Page 53 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

“Don’t waste your time in anger, regrets, worries, and grudges.Life is too short to be unhappy.”

― Roy T. Bennett

Scarlett

I wore blue like silence wears the sky

Kept my heart locked, didn’t ask why

Rooms full of people but no one saw

What loneliness does when it learns to draw

You haunted the ballroom like a sin I’d dreamt

Eyes that cut through everything I’d kept: You never touched me, but the room went still

Like you’d always been there, watching what my lies can’t conceal

Now it’s purple stars when you touch me slow

The kind of love we’re not meant to show

Fingertips sketching what we can’t name: In a world that flinches at hunger and flame

It’s you in the shadows, it’s me holding tight

My star in the darkness, the moon in my night

Under chandeliers and the masks we wear

We burned in the silence no one could bear

I sighed and let the notebook fall into the sand beside me, pulling my knees in, letting the wind drag over my skin. The waves were quiet, too soft for the mess in my head, but enough to keep me from slipping.

It means everything you thought you survived by yourself, every time you thought you were about to break, I was there .

If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t drag it out . Would’ve saved myself years of migraines .

You don’t get to die yet, Scarlett . Not until you learn how to survive .

Planning to drown again?

Te souviens-tu de moi, Scarlett?

Je t’appartiens comme tu m’appartiens .

Mon étoile filante .

My star in the darkness .

It was there, right in front of me. The whole damn time.

Two years of clues scattered at my feet, and I had stumbled over every single one.

The way he’d moved through my apartment that first day. So at ease, not a single curious glance. Everyone else who’d walked into my chaos had something to say. The clutter, the crowd of artwork on the walls, my red furniture.

But Théo had said nothing. He just slipped in, like he already knew where everything was. Like he’d been there before.

The thought sliced through me, sharp and cold.

All those nights I’d woken to the floorboards creaking, to a whisper of air that felt like a sigh, the faint touch of warmth on my cheek. I’d stare into the dark, heart pounding, plastic stars glowing on the ceiling above, telling myself it was just a dream.

And the pool. God. That night by the pool. I saw it so clearly now: the way he had gone rigid when I climbed the railing, when I dove in without warning. How he’d stood on the edge, body taut, breath held like a man staring down his worst fear.

Panic in his eyes, while I’d broken the surface chuckling. I’d thought I was being reckless, thought I was teasing him, playing some stupid flirtation game with a man I’d assumed was unflappable.

I hadn’t known.

I hadn’t known that I’d brought him back to that night.

Because he’d seen me do it before. He’d saved me from drowning once, when I had been too high to remember.

I heard the blood rushing in my ears.

My chest felt too small for that realization, for the shards of memory cutting their way in. His arms around me in the cold water, strong and sure. The soft hush of his voice caressing my ear.

Me, coughing and crying and laughing all at once, calling him an angel.

I’d convinced myself it was a dream, that he was a figment of overdose and desperation.

But he had been real.

Through the blur of pills, concerts and parties, through every year I’d spent trying to disappear.

He’d worked in my world, slept near my ghosts, and never once dropped the weight of that secret.

And when I’d fallen apart again, he’d followed me into rehab and stayed.

My necklace .

God. He’d kept me pressed against his heart for years, and I never even knew.

A broken sob forced its way up from my lungs.

Two years of clues, and I had been blind to every one of them.

Blind to the tattoos on his skin. Blind to the way his hands would fist when I spat that I hated my father. Blind to how fiercely, how tenderly he’d watched over me since the moment I’d fallen into his arms.

It hit me all at once, crashing over me like that fountain water—memory and grief and something else I couldn’t even name.

I tasted salt on my tongue and realized I was crying.

Because he’d carried this truth alone. Because it was all right here, and I hadn’t seen it.

I saw it now. I saw him now.

Not as the man who guarded me. As the man who had once saved me. And had never stopped.

It’d been him all along.

“Any luck with your new song?” Nicholas asked from behind me as he walked over and sat down.

His voice cut through the haze.

I hadn’t heard him coming. The waves had swallowed everything but my thoughts.

I didn’t know what time it was either. I’d been here all day, thinking, crying, writing. Letting it all bleed out onto paper. The sun had started to dip lower, soft and orange, so I guessed it was almost evening.

“Yeah. I finished one,” I whispered.

He clapped once, grinning, then pulled me into a tight hug. “Good job, sunshine. I knew you’d get there.” He let go. “Now come on, get dressed. We’re eating out tonight. Liya and Pierre found a little restaurant with candles and a pianist. You’ll love it.”

I turned my face to the side as a tear slipped down my cheek.

He was still in costume. The white shirt, the messy hair. I guessed they reshot the proposal scene on set today.

Nicholas frowned and gently brushed the tear away with his thumb.

“What’s wrong, sunshine?” he asked softly. “Did your father call again?”

I shook my head and drew in a breath.

“When did you know Matthew was the one for you?”

His hand dropped to the sand between us, and for a second, he didn’t speak.

He turned his face to the sea.

“We were in Seattle once. Incognito. He took me to one of those private theaters where you rent the room and pick your own movie. He chose The Perks of Being a Wallflower. The one my father showed me when I was a teenager. It’s the reason I became an actor.

It was the first time a film made me feel seen. ”

I nodded. I knew what that meant.

“After the credits, he said he had one more surprise. He handed me a box, and inside was a first edition of the book. He’d written this tiny message on the first page, something about how he hoped I’d never stop chasing my dreams, no matter how much it cost.”

I smiled, and so did he. Softly, like the memory still lived inside him.

“But that’s not what did it. It wasn’t the gift. It was the way he listened. The way he remembered what mattered to me. My dreams. My fears. My ugly little wounds. He didn’t try to fix them. He wanted to carry them with me.”

I stared out at the fading sun, the sky going gold at the edges.

Because I understood.

That was the thing. The moment when you realized it wasn’t about being saved. It was about someone choosing to sit with you in the dark, and never letting go.

Je t’aime, Scarlett .

“Why?” he asked, tickling my sides. “You hiding a secret lover from me?”

I laughed, wiping the last of the tears off my cheeks.

“No. Just thinking about love. And how life sucks at times.”

And how sometimes, you didn’t realize you’d been loved until it had already carved itself into you.

He stood, brushing the sand off his pants.

I followed, doing the same to my dress as we started walking back toward the villa.

“Life’s a bitch either way. Might as well learn how to bite back.”