Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

"Getting to know each other?" he echoed, raising a brow.

I nodded. "Yes. I'll go first. I'm a business major, set to graduate soon. I heard from your mother that you're still in high school?"

He shifted slightly, clearly uneasy with the implied age difference. "I'm finishing up. I'll be starting college soon."

"And what are you planning to study in college?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Law."

"Law?" I repeated, impressed. "That's great. Do you have a specific focus in mind?"

"Family law," Daniel answered after a brief pause.

My interest piqued. "Family law? That's an interesting choice. Why family law?"

His gaze dropped momentarily, and I saw the faintest flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "I want to help children," he said, his voice quieter now. "To make sure they have rights and support, even if their families abandon them."

I froze, the words hitting me harder than I expected. I knew his story—how he was the son of a mistress, how he had grown up without a father who wouldn't claim him. His desire to protect others like him suddenly made so much sense.

It must have been unimaginably difficult for him, growing up in the shadow of secrets, knowing he could never truly belong. And yet, here he was—resilient, honest, and determined to turn his pain into something meaningful.

As I looked at him, guilt twisted in my chest. He was a good man—better than most—and I had tampered with his fate for reasons I could barely justify to myself. But I told myself it was for the best. For him. For Eve. For everyone.

Still, as he sat there, earnest and unguarded, I couldn't help but wonder if I had done him a great injustice.

I paused mid-sentence, noticing Daniel's gaze fixated on something—or someone—behind me. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his otherwise composed expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice soft but laced with curiosity.

"Do you know that guy?" he murmured, nodding behind me.

I turned slightly, following his line of sight. Sure enough, Dylan sat just a few feet away, his posture as rigid as ever. Arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing gaze locked onto Daniel with a ferocity that could rival a hawk sizing up prey. His expression was darker than usual, his jaw taut.

Suppressing a sigh, I forced a smile as I turned back to Daniel. "Don't mind him. He's just my bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?" Daniel echoed, lifting his glass of wine to his lips. His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. "That explains the . . . deathly stares."

I couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Ignore him. He takes his job very seriously, though he can be a bit much at times."

Daniel offered a faint smile, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. It was clear Dylan's intense presence wasn't something easily brushed off.

The evening moved on, and I did my best to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, hoping to ease the tension.

Despite his initial discomfort, Daniel proved to be a surprisingly engaging conversationalist. His wit was sharp, his humor subtle, and beneath his reserved exterior, there was a depth that drew me in more than I had anticipated.

I found myself genuinely enjoying his company—a rare occurrence on these obligatory dates.

Daniel had a way of speaking that felt honest, unfiltered, yet never unkind. Even when he hesitated, it felt deliberate, as though every word he chose was weighed with care.

As the night wore on, I couldn't help but notice how his serious expression softened in fleeting moments—like when I laughed at his self-deprecating quip about always overordering food, or when his eyes lit up as he spoke about his mother's small garden, or whenever he spoke of dogs.

There was something grounding about him, something real amidst the artificial glitz and glamour that defined my world.

And yet, I couldn't ignore the pressure of Dylan's presence lingering in the background. Every so often, I'd catch a glimpse of him on the reflection of the glass—watching, assessing, and undoubtedly overthinking every interaction.

His protectiveness bordered on suffocating, but I knew his intentions came from his duty and not because he was jealous.

Eventually, the dinner drew to a close. Daniel escorted me out of the restaurant with a gentlemanly grace that felt almost foreign in its simplicity.

He paused by my car, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he turned to face me. "Thank you for tonight. I'll admit I wasn't sure what to expect, but . . . it was nice."

His sincerity caught me off guard, and for a moment, I hesitated. My usual polished response slipped away, leaving me bare.

"It was nice," I agreed, my voice quieter than I intended.

As Daniel walked away, his figure disappearing into the glowing haze of city lights, I leaned back against the car door and exhaled slowly.

Dylan approached, his footsteps nearly silent. His expression was unreadable as he stood beside me, hands clasped inside his pockets.

"He seems decent," Dylan remarked after a moment, his tone colder than ice.

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "That's high praise, coming from you."

Dylan didn't reply immediately, his gaze lingering on the street where Daniel had vanished. "You smiled more tonight. That's . . . good."

His words settled heavily in the air between us, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself at a crossroads.

Daniel was kind, intelligent, and someone I could see a future with if I let myself. We were both broken in our own ways, both burdened by unrequited love.

Perhaps, just perhaps, we could find solace in each other's company. If I ever decided to let someone in, I realized, I wouldn't mind if it was him.

"Let's go," Dylan said, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.

Without a word, he reached over and pushed the passenger door open for me. The gesture was so automatic, so familiar, that it made my chest tighten in a way I hadn't anticipated.

But instead of moving toward the open door, I hesitated. My fingers brushed lightly against the handle of the backseat door instead.

His brow furrowed ever so slightly, his sharp blue eyes glancing at me as I opened the back door.

I forced a small, polite smile as I settled into the back seat. "From now on," I said, my tone light but firm, "I'll ride in the back."
Enjoy exclusive adventures from empire

Dylan paused then he walked to the driver's side of the car, sliding in with practiced ease. His hands froze on the steering wheel for a fraction of a second, his knuckles tightening before he quickly masked the reaction. He didn't look at me again, but I saw the flicker of something in his expression.

Was it disappointment? Hurt? Resignation?

He said nothing as he started the car, the low rumble of the engine filling the silence.

I turned my gaze out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and silver as we drove through the night. The silence between us wasn't new—it was a space we'd both grown accustomed to—but tonight, it felt heavier.

The warmth that once filled these quiet moments was gone, replaced by an emptiness I had imposed.

This wasn't just about the car. It was a boundary, a line I had drawn for myself.

From now on, I had to let go.

I had to move on—from him.

That was part of our deal, and it was for the best.

Dylan had been my anchor for so long. He'd been there in my darkest moments, a quiet, constant presence who never demanded more than I could give. But I couldn't keep holding on to him, not like this. Not when I knew he would never let himself see me as anything more than someone to protect.

As the car glided through the city, I stole one last glance at him in the mirror. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

From now on, I had to create distance—not because I wanted to, but because I had no other choice.