Chapter 130 Sham Arrangement Even the sound of the rain had changed while waiting for an answer from Dean. It wasn’t pounding intensely anymore—it was softer now, steady, like it had grown tired too. Dean hadn’t said anything for nearly a full minute. The silence stretched so long it started to ache. I leaned back, crossed my arms, and stared straight ahead at the rippling reflections of headlights passing by on the wet road. “You’re not answering,” I said finally. “Does that mean I’m right?” He shook his head, quickly. “No, that’s not it—Sav, come on. I’m not trying to manipulate you.” “That’s exactly what a manipulator would say.” “God, you make everything so difficult.” He let out a rough sigh and ran a hand through his hair. His knuckles were pale. “I know I screwed up. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m trying to make it right.” “Make it right?” I repeated, my voice a whisper drowned out by the noise outside. “You can’t make right something that’s already rotten.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t finished. “You helped destroy me,” I said quietly. “You believed Chloe when she said I was cheating. You never asked. Never checked. You just let her and Julius play you like a puppet and decided I was the target of your sham arrangement. You didn’t just hurt me, Dean. You humiliated me.” He turned toward me, face twisted with guilt. “Sav, I was confused, okay? You were so… perfect when I finally got to know the real you back then. So I got jealous of the eyes watching you. You walked into a room and everyone noticed you. I thought Chloe was saying the truth because I began to see you as ‘too good for me’. I felt like you were actually way out of my league. I was feeling guilty too, Sav. My conscience was pricking me because I was using you.” I blinked, slowly. “So you thought I’d deserve to be dragged through hell for your guilt and insecurity?” “No, I—” “Don’t,” I interrupted, voice flat. “Just don’t.” The wipers dragged across the glass, screeching like they were tired too. I could see his reflection in the window, his eyes darting toward me and away again. He looked smaller now. Not the confident, charming boy he’d once pretended to be. Just a man who’d realized too late that apologies don’t fix anything. “I thought Chloe was helping me,” he said eventually, voice barely audible. “She told me you were seeing someone else in my circle. She told me to get tested since you've been doing it behind my back for a while. She even showed me fake messages. Screenshots, photos—” I scoffed, shaking my head. “And that was enough? You saw some random screenshots and a bunch of lies and decided it was true?” He hesitated. “I guess… I had no reason to doubt her. She's your sister, so of course I believed her.” “Of course you did,” I said. “Because it made things easier. It justified everything you did to me.” The inside of the car was warm and claustrophobic. My own breath fogged the glass. I reached out and traced a line through the condensation with my finger, more to distract myself than anything else. “Sav, I never wanted to hurt you,” he said quietly. I turned to him, my eyes cold. “You already did.” He swallowed. “I know. And I live with that every day. You might not believe me, but I do. I can’t erase what happened, but I can take responsibility for it. Everything.”“That’s cute,” I said. “You think accountability comes with a discount code for forgiveness.” “I don’t expect forgiveness to come so easily,” he said quickly. “I just—” “What, Dean? You just what?” He looked like he wanted to disappear. “I just wanted you to know I’m not the same person anymore.” A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “Of course you’re not. You’re older now. You’ve had time to rehearse your remorse.” Lightning flashed and for a brief second, I saw his face illuminated—pale, drawn, and drenched in regret. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “You can hate me all you want. I deserve that. But don’t think I don’t care.” “I don’t think you care,” I said. “I know you don’t.” He looked up sharply. “That’s not fair.” “Neither was what you did,” I replied. My tone didn’t rise. I didn’t need it to. “You can tell yourself all the stories you want, Dean. You can paint me as cruel or cold or unforgiving. But you don’t get to rewrite what happened. You don’t get to show up now after the damage has been done and expect me to feel something just because you finally decided to grow a conscience as preparation for jailtime.” He blinked rapidly, like the weight of my words was physically pressing against him. “Sav, I never expected you to feel anything. I just…” He exhaled. “I just wanted you to know I’m sorry.” I stared at him for a long moment. Then I reached for the door handle, fingers grazing the cold metal. “You’ve already said that. Repeatedly.” He panicked a little, his voice quick. “Wait—don’t go out there, it’s still raining hard.” I turned my head just enough to look at him. “Then maybe the rain can wash the rest of this conversation off me. And your presence too.” “Sav—please.” Something in his tone made me pause. Not pity. Just exhaustion meeting exhaustion. I let go of the handle and leaned back against the seat again, eyes closing briefly. The rain had softened to a drizzle now—still steady, still relentless, like the world refused to give us quiet. He spoke again, slower this time. “I know you think I’m only saying all this to save myself. Maybe that’s partly true. Maybe I am scared. But I also know I can’t keep running from what I did to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. Not the lies, not the public humiliation, not me turning my back when you needed someone to lean on.” The sincerity in his voice would’ve meant something once. Now, it just sounded like background noise. “Dean,” I said, opening my eyes. “You want to know what’s funny?” He looked at me warily. “What?” “I don’t hate you.” He blinked. “You… don’t?” I turned toward the window, watching droplets chase each other down the glass. “No. Hating you would mean I still care enough to feel something for you. But I don’t. You’re just… another mistake I outgrew.” He stared at me, speechless. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The rain had thinned into a mist now, whispering instead of roaring. The world outside looked washed out. “I wish things were different,” he murmured eventually. “They’re not,” I said. “And they never will be.” He nodded slowly, like he finally understood. Then he looked down at his hands. “You really think I’m trying to butter you up for court?” I gave a faint, tired smile—not kind, not cruel, just real. “Dean, I don’t think it. I know it.” He didn’t argue this time. He just sat there, shoulders slumped, eyes glassy. The car was quiet except for the slow rhythm of raindrops on the roof. He chuckled. “You know most times, I have these crazy thoughts that something bad is going to happen to me. Soon.” He shakes his head swiftly. “It’s chilling. I feel like I'm in a bad dream with everything that's happening.” “Better wake yourself up then.” Outside, a car drove past, splashing through a puddle. “Can't have you dozing off while the sentence is being read out.” He stiffened so quickly I almost felt pity for him. But I willed myself not to. Dean is not my problem. I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and scrolled without seeing. He was still watching me, waiting for something I wasn’t going to give him. Finally, I sighed and said, almost gently, “You should drive. The rain’s not as bad anymore.” He blinked, hesitated, then nodded. The engine came back to life with a low hum. The wipers moved again. As we pulled back onto the slick road, Dean’s hands were steady on the wheel now, but his jaw was tight. I didn’t say another word. I just watched the water slide down the glass, carrying the reflections of everything behind us—the diner sign, the soaked pavement… the ghosts of a conversation that never should’ve happened.