Page 237 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

His face flinches. Guilt punches through me.

When did we get so good at hurting each other?

“I’m sorry,” he says.

The sincerity in it almost makes it worse. Because for years I told myself Dylan didn’t care, that he’d betrayed me because I meant nothing. But sitting here now, I can see the grief on him, too. The guilt, the exhaustion, the same haunted look I see in my own mirror.

“You know the worst part?” Dylan asks.

I look at him carefully.

“I spent our whole childhood thinking Mom loved you more.”

The confession blindsides me completely. I actually laugh once in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“That’s insane.”

“You were the golden child.”

I stare at him. “Dad practically introduced you to people like you hung the moon.”

Dylan blinks, and both of us just sit there realizing the same horrible thing simultaneously. Our parents spent so long pitting us against each other that we both grew up convinced we were the less loved son.

No wonder everything between us turned toxic.

Dylan rubs a hand over his mouth. “We were kids.”

“Yeah.”

“And they made everything a competition.”

“Yeah.”

Grades, music, attention, affection, success, even grief somehow.

The realization settles heavy between us.

Dylan says, “I miss my brother.”

My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts. Because underneath all the rage, I miss him, too. I just never knew how to survive admitting it.

The studio goes silent except for rain against the windows.

I exhale and drag a hand through my hair. “The Last Rebels needs to stop self-destructing.”

Dylan stares at me, clearly thrown by the pivot. He snorts softly. “That’s your transition?”

“It’s a good band.”

“We’re a disaster.”

“Also true.”

A real smile almost appears this time.

I continue carefully. “The compound’s finished.”