned the engine, the car tearing down the road like a bullet fired from the barrel of a gun.
The city blurred past me. Every red light was meaningless, every horn honking in protest faded into background noise. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the echo of Ruth's voice in my mind. Stay safe, Dylan.I hadn't. I had left her.
"God damn it!" I roared, slamming my fist against the wheel, the leather squeaking under the pressure. My jaw clenched so tightly I could feel it ache. I called Karim's number, over and over, each time hearing nothing but the hollow ring. He was either dead or too much of a coward to answer me.
And then—my phone buzzed. An unknown number.
My gut twisted as I swiped the screen, and in that split second, the world stopped moving.
It was her.
The photo filled my screen, and it was like a knife plunged straight into my chest. Ruth, my Ruth, sitting on a chair in some dark room. Her wrists tied so tightly I could see the angry red marks around them. Her cheek was cut, blood running down in a slow, cruel line. Bruises marred her arms, faint but visible, and a dagger—sharp, gleaming—was pressed dangerously close to her face.
My vision went red.
A message followed, just a single line that read:"If you want her alive, come find her. Alone."
I gripped the phone so hard I felt like I might crush it. Every ounce of control I'd built over the years was crumbling. My throat burned as I exhaled a shaky breath, the weight of it sinking into me like a stone.
"Dustin," I muttered, my voice a dark growl. That bastard. Of course, it was him. This was his move. Not just attacking my empire, but attacking me where I was weakest.
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator, the tires screaming against the asphalt as the car lunged forward. My hands were sweating, but my focus was razor-sharp. The image of Ruth—tied, hurt, terrified—was burned into my brain, and the only thing I could think about was tearing apart anyone who had laid a finger on her.
I called my men again, my voice nothing but pure command. "Pull back from every base," I ordered. "Dustin wants me? He's about to get me. Send a cleanup team to the other sites and have William stand by. No one, and I mean no one, touches Ruth but me."
"Sir—"
"Do I sound like I'm asking?" I snapped, my voice like fire cracking through the line. "Move. Now."
I ended the call, my grip on the steering wheel tightening until my knuckles turned bone-white. The city outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Every second that passed was another second she was in their hands. Another second she might think I'd left her.
I shook my head violently. No. She was mine. I'd rip apart every wall, every man, every inch of this goddamn city to bring her back.
And when I did—God help the bastards who touched her.
I drove like a man possessed, every muscle in my body coiled tight, every thought consumed by one thing—her. My woman. My girl. The only one who mattered. The world could burn around me, I didn't care. Anyone who dared get in my way tonight was already dead.
The car screeched to a violent halt outside one of the abandoned industrial warehouses that Dustin called his lair. The building stood like a rotting carcass, its metal ribs jutting out, lifeless yet stinking of blood and danger. I slammed the door open and stepped out, my boots hitting the ground with the weight of a warpath.
I could still see the image they sent—Ruth, my Ceren—her face bruised, her cheek cut open, her body tied down like she was nothing but prey. My phone still felt like it burned in my pocket, that photo seared into my mind. A dagger to my chest. That wasn't just a threat. It was a declaration of war.
I raised my head, jaw tight, and looked at my men. "Spread out. Cover every angle. When we go in, we kill anything that moves. I want no one breathing when this is over except her. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison, voices cold, steady.
I walked to the front, my boots crunching against the gravel, each step a silent promise of death. The rifle in my hand felt like an extension of my rage—loaded, heavy, ready to spill blood.
William stepped closer, whispering, "We could flank from the west side, catch them off guard—"
"Not tonight," I snarled. "We go through the front like a goddamn storm. I want them to see me coming. I want them to know who the fuck sent them to hell."
The silence that followed was thick, charged with tension. My men weren't afraid—not of Dustin, not of Marcus. Tonight, they were fueled by my fury, my wrath radiating off me like a wildfire.
I rolled my shoulders, the veins in my arms throbbing. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears like war drums. "William, Nico, Henry—on my signal, we move. We don't stop. We don't look back. We kill."
The warehouse door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound slicing through the night like a warning bell. Inside, the shadows moved—men pacing, weapons ready. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
This was it.
I turned once more to my men, voice low but lethal. "They touched what's mine. Make them regret ever breathing."
And then, without hesitation, I kicked the door open and charged.
The first shot rang out the second I kicked the front door in. The sound was deafening, echoing off the steel walls. Bullets flew past me, splintering crates and denting metal. I didn't hesitate. I fired back, the kick of the rifle jolting through my shoulder, each shot a violent punctuation of my rage.
