Chapter 37

Chapter 37
Sylvia’s POV

The atmosphere within the safehouse had become eerily silent—too silent. The remnants of the events from days prior lingered in the air, as if the turmoil, anguish, and fierce emotions shared between Derek and me had left an imprint. While the world outside seemed to have settled, the tempest inside me raged on.

I awoke with a persistent ache in my chest, the kind that follows an onslaught of tears and unexpressed fears. The sheets around me were warm, infused with Derek's scent—a heady mix of danger and comfort that always left me unsettled. For a fleeting moment, I imagined he was still there beside me. But when I reached out, my fingers only found a cold emptiness.

“Derek?” I barely managed to whisper.

Silence responded.

The safehouse was shrouded in dim light, with only a few beams of sunlight filtering through the blinds. As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my toes met the chill of the floor, prompting me to grab the robe that was draped over the chair. A memory from the previous night flashed before me—Derek’s voice, low and assertive, instructing me to sit and observe. Abigail's humiliation unfolded like a grim movie, his hand firmly holding mine, his breath steady and almost... content. He had remarked that revenge was sweet, yet I couldn’t help but question if it truly ever was.

I located him near the window, facing away from me. Clad in black—shirt, jeans, sleeves rolled to the elbows—his veins subtly visible beneath his skin. His phone lay untouched on the table, and the soft morning light caught the contours of his jaw, rendering him both alluring and formidable.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He turned slowly, and when our eyes met, I felt that familiar attraction—the magnetic pull present only between us. “I slept,” he replied, his voice roughened by sleep and past thoughts. “Just not enough. Too much on my mind.”

I stepped closer, noticing the faint bruise near his collarbone—the result of his confrontation with the man who had leaked our video. Derek had achieved his revenge. I could see it in his posture, a newfound confidence alongside a calmness that carried a darker undercurrent, a satisfaction that made me uneasy.

Before I could find the right words, my phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me—it had been days since I’d heard from anyone. I hurried to pick it up, a mix of trepidation and curiosity swirling within me about what the message might be.

It was from Grandma.
Her text was brief, but heavy:

> Sylvia, come home. There’s too much tension here. Everyone’s losing themselves in rumors and guilt. You and Derek need to return and face this — together. It’s time to end the chaos.

My breath caught.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen, my thumb trembling over her name.

Derek turned at my silence. “What is it?”

I handed him the phone. He read the message slowly, his jaw tightening with every word. Then, without a word, he placed the phone on the table and looked out the window again, his expression unreadable.

“She’s right,” I finally said. “We can’t hide forever.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” he murmured. “I was giving them time to remember what fear tastes like.”

His voice was cold — too cold. But then he exhaled, and when his gaze returned to me, the edge softened. “But maybe it’s time.”

“Then we’ll go home tonight,” I said quietly.

He nodded once. “Tonight.”

For the rest of the day, I tried to ignore the gnawing unease in my body. There was a heaviness in my stomach, a strange wave of nausea that kept coming and going. Maybe it was stress — the sleepless nights, the tears, the guilt, or the endless storm of emotions I’d been suppressing. I didn’t tell Derek. He had enough to carry already.

Instead, I busied myself packing what little we had brought — his black duffel bag, my folded clothes, and the small silver cross Grandma had given me. Derek sat on the couch, cleaning his gun in silence, his every movement precise, mechanical. The rhythmic click of metal against metal was oddly soothing — a reminder of his control, his discipline, his darkness.

By evening, the sky burned with streaks of orange and gold. Derek’s car was waiting outside — a sleek black machine that purred like a panther. As he opened the door for me, I hesitated, looking back at the safehouse.
That place had seen too much of us — our pain, our rage, our love. It was a cage, a sanctuary, and a battlefield all at once.

“Ready?” Derek’s voice was softer now.

I nodded, slipping into the car. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The drive was long and quiet. The roads blurred under the descending dusk, city lights blinking like fading stars. Derek’s hand occasionally brushed mine, and though he said nothing, the warmth of his touch anchored me. I stole glances at him — his chiseled jaw, the calm focus in his eyes. He looked like a man who had made peace with his demons, or at least, learned to live with them.

When we finally turned into the gated estate — my stepfather’s mansion — my heart began to pound. The house loomed ahead, lights spilling from its tall windows, casting long shadows across the driveway. Every memory came flooding back: the laughter, the betrayal, the moment Abigail destroyed everything with that cursed video.

