BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Chapter 5

The silence in the VIP lounge was heavy but not suffocating. It was a stark contrast to the thumping music and chatter from the main ballroom, a bubble of quiet where time seemed to stand still. Megan sat on the velvet sofa, sipping the cold water Dylan had given her. Her ankle throbbed, but the pain was dull compared to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions inside her. She kept glancing at Dylan, who stood by the large floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the city lights while speaking in hushed tones on his phone.

She still couldn't believe this was happening. The boy she had saved over a decade ago, a memory she thought was buried forever, was now the powerful man standing between her and the world. And he was looking at her with a concern she had almost forgotten existed.

Dylan ended the call and turned back to her. The anger she had seen earlier had settled into a determined resolve. He walked back over and knelt beside her again, this time with a small first-aid kit he had retrieved from the security staff.

"The doctor is on the way," he said, opening the box. "But let’s get this cleaned up first."

"Mr. Henson... Dylan, really, I can do it myself," Megan protested weakly, her face heating up. She wasn't used to being taken care of. In her world, she was always the one doing everything for everyone else.

Dylan paused, looking up at her with those intense eyes. "Megan, please. Let me do this. For me."

There was something in his voice—a mix of pleading and command—that made her nod silently. He worked with surprising gentleness, dabbing antiseptic on the minor scrapes around her ankle and wrapping it carefully with a bandage. His hands were steady, his movements precise, treating her injury as if it were something precious.

As he worked, his gaze drifted again to the bruises he had spotted earlier. The fabric of the red dress was thin, revealing more than she realized. He traced the edge of one dark mark lightly with his thumb, his jaw tightening visibly.

"Who does this to you?" he asked again, quieter this time, but the question carried more weight. "Your family?"

Megan flinched, looking away. "It's complicated. I live with my stepmother and stepbrother. They... they have hard days. I just try to make things easier."

"By letting them hurt you?" Dylan’s voice was sharp, not at her, but at the situation. He stood up and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. "Megan, providing for them doesn't mean you have to pay with your body. You don't deserve this. No one does."

Before Megan could reply, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman in a medical uniform entered, followed by Mr. Gomez. The doctor quickly assessed Megan’s ankle, confirming it was a sprain and applying a proper support bandage. She also gave Megan some pain relief medication and cast a questioning glance at Dylan when she saw the other marks, but she remained professional, simply advising rest and care.

Once the doctor left, Dylan turned to Mr. Gomez. "Is the car ready?"

"Yes, Sir. And regarding the... situation at her residence, the team is standing by."

"Good." Dylan turned back to Megan. "We’re leaving."

Megan’s eyes widened. "Leaving? But where? I need to go home. Clara—my stepmother—she’ll be angry if I don't come back."

"You aren't going back there tonight," Dylan stated firmly. "Or ever again, if I have a say in it."

Megan shook her head, panic rising. "You can't just... I have things there. My sketchbook, my clothes..."

"We will collect them. And anything else you need. But you are not setting foot in that house while you’re hurt and while they are there waiting to hurt you." He stood up and offered his hand. "Trust me, Megan. Just for tonight. Let me keep my promise."

His promise. I finally found you. I won't let anything happen to you again.

Megan looked at his outstretched hand. She was terrified of what tomorrow might bring, terrified of Clara’s rage and Leo’s cruelty. But right now, looking at Dylan, she felt a glimmer of something she hadn't felt in years: safety.

She took his hand. "Okay."

Dylan helped her stand, supporting her weight easily. He didn't let go as they walked out of the lounge. When they exited the building, the flash of cameras and the shouting of reporters waiting outside intensified, but Dylan shielded her with his body, guiding her quickly toward a sleek, black luxury car waiting at the curb. He helped her into the back seat, ensuring she was comfortable, before sliding in beside her.

As the car pulled away from the venue, leaving the lights and noise behind, Megan looked out the window. The city passed by in a blur of neon and shadows. She looked down at the dress she was wearing—the dress Clara had forced her into. It felt even more uncomfortable now, scratchy and confining.

Dylan seemed to read her mind. He reached into the bag that had been brought along with them—the bag Megan hadn't even realized she’d brought—and pulled out the neatly wrapped bundle she had hidden at the bottom. Her blue dress.

"I saw this in your bag," he said softly. "You made this?"

Megan nodded, surprised. "Yes. I... I wanted to wear it tonight, but I wasn't allowed."

Dylan carefully unfolded the midnight-blue silk. Even in the dim light of the car, it looked stunning. The craftsmanship was evident, the design elegant and unique.

"This is beautiful, Megan," he said, genuine admiration in his voice. "You have incredible talent. Why are you hiding this?"

Megan looked away. "Because in my house, dreams don't pay the bills. Or stop the yelling."

Dylan gently placed his hand over hers. "Well, that changes starting tonight. You won't have to hide anymore."

The car eventually turned off the main roads and entered a gated community, winding up toward a hilltop. The houses here were large and spaced far apart, surrounded by trees and security walls. Finally, they pulled up in front of a magnificent modern estate, lit warmly from within.

"Welcome to my home," Dylan said as the car stopped. "And for as long as you need it... it’s yours too."

He helped her out of the car and into the house. Inside, it was spacious and immaculate, decorated with tasteful art and comfortable furniture, but it lacked the coldness of the office or the gaudiness of the gala. It felt like a home.

He led her to a guest suite—larger than her entire room back home. It had a king-sized bed, a dressing area, and a bathroom with a huge bathtub.

"Get changed," Dylan said, placing the blue dress on the bed. "Rest. I’ll have someone bring you some food. No one will disturb you here, Megan. I promise."

He turned to leave, but Megan called out softly. "Dylan?"

He stopped at the door and looked back.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He gave her a small, genuine smile—the first real smile she had seen from him all night. "Thank you. For saving me first."

When the door closed, Megan finally let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for years. She changed out of the scratchy red dress and into the soft silk of her own creation. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe. But as she looked around the beautiful room, she knew this was just the beginning. Clara and Leo wouldn't let go easily, and the world she was stepping into was full of its own dangers. But for tonight, she was safe. And that was enough.

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