Chapter 477: Regret At Dawn.

Chapter 477: Regret At Dawn.

(Third Person's POV)

Dylan woke to silence that felt wrong. Not peaceful—never that—but heavy, like the air before a storm that had already broken something vital. The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, the faint grey of early morning leaking in through the gaps. For a few seconds, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, his mind blank in that dangerous way where reality had not yet caught up.

Then memory hit.

Not in images first, but in sensation. The wrongness of another presence beside him. The faint, unfamiliar scent tangled in the sheets. The weight of a body that was not the one his instincts reached for.

His jaw tightened.mSlowly, deliberately, Dylan turned his head. Odette lay beside him, one arm flung across the bed, her dark hair spread like spilled ink against the pillow. She looked almost serene in sleep, lips parted, lashes resting against her cheeks as though nothing in the world could touch her. There was no shame on her face, no hesitation, no sign of regret. That alone made something in Dylan’s chest twist sharply.

He sat up in one abrupt motion, the sheet slipping from his torso. The movement was enough to stir Odette. She shifted, a small satisfied sound leaving her throat, and then her eyes fluttered open.

She smiled. It was slow. Deliberate. Confident.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, voice still husky with sleep. She reached out, fingers brushing his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I was afraid you’d already gone.”

Dylan stood. The bed creaked as his weight left it, the sudden distance between them stark. He didn’t look at her as he pulled on his trousers, his movements sharp, almost violent in their precision.

Odette propped herself up on one elbow, studying him openly now. “You don’t have to rush,” she said lightly. “Last night wasn’t a mistake.”

That did it. Dylan turned, eyes blazing, the calm he usually wore like armor completely gone. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

Odette blinked, genuinely surprised for the first time. “Dylan—”

“Get up,” he interrupted, voice low and dangerous. “Put your clothes on.”

The command cut through the room like a blade. For a moment, she seemed almost amused, as if this was part of some game she hadn’t expected but was eager to play. Then she saw his expression. The fury there wasn’t directed outward. It was turned inward, coiled and biting, and that made her straighten.

“You regret it,” she said slowly, sitting up fully now. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Dylan said without hesitation. “I do.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and brittle. Odette’s lips pressed together, the smile fading into something harder. “You didn’t seem regretful last night.”

Dylan laughed then—but there was no humor in it. It was sharp, bitter. “Last night, I was angry. I was off-balance. You knew that.”

She slid out of the bed, completely unbothered by his obvious refusal to look at her. She moved closer, each step measured. “I knew you were hurting,” she said softly. “And I helped.”

“You took advantage of me,” he shot back.

Odette stopped a few steps away from him, her eyes narrowing. “I offered you comfort. You accepted it.”

Dylan finally met her gaze, and when he did, whatever lingering tension remained from the night before snapped cleanly. “Do not confuse my weakness for permission,” he said coldly. “This—” He gestured sharply between them. “—ends now.”

Her expression shifted, irritation bleeding through. “You don’t get to rewrite what happened just because you woke up guilty.”

“I didn’t just wake up guilty,” Dylan said. “I woke up clear.”

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard, as though holding himself back from something—words, rage, regret, maybe all three. “I told you before,” he continued, voice lower now but no less firm. “I told you there was only one woman I wanted.”

Odette’s eyes flickered. Just for a second.

“Taylor,” she said, the name tasting bitter on her tongue.

“Yes.” Dylan didn’t hesitate. “Her.”

Odette laughed quietly, shaking her head as she pulled on her clothes. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m loyal,” he corrected.

She scoffed. “Loyal men don’t end up in someone else’s bed.”

“That was my failure,” Dylan said. “And it will not happen again.”

She finished dressing and turned to face him fully now, her posture stiff, anger barely concealed. “So what? You pretend this never happened?”

“You will,” he said flatly. “You will never make advances toward me again. You will not touch me. You will not suggest anything. And if you do—” His eyes hardened. “—you will regret it.”

For a long moment, Odette just stared at him. Then she smiled again. But this time, it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said coolly. “I got what I wanted.”

Dylan frowned. “Did you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Confirmation.”

“Of what?”

“That you’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be.” She stepped closer, stopping just short of him. “You broke. And you’ll break again.”

Dylan’s lip curled. “Not for you.”

The words hit harder than he intended—or maybe exactly as hard as he meant them to. Odette’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she masked it. “Fine,” she said, turning toward the door. “Then keep pretending you’re doing this for love.” She paused with her hand on the handle and looked back over her shoulder. “Just remember—you didn’t push me away last night.” The door closed behind her with a soft click. The sound echoed in the room far louder than it should have.

Dylan stood there long after she left, fists clenched, chest tight. The scent of her still lingered in the air, clinging to him like a stain he couldn’t scrub away. He dragged a hand down his face, anger and disgust twisting together. He had betrayed himself. Worse—he had betrayed Taylor.

Across the grounds, Odette walked with her head held high, her expression carefully neutral. Servants bowed as she passed, unaware of the storm boiling beneath her composed exterior. The moment she was alone, her nails bit into her palms.

Taylor.

It always came back to her. Dylan’s rejection wasn’t what burned the most—it was the reason behind it. The way he had said her name without hesitation. The way even guilt hadn’t dulled his devotion. Hatred coiled tightly in Odette, hatred for Taylor.