"Move! MOVE!" I shouted at my men as we stormed the warehouse floor. Nico dropped two men with precision shots, Henry covered the left side, and William tossed a flashbang deeper into the hall. The explosion lit up the space like lightning, momentarily blinding everyone but us.
I moved forward like a predator, ducking behind pillars, reloading in seconds. Every scream, every grunt of pain from Dustin's men was fuel to the fire inside me. I didn't care how many I had to kill—every shot was a promise: I'm coming for you, Ruth.
We cleared the first floor, leaving nothing but bodies and chaos in our wake. My breathing was harsh, sweat and blood dripping from my face, but my mind was crystal clear. "Upstairs," I barked, jerking my chin toward a rusted staircase. "She's up there. I can feel it."
The first shot rang out the second I kicked the front door in. The sound was deafening, echoing off the steel walls. Bullets flew past me, splintering crates and denting metal. I didn't hesitate. I fired back, the kick of the rifle jolting through my shoulder, each shot a violent punctuation of my rage.
"Move! MOVE!" I shouted at my men as we stormed the warehouse floor. Nico dropped two men with precision shots, Henry covered the left side, and William tossed a flashbang deeper into the hall. The explosion lit up the space like lightning, momentarily blinding everyone but us.
I moved forward like a predator, ducking behind pillars, reloading in seconds. Every scream, every grunt of pain from Dustin's men was fuel to the fire inside me. I didn't care how many I had to kill—every shot was a promise: I'm coming for you, Ruth.
We cleared the first floor, leaving nothing but bodies and chaos in our wake. My breathing was harsh, sweat and blood dripping from my face, but my mind was crystal clear. "Upstairs," I barked, jerking my chin toward a rusted staircase. "She's up there. I can feel it."
The knife in Marcus's hand glinted under the weak flicker of the overhead light. Every second that blade pressed against Ruth's bruised skin was another second my rage burned hotter. My finger tightened on the trigger, but I forced myself to breathe—one mistake, one twitch, and that bastard would hurt her.
Dustin's mocking voice slithered from the shadows. "Well, isn't this sweet? The knight has come for his broken little princess." He stepped out slowly, his sharp grin like a wolf's, his boots clicking against the concrete. "But you're late, Dylan. I told you once—you touch what's mine, and I'll burn your entire kingdom down. How are your bases? Hmm? Still standing?"
I didn't answer. My eyes never left Marcus's hand, that knife digging into Ruth's skin just enough to draw a thin line of red. She whimpered softly, her breath hitching, and my heart clenched so hard it felt like it might shatter my ribs.
"Dylan…" she whispered, her voice cracking like thin glass. Her eyes—God, those eyes—pleaded with me, but there was no fear in them, only trust. She believed I'd get her out of this. And I would. Or I'd die trying.
"Step back, Blackheart," Marcus taunted, yanking her head back by her hair. Ruth winced but didn't cry out. That stubborn fire of hers—my Ceren—made my blood boil even hotter. "If you take one more step, I'll carve her up. Piece by piece. And I'll make you watch."
"You think I'm afraid of you?" My voice dropped, dark and steady, like thunder before the storm. "You're already a dead man, Marcus. You just don't know how long it'll take before I pull the trigger."
Dustin chuckled low, enjoying the show like the sick bastard he was. "Careful, Dylan. You don't want to make us nervous. Marcus here gets jumpy when he's nervous, and your pretty little girl might end up with more than just a few bruises." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "I wonder, does she scream for you the same way she used to scream for him?"
Ruth flinched. I saw the way her jaw clenched, her hands pulling against the ropes. And that was it. That one line from Dustin snapped something inside me.
"I'm going to kill you," I said, each word a death sentence.
I fired, aiming for Marcus's hand. The bullet whizzed past Ruth's shoulder, slicing through Marcus's wrist. He screamed, dropping the knife, and I was already moving—charging, relentless, a storm of bullets tearing through the room.
"GET HER OUT!" I roared to William and Nico as they rushed in, guns blazing. Dustin's men poured in from the far side of the warehouse, shouting, but my men were ready. Henry dropped two of them before they could aim, and Nico pulled Ruth's chair back from Marcus.
"Dylan!" Ruth cried, her voice sharp with fear and hope all at once.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. Marcus lunged for a gun, blood dripping from his hand, but I was faster. I slammed into him, the two of us crashing into a metal table. My rifle clattered away, and suddenly, it was just fists—brutal, raw fists.
"You—" Marcus spat blood, laughing through his pain. "You think you'll save her? You're no hero. You're just a killer with better aim!"
