Chapter 14
The change in his face was subtle but unmistakable. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, his eyes darkened.
Then, just as quickly, he softened. He reached up, gently stroking my hair like I was something fragile, something precious. “Sylvia,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. “It’s you I can’t let go of. I love you.”
I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat at his words. He still didn’t get it. He never would. I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “But I don’t love you. anymore, Dwight. I haven’t for a long time. My voice was cold. “Don’t you get it? It’s over.”
The expression on his face froze, like someone had pressed pause on him. His brows furrowed, and his lips parted slightly.
I hadn’t seen that look on him in years–raw disbelief, maybe even shock. It almost looked ridiculous on him now.
“Sylvia,” he spat, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with restrained fury. “You… you’ve fallen for someone else, haven’t you?”
I didn’t bother answering and just turned away, reaching for the zipper of my suitcase.
What was the point of arguing anymore?
“Answer me!” His voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly his hands were on me again, yanking me back toward him.
The force knocked the air from my lungs as I stumbled, my back hitting the wall once more. Dwight’s face was inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. “You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?! His voice trembled with something
21:28
The
Chapter 14
darker now, something possessive… and dangerous. “Who is it?”
I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but I forced myself to stay calm. I needed to get out of this room and out of this house.
I managed to shrug him off, but before I could get far, his expression shifted into something even more menacing. “If that’s how it’s going to be,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “then there’s only one thing left to do.”
Before I could react, his hands were on me again, this time with more force. He grabbed both of my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while his other hand gripped my chin, forcing my face toward his. His lips crashed against mine in a violent kiss, his breath suffocating me. I whimpered, trying to struggle,
but it was futile.
I felt his lips trail down my neck and heard the rip of fabric as he tore at my
clothes, causing the burn of humiliation and rage to surge through me.
I wanted to scream, to shove him away, but I was trapped. His alpha strength was overwhelming, and all I could do was endure.
“Dwight,” I gasped, my voice hoarse, “do you want me to hate you?”
He paused for just a second, his breath heavy in my ear. “You won’t,” he
whispered, his voice eerily calm, “You won’t. Sylvia, we’ll feel the way we used to. Just give it time.”
He thrust himself into me, a cruel mockery of the intimacy we once shared. Tears welled in my eyes, but I bit them back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
I was like a ship caught in a storm, powerless against the waves that crashed over
- me.
It wasn’t until the early morning light crept through the window that he finally pulled away, leaving me lying there, broken and aching. I could barely move. Every part of me hurt.
Overnight After Our Divorce
Chapter 14
As he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, he whispered softly, “Sylvia, give me a child.”
I never thought Dwight would resort to imprisoning me to avoid divorce. It felt like a nightmare, a suffocating dream from which I couldn’t wