Rebirth: Love me Again

[LINA]

By the time I got back home, the streets were quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlights. I was about to head up to my room when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path.

"Where have you been?" Dylan's voice was low, edged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance.

I frowned, crossing my arms. "Out. Why? Did I need your permission?"

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually lose his temper. But instead, he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone, especially at night."

"I wasn't alone," I said, rolling my eyes. "I had bodyguards. I was perfectly safe."

"That's not the point," he muttered, stepping closer. His voice dropped, almost a growl. "You didn't tell me where you were going. What if something had happened?"

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by his reaction. Dylan didn't usually care where I went as long as I stayed out of trouble. I had the best bodyguards the world could offer, and he knew it—after all, he was the one who personally trained them.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was . . . jealous. But that didn't make sense. Not Dylan. He was too focused on his job to feel something like that.

"Are you . . . worried about me?" I asked, half-teasing, half-curious.

He didn't answer right away, his eyes locked on mine, unreadable. Finally, he muttered, "It's my job to protect you."

"Sure it is," I said, brushing past him with a smirk. "But don't worry. I have plenty of people looking out for me, including my new 'boyfriend.'"

Dylan's eyes flicked toward me, narrowing slightly. "Boyfriend?"

"Yep. Temporary, of course. Just someone to keep things interesting," I said with a wink before heading up the stairs.

However, before I could take another step, my hand was seized from behind, and I was spun around to meet Dylan's intense gaze. The raw anger simmering in his eyes startled me, stealing the breath from my lungs as he hissed through gritted teeth.

"What are you talking about? Boyfriend?"

His voice carried a sharp edge, and even he seemed surprised by the outburst. He quickly took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to calm down before asking again, his tone more controlled but no less demanding. "What is this about, Lina?"

I frowned, yanking my hand free from his grip, my heart pounding with a mix of frustration and lingering hurt. My voice came out cold, cutting. "What are you asking about, Dylan? Isn't this exactly what you wanted? For me to move on from you?"

He flinched at my words, but his expression remained rigid. "Yes, I wanted you to move on . . . but if you're just doing this to make a point, if you don't really like the guy, then I don't approve of it."

Something inside me snapped. The anger, the frustration, the pain I had kept bottled up for so long came rushing to the surface. My voice trembled, not with fear, but with suppressed emotion finally unleashed.
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"No, you don't get to decide how I move on from you. You don't get that right, Dylan." My words struck like a whip, each syllable laced with the bitterness I had tried so hard to bury. "You're the one who rejected me. You're the one who pushed me away. You hurt me. So, no—you don't get to tell me how to heal from it."

He stood there, silent and stoic, as if my words had cut too deep for him to respond. I crossed my arms, trying to steel myself against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

"Besides," I added, my voice now void of warmth, "you wanted me to treat you as nothing more than my bodyguard, didn't you? Well, now I'm treating you like one. So act like it, and stop telling me what to do."

For a moment, something flickered in Dylan's eyes—something I couldn't quite place. Shock? Pain? Regret? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of indifference. He straightened, his posture stiff and formal, as though retreating behind the professional wall he had built between us.

"Apologies. It won't happen again," he said curtly, bowing slightly before turning on his heel and walking away.

I stood frozen in place, watching him leave, my heart aching in ways I wished it wouldn't. I wanted him to turn around. I wanted him to stay, to fight, to tell me he didn't want me with anyone else. I wanted him to say he cared—that he couldn't stand the thought of losing me to someone else. But reality is rarely so kind.

Instead, he left. He always left and walked away.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to hold back the tears threatening to fall. I had already cried too many times over him, and I refused to let myself break down again. Not now. Not when I had promised myself that I would move on, no matter how much it hurt.

But promises are hard to keep when your heart refuses to let go. As I stood there, alone in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of everything pressed down on me. Dylan's reaction had stirred something inside me—something dangerous, something hopeful. And I hated it.

I clenched my fists, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my chest. I'll be fine, I told myself. I don't need him to approve. I don't need him to care. But the more I tried to convince myself, the emptier those words felt.

The truth was, I didn't want to move on. Not really. I wanted Dylan to see me—to finally see me, not as his duty or his responsibility, but as someone he couldn't bear to lose. But that was just a foolish dream, wasn't it? He was too disciplined, too focused on his role to ever allow himself to feel anything more.

I shook my head, determined to bury those thoughts. I had made a decision, and I had to see it through. Daniel was kind, thoughtful, and willing to help. Maybe this arrangement would help me forget, help me find something real, even if only for a little while.

But as I walked up to my room, the silence around me felt colder than ever. My heart ached in ways words couldn't describe, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to wish for something impossible—that Dylan had felt even a fraction of the turmoil I was going through.

Maybe he did, a small, hopeful voice whispered in the back of my mind. Maybe that anger, that reaction, wasn't just about his job. Maybe he does care.

I laughed bitterly at the thought. Wishful thinking would get me nowhere. Dylan had made his choice clear a long time ago. And now, it was my turn to make mine.

No matter how much it hurt, I would move on.

Even if my heart refused to follow.