I slammed my fist into his jaw so hard I felt bone shift. "You don't get to say her name. You don't get to breathe the same air as her."
He tried to choke me, his nails digging into my skin, but I broke his hold with a savage elbow strike to his face. His nose crunched under the force. I grabbed his collar and slammed his head into the table, once, twice, until blood smeared across the metal.
A single gunshot rang out—Dustin, standing at the far end of the room, his pistol aimed directly at Ruth. Nico had untied her, but Dustin had her locked in his sights.
"Enough!" Dustin's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and venomous. "One more step, Dylan, and I'll paint these walls with her blood. You know I'll do it."
Time slowed. My chest heaved, my hands bloody and shaking. Marcus was out cold beneath me, but Dustin wasn't bluffing. One twitch of his finger, and Ruth… No. I wouldn't let that happen.
"Put the gun down," I said, my tone deadly calm, but my heart was pounding like a war drum. I took a step forward, the weight of every choice I'd ever made pressing down on me. "You want me, Dustin. This is between you and me. Let her go, and I'll give you what you want."
"What I want?" Dustin smirked, pressing the barrel closer to Ruth's temple. "What I want is to break you. To make you watch as everything you love turns to ash. She's just the start."
"Not today."
I didn't wait. I fired—not at Dustin's head, but at the ground near his feet. The shot startled him just enough. Nico shoved Ruth down, out of the line of fire, and I sprinted forward like a predator set loose.
Dustin tried to aim, but I was already on him. I knocked the gun from his hand and tackled him to the ground. My fists came down like hammers—each punch a release of every ounce of rage, every sleepless night, every time I'd pictured Ruth hurt.
But then, from the corner of my vision, Marcus lunged with a blade, charging straight for me. Before I could react, a single deafening gunshot cracked through the warehouse. Marcus froze mid-step, his face twisting in shock before he collapsed, blood spilling across the floor. I turned sharply.
Lucas.
He stood there with a smoking gun, his chest heaving, his expression hard but his eyes—those familiar, loyal eyes—locked with mine.
"You think I'd ever betray you, brother?" Lucas barked, his voice like steel. "I had to make them think I was on their side. I was never going to let them hurt Ruth."
I barely had time to process his words before Dustin roared in anger, trying to break free of my grip. Lucas tossed me a sharp grin. "Finish this."
Together, we tore through the remaining men like wolves shredding prey. Lucas fought with a ferocity I hadn't seen in years, his gun a blur of death as he cleared the path toward Dustin. One man tried to sneak up behind me, but Lucas shot him clean through the chest before he could take a step closer.
Dustin scrambled, blood smeared across his face, laughing like a madman even as we cornered him. "You think this ends with me?" he spat, eyes wild. "There are more coming, Dylan. You'll never keep her safe."
"Then I'll kill every last one of you," I snarled, grabbing the gun and pressing it against his forehead. My breathing was savage, my rage like fire under my skin.
"Dylan!" Ruth's voice cut through my fury. She was standing now, shaky but free, her eyes wide. Blood ran down her cheek, but she was alive. "Please… don't let him take more of you."
Her voice anchored me. My finger hovered on the trigger for a second longer before I finally stepped back. Lucas stepped in, landing one brutal kick that knocked Dustin flat to the ground, unconscious.
My men rushed in, grabbing Dustin's limp body and dragging him out, his laughter still echoing faintly, but I didn't care. It was over—for now.
Lucas wiped the blood from his jaw and smirked at me. "Guess you owe me a drink for that one."
I looked at him, really looked at him, and felt something in my chest ease. "You son of a bitch… I almost killed you."
"Yeah, but you didn't," Lucas said with a grin, glancing toward Ruth. "Go to her. I've got this mess handled."
The moment Dustin was dragged out, the air shifted—less gunpowder, less chaos, but still heavy with the echo of violence. My gaze finally locked on Ruth.
She was still tied to that damn chair, her wrists rubbed raw from the ropes, her skin marked with bruises and cuts that made my chest ache so fiercely I could barely breathe. Her face—God, her face—was streaked with tears and blood, her hair messy and falling over her trembling shoulders. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet she was still looking at me with those eyes. Those brave, stubborn eyes.
"Ruth," I breathed, my voice cracking despite me trying to hold it together.
She flinched slightly at my voice, like part of her still didn't believe I was real. Then her lips trembled. "Dylan…"
That single word shattered me.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, fumbling to untie the ropes, my hands shaking harder than I'd ever admit. The knots were tight, cutting into her skin, and each mark made something inside me snap. "I'm here. I'm here, Ceren. They're never touching you again. Not while I'm alive. Not while I'm breathing."
Her body shivered when I touched her hands. The ropes fell away, and I saw the angry red grooves on her wrists. I couldn't stop myself—I grabbed her hands, holding them to my lips as if I could kiss the pain away. "I'm sorry," I whispered against her skin. "God, I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
Her eyes welled up, tears spilling over, and she shook her head. "No, no… you came… you came for me." Her voice cracked, and the sound nearly brought me to my knees all over again.
I gathered her into my arms, holding her against me like I'd never let her go again. She pressed her face into my neck, sobbing quietly, and every sob stabbed into my chest. I stroked her hair with one hand and wrapped the other around her back, careful not to press too hard against her bruises.
"I thought I lost you," I murmured, my own voice breaking now, the heat in my throat unbearable. "When I got that picture, Ruth… I swear, I lost my mind. I've never been this scared in my life. I'd burn this whole damn world down if it meant keeping you safe."
She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at me through her tears. Her lower lip trembled, her eyes wide and wet. "Dylan…"
"What, love?" I asked, brushing her tear-stained cheek with my thumb.
She shook her head, unable to speak for a second. Then, in a broken whisper, "I was so scared. They… they said no one would love me. That I was nothing. That I was just—"
"Stop," I cut her off, my tone gentle but firm, like a promise. "Don't you dare let their poison get into your head. You're everything, Ruth. Everything. Do you hear me? You are mine. My heart. My Ceren."
She let out a choked sob and collapsed into me again. I held her so tightly I was afraid I might hurt her, but I couldn't let go. I needed her close, alive, breathing against me.
I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, shielding her bruised skin from the cold. "You're safe now," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're safe. I swear it on my life. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
She nodded weakly against me, her tears dampening my shirt. Her hands gripped my chest like she was afraid I might disappear, and that small, desperate gesture twisted my insides.
I lifted her carefully from the chair, her weight light but trembling in my arms. Her head rested against my shoulder as I carried her through the chaos of the warehouse. Lucas and the others had finished clearing out the remaining men, but the blood, the broken glass, the metallic stink of violence—it all felt like it didn't exist anymore.
All I could feel was her.
When we stepped outside, the night air hit us, and I felt her shiver in my arms. I adjusted my grip, pulling her closer. "You cold, love?" I murmured. She didn't answer, just buried her face deeper into me, and I kissed her temple softly. "It's okay. I've got you. Always."
Lucas approached, his face tense but softened as he saw Ruth in my arms. "Is she alright?" he asked quietly.
"She will be," I said, my voice low but heavy with unspoken rage. "She's coming home. With me."
Ruth stirred slightly, her voice a whisper. "Dylan…?"
I looked down at her instantly. "Yes, my Ceren?"
"Don't let me go," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering weakly.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice trembling now. "Not now, not ever."
By the time we left that cursed warehouse, my heart was still pounding with enough rage to shake mountains, but all I could focus on was the fragile weight in my arms. Ruth was quiet, almost too quiet, her head resting against my chest as if she was afraid that if she looked away, I'd vanish. Every few seconds, I felt her trembling, her fingers curled tightly into my shirt like lifelines.
The SUV pulled up, and William swung the door open without a word. I climbed in, never once letting her go. Nico sat in the front seat, speaking softly into his radio, but I barely heard him. My whole world was the girl leaning against me, the warmth of her breath against my collarbone, the faint scent of her hair that still smelled like her shampoo despite the blood and dirt.
"We'll get you home, love," I whispered, brushing my lips against her temple. "You're safe now. No one will ever touch you again."
She didn't speak, but I felt her fingers clench tighter around my shirt. It was answer enough.
The drive felt like forever. I couldn't stop looking at her face—the faint cuts on her cheek, the bruise forming near her jaw, the blood dried at the corner of her lip. Every mark on her skin burned into me like a scar I'd carry for life. When we finally arrived at my penthouse, I scooped her up in my arms again before she could protest, ignoring the way my men looked at us. She didn't need to walk. She needed rest, comfort, and me.
I carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind me.
"Dylan," she murmured, her voice hoarse and weak.
I looked down instantly. "What is it, Ceren?"
"You… you can put me down now. I can walk."
A humorless smile tugged at my lips. "Not happening. Not tonight."
She gave me a small, tired smile, her head leaning back against my shoulder, as if she didn't have the strength to argue.
I carried her straight to the bedroom, setting her gently on the edge of the bed. She winced when the mattress dipped, and my hands froze.
"Did I hurt you?" My voice was sharper than I meant.
She shook her head quickly. "No. It's okay. Just sore."
My jaw tightened. "That bastard," I muttered under my breath, the image of Marcus's smug face still burning in my mind. I pushed it down. Right now, she needed tenderness, not my anger.
I crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up with two fingers. "Ruth…" I whispered her name like it was a prayer. "You're safe. You're home. And I swear on my life, no one is ever laying a hand on you again."
Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away, but one slipped down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb.
"You don't have to be strong right now," I said softly. "Not with me."
She let out a shaky breath, and for the first time, I saw the dam crack. Her face crumpled, and she threw her arms around my neck, clinging to me as sobs shook her body.
I held her just as tightly, my hand stroking her hair. "Shh, it's alright, love. I've got you. Let it out. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Her cries cut into me like knives, but I didn't stop whispering to her, murmuring words I didn't even realize I'd been holding back: "You're mine, Ruth. My girl. My heart. And I'll protect you until my last breath."
After a while, when her sobs turned into soft sniffles, I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
"Let me take care of you," I said quietly.
She hesitated but nodded.
I fetched the first-aid kit and a warm towel, my hands trembling slightly as I sat beside her on the bed. "This might sting," I warned, dipping the cloth into warm water and carefully cleaning the dried blood from her cheek.
She flinched at first, but then her eyes softened as she studied me. "You're… really gentle for someone who just shot down half a warehouse," she whispered, trying to smile.
I let out a soft chuckle, though my heart felt like it was in my throat. "For you, Ceren, I'd be gentle even if my hands were covered in fire."
Her lips parted, and something flickered in her gaze—something raw and vulnerable.
When I finished cleaning her cuts, I carefully applied ointment, my fingers brushing over her skin as if she were made of glass. "There," I murmured. "Good as new. Well… almost."
She looked at me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Dylan…"
"Yes, love?"
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Back there… they said… they said I was nothing. That no one would ever really love me. That I was… ruined." Her voice cracked on the last word.
My chest tightened painfully. I set the ointment aside and cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to look at me.
"Don't you ever let those bastards make you believe that," I said, my voice fierce but shaking. "Ruth, you're not ruined. You're not broken. You're the strongest, most beautiful damn woman I've ever known. And I—" I stopped, my throat closing.
She blinked at me. "You…?"
"I love you," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "God, I love you. I think I've loved you longer than I even knew. Every time I see you, it's like… like I finally found the piece of me I didn't even know I was missing."
Her lips trembled, tears sliding down her face. "Dylan…"
"I'm not good at this," I admitted, brushing her hair back, "but I need you to know—you're it for me, Ceren. You always were. And I swear I'll spend every day proving to you that you're worth more than all of this pain."
She let out a soft sob and then, with no warning, she leaned forward and kissed me.
It wasn't like our first kiss—hesitant and tentative. This one was raw, desperate, filled with every unspoken emotion between us. Her lips were warm and trembling, and I kissed her back like I was afraid I'd lose her all over again.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice breaking but steady with truth. "Even when I didn't want to… I did. You're not my enemy, Dylan. You never were."
My heart nearly stopped. I smiled, though my eyes burned. "Say it again," I whispered, brushing my thumb across her lips.
She smiled faintly through her tears. "I love you."
I kissed her again, softer this time, holding her face like she was the most precious thing in the world. Because she was.
We ended up lying on the bed, her head on my chest as I traced lazy circles on her back. I'd wrapped her in my arms, refusing to let her go. Every time she shifted, I kissed her hair or her forehead, just to reassure her—and myself—that she was here, safe, breathing.
I pulled back, only far enough for my forehead to rest against hers, our breaths colliding like whispers of fire and storm. "You are everything, Ruth. My reason. My flame. My home. I swear, I'd burn the world to ash before I'd let it lay a hand on you again."
Her lashes, wet and trembling, lifted to meet my gaze,those brown eyes, soft and broken yet still carrying the strength of a thousand battles. I kissed her again, slower this time, not as a plea but as a vow, sealing the cracks in both our hearts with the weight of what we'd survived.
Some stories aren't written in ink but in the language of scars and breathless kisses—etched into the soul, unyielding and eternal. Ours is not a story that fades; it is carved into me, fierce and unbreakable.
I gathered her closer, holding her like the only truth I'd ever known, feeling the fragile yet steady beat of her heart syncing with mine. My voice was a whisper of devotion as I said, "You will always be my Ceren—my mirror, my other half. And as long as I draw breath, you will never walk through the darkness alone again."