(LIAM'S POV)
"Dylan," I kept stammering, "Dylan-it's not-it's not what you think."
The words tumbled out of my mouth like a waterfall, desperate and frantic. I was still pressed against the edge of the jacuzzi, water dripping from my shoulders, bubbles clinging to my skin, my entire body burning with shame.
"Dylan, please, I swear-Roland and I weren't-we didn't-he was just washing my hair and then-" I was rambling now, my voice rising with panic. "It was a mistake. A moment of weakness. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll leave. I'll pack my things and go. I never meant to-"
Dylan didn't say a word.
He walked into the bathroom slowly, deliberately, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor. His eyes never left mine, dark and intense, unreadable. I braced myself for the explosion, for the anger, for the accusations.
But instead, Dylan bent down.
And he kissed me.
