Saint Or Sinner?

Twenty

Dylan's Point Of View

I pulled the tie from around my neck and collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. A long, grueling day at work only to come home to an empty, silent house—this wasn't the life I imagined for myself.

I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, but there were no messages. Not from her. Not even from Ava with an update.

Regret clawed at my chest. I should have followed her that night—to the restroom, to the car, somewhere. If I had, maybe she'd be here with me instead of missing.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration thick in my veins.

Camila.

Her name was a whisper in my mind, a ghost that refused to fade.

Her amber eyes haunted me. That smile—soft, teasing, always a little guarded. The delicate fragrance of coconut that lingered in her wake.

The curves I had dreamed of tracing with my fingertips more times than I could count.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, pressing my palms into my eyes.

I was losing my mind.

"Where are you, Cammie? It's been a month."

A whole fucking month.

The silence in the house felt heavier tonight, suffocating. I pushed up from the couch, deciding I needed sleep before I spiraled any further.

As I climbed the stairs, I noticed something strange—an unusual darkness swallowed the hallway. My chest tightened. I wasn't the type to get paranoid, but something about the stillness felt off.

Then, movement. A shadow at the balcony.

I stepped forward cautiously.

She stood there, her back to me, resting her elbows against the silver railing. The moonlight kissed her skin, her form accentuated by the pair of red shorts hugging her hips and ass just right.

Her hair—dark brown—was tied in a messy bun.

That made me pause. Camila's hair is lighter.

Had she dyed it?

I didn't care. Not when she was finally here.

A rush of emotions hit me all at once. I closed the distance, wrapping my arms around her from behind, pulling her into my chest.

Her scent was different—pineapple instead of coconut. It threw me for a moment, but I ignored it.

I buried my face in her shoulder, inhaling her warmth. She's here. She's real.

"Cammie, where have you been?" My voice was rough with emotion. "You nearly fucking killed me."

I expected her to stiffen, to scold me for getting too close, but I didn't care. I just needed her in my arms, even if only for a second.

Since college, since the moment I confessed my feelings for her, Camila had kept her distance. She never said the words, but I knew my love made her uncomfortable.
I understood.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell when she flinched at my touch. When she averted her gaze like looking at me too long might betray her.

I had tried—tried to create space, tried not to make things awkward, tried not to remind her of the feelings she couldn't return.

But nothing worked. The more I held back, the further she drifted away.

Then, she disappeared.

And now, finally, she was—

"Dylan?"

I felt my entire body go rigid. That wasn't Camila's voice.

A soft tap on my arm had me stepping back, my hands falling to my sides as she turned around.

Dark eyes met mine.

Not amber.

Kira.

My stomach dropped.

The balcony light illuminated her features just enough for me to see the small, hesitant smile on her lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming over," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Ava had to stay late at the office, and she didn't want me to be alone, so I—"

"Kira," I cut in, exhaling sharply, my mind still struggling to catch up.

She tilted her head, amusement flickering across her face. "You really do love my sister, huh?"

Her words were light, teasing, but something in her expression—something I couldn't quite place—made my chest tighten.

I let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down my face. "Look, Kira, I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to explain yourself," she interrupted, her smile still in place, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I guess that's just what love does, right?"

That smile. It was not the usual bright, mischievous grin I was used to.

This one looked...pained.

"Kira?" I took a step forward, but she was already retreating.

"Sorry if I startled you earlier," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I should go to bed. Goodnight, Dylan."

She turned to leave, her arm brushing against mine as she walked past.

I should have let her go. Should have turned back to the night sky, let her disappear into the darkness. But I couldn't help it.

My gaze followed her retreating figure.

The way her body moved—the same effortless grace as Camila.

The same perfect curves.

God must have loved these sisters. Because he blessed them both with dangerous beauty.