Page 25

CHAPTER 25

DYLAN

I sit in the salon chair, staring at myself in the mirror. The lights are bright, clinical, making my skin look paler than usual. The stylist hovers behind me, waiting. The faint hum of blow dryers and quiet chatter fill the air. But I can’t bring myself to say the words just yet.

My hair is still vibrant. Still wild. Still holding the streaks of color from that night.

The last visible trace of my recklessness.

The only evidence that Kai ever existed in my world.

I run a hand through it, exhaling slowly. It doesn’t fit anymore. It doesn’t feel like who I’m supposed to be now.

It was just a whim, anyway. An impulsive decision. Something out of character. Like I was meant to take on another persona—just for a brief time. A fleeting version of me that belonged to neon lights, fast hands, and the kind of raw, unfiltered pleasure that had no business following me into the real world.

Like Kai and I only existed in some alternate reality. A moment that was an aberration, an anomaly. Something that was never meant to follow me.

But it did.

Every time I see the streaks of color in the reflection, I remember the press of his mouth against my throat, the way his hands felt gripping my hips. The way his voice—low, rough, teasing—made my whole body burn.

I swallow hard, pushing the memory down, down, down.

“So, what are we thinking?” The stylist’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She offers me an easy smile in the mirror, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, like she can tell this is more than just a haircut.

I lift my gaze, meeting my own eyes in the mirror. “Cut it. And dye it closer to my natural color.”

The stylist tilts her head. “Cut all of it?”

“Not all of it.” I shift in the chair. “Just… make it cleaner. Natural.”

She nods, draping the cape over me. The scissors glint under the salon lights.

Then the first lock of hair falls to the floor. Then more. Bright magenta. Teal. Lock after lock disappears, along with who I was that night.

Gone.

I watch the colors disappear, piece by piece.

I tell myself it’s just hair.

It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not getting rid of a memory. I’m just making a smart choice. I’m stepping into a new phase of my life. One with structure. With purpose. With no space for ghosts of a night that was never supposed to mean anything.

I can’t be the girl who made reckless choices in dark alleyways.

I can’t be the girl who let a stranger ruin her for anyone else.

The stylist spins the chair around. I barely recognize myself.

The bright colors? No more.

What’s left is shorter, much more natural.

More put-together. More serious.

More like the professional sportswoman I need to be.

That night was just a detour.

It didn’t mean anything.

I stand, pay, step out onto the street. The air is crisp, the city alive around me. I feel lighter. Freer. Like I’ve cut more than just my hair. Like I’ve severed something intangible—something that has been lingering in my chest since the moment I walked away from him.

The past is behind me.

And yet, I have no idea it’s about to collide with me again.

And this time? I won’t be able to pretend it didn’t matter.