And then I saw her.

Abigail.

She was standing near the entrance, dressed in pale silk, her eyes hollow but alert. The moment she spotted us, her face drained of color. She froze — then, like a startled animal, turned and tried to run.

“Don’t,” Derek’s voice cut through the night.
It wasn’t a shout. It was calm, measured, terrifyingly firm.
“Don’t even think about it, Abigail.”

She stopped. Her shoulders stiffened, and slowly, she turned back toward us. Derek stepped forward, hands in his pockets, gaze steady and cold.

“You can’t run forever,” he said, his tone laced with quiet dominance. “You started this war, remember? So don’t act like a victim now.”

Abigail’s lips trembled. For a fleeting second, I almost felt pity — but then I remembered the way she smirked when the video played, the satisfaction in her eyes as my world crumbled. Whatever sympathy I felt dissolved like smoke.

Derek didn’t bother looking at her again. He simply reached for my hand and led me inside.

The mansion smelled of jasmine and expensive wine — the scent of false peace. The marble floors gleamed, and the chandelier above threw a halo of light across the room, but beneath that beauty, tension coiled like a living thing.

We walked into the sitting room, our steps echoing softly.
My mother and Derek’s father were there — seated across from each other, the air between them thick with exhaustion. My mother’s fingers clutched a cup of untouched tea, her eyes distant. Derek’s father looked older than I remembered, shadows beneath his eyes, his authority dimmed but not gone.

When they heard our footsteps, they both turned.
My mother’s lips parted — a mix of relief and disbelief flashing across her face. Derek’s father straightened, his jaw tightening, eyes flicking from me to Derek as though trying to read what lay between us.

Derek cleared his throat.

That small sound — low and deliberate — was enough to command the entire room’s attention. He didn’t speak right away; instead, he stood still, the weight of his presence pressing against the silence. His hand brushed mine lightly, grounding me.

“Before anyone says anything,” Derek began, his voice deep and even, “let’s make one thing clear — we’re not here to apologize for the video you saw, I'm not yet done with my revenge on the fool who leaked it and I stand to tell you both that as weird as it sounds I'm deeply in love with Sylvia and can't let her go”

The words fell heavy, slicing through the air like a blade.
My mother flinched slightly, but said nothing.

Derek’s father leaned back slowly. “Then why are you here, of all women to fall in love with, you chose your stepsister,son?”

“Because,” Derek said, turning slightly toward me, “we’re done running. Done hiding. Done letting others decide what’s right or wrong for us.”

His words filled me with a strange warmth and fear all at once. My throat tightened. For a moment, I thought he’d reveal everything — about the video, about us, about the secret that had nearly destroyed the family name. But he didn’t. Not yet.

He simply looked down at me, his expression softening. “Sylvia wanted to come home. So I brought her home.”

The room went still.

My mother’s eyes flickered between us, recognition dawning in her gaze — not the kind of recognition born from knowledge, but from intuition. She saw the way Derek’s fingers curled protectively around mine, the subtle tilt of my body toward him, the magnetic pull that never faded no matter how much we tried to fight it.

“Sit,” she finally said, her voice faint but steady.

We did. I tried to calm the wild beating of my heart, but my body betrayed me — a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me, sharp and unexpected. I pressed a hand to my stomach, inhaling quietly. Derek noticed instantly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded too quickly. “Just tired. The drive.”

His hand brushed my thigh under the table — a silent promise that he was there, always watching, always ready to protect. I tried to focus on the conversation, but my thoughts were slipping, unraveling. My mother was speaking about the chaos the leaked video caused, about the shame and gossip that spread through the city. Derek’s father mentioned how the family name was at stake, how Abigail had gone into hiding, how people wanted answers.

But all I could hear was the dull throb in my body and the echo of Grandma’s message: Come home and end the chaos.

Maybe this was the beginning of that end.
Maybe peace could finally return — even if it came wrapped in pain.

When the conversation paused, Derek reached for my hand again, intertwining our fingers beneath the table. His thumb traced gentle circles on my skin — grounding, protective, possessive. The world around us blurred. In that moment, there was only him and me, the weight of everything we’d endured binding us together like fate itself.

I knew this wasn't the end but whatever comes next from them I would be ready to face it with Derek as my shield.
And deep down, as another wave of nausea rolled through me, I couldn’t shake the ha
hunting feeling that something far bigger was coming — something that would change everything, maybe just my crazy intuition.