Rina's voice cut through the poolside silence, shrill and desperate. "You're just gonna let him walk away, Dad?" Her father stayed still, jaw locked. Rina's voice rose. "Of course! He always gets what he wants or he'll just kill himself, right?" Her bitterness hung heavy in the evening air.
His gaze hardened. "Dean, apologize to your mother," he said, voice calm but firm.
Dean, steps from the villa's marble columns, stopped. "What mother?" he asked, his tone flat, eyes fixed ahead.
His mother shifted, twisting her napkin. "Dean, I overreacted," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. "I shouldn't have… suggested the hospital." Six years ago, after his first heartbreak, she'd left him alone to face the consequences of her daughter actions alone, her absence a wound that cut deeper than her latest threat.
A servant slipped in, hesitant, holding Dean's motorcycle key, helmet, and jacket. His mother's posture stiffened, eyes narrowing. "Where do you think you're going?" she snapped, her restraint gone in the servant's presence.
Dean pulled on his gloves, unfazed. "Typical," he muttered, taking the gear. His father beckoned the servant closer, whispering. Dean turned. "Dad, don't tell them to follow me," he said, confidence glinting. "I'll smoke them." He strode out, the villa's gates clanging.
Rina spun to her mother. "Is he not a danger to himself?"
"I'll call his therapist tomorrow," her mother said, face tight. "To fast-track the process and find out why he tried to kill himself."
Dean's father stared at the pool, silent, no regret for divorcing her.
By the Thames, Dean parked his BMW M 1000 RR outside a club, its neon glow pulsing—the place where his music career began. The bass thumped, the crowd alive. He entered, helmet on, and took a barstool, ordering whiskey.
Skyler had found him. Old case notes mentioned this club where his career started, she wanted to see what made him happy. She tapped his shoulder. "Dean."
He turned, surprised. Her hair caught the dim light brown and gold, like it remembered the sun. "Your whiskey, sir," the bartender said, sliding a glass over.
Dean blinked. "You drink now?"
"Occasionally," Skyler said, smiling.
"What's a married woman doing at a club?" he teased, eyes flicking to her silver ring.
"Not married," she said, "just… complicated."
"Why are you here?" Dean asked, the club's noise a dull hum.
"Checking up on someone," she said, evasive.
"Who?" He stood, mood lifting.
"Confidential," she replied, a glint in her eyes.
"Hm." Dean grinned and headed to the riverbank. Skyler followed.
"Why you following me?" he asked, pausing by his bike, the Thames shimmering.
"You're in a good mood," she said, stepping closer. "People open up then."
His focus shifted to a couple near his bike, filming the Thames with video equipment. "Hey, what are you doing?" he called, voice sharp. Skyler tensed.
"Cool bike!" the man said, grinning, aiming his camera. "Congrats on the engagement!" He nodded at Skyler's ring, assuming they were a couple.
Dean blinked. Skyler laughed, shaking her head. "No, we're not " she started, but the couple's smiles were set. The woman chimed in, "Bet you two have some wild stories. Like jumping in the Thames for love!"
Skyler crossed her arms. "Jump in that river? No way, it's filthy."
Dean's eyes sparked. "I'll take any dare if you do it," he said, half a grin on his face.
"Be true with me for thirty minutes." she dare
"ok"
"You? Honest for thirty minutes?" she teased.
"Try me."
Skyler kicked off her shoes, meeting his gaze. "Deal." Then she ran barefoot, fearless and dove in. The Thames swallowed her whole, the city lights rippling across the surface. Dean stood frozen, laughter and disbelief mixing in his throat as the couple's camera caught it all the moment she vanished beneath the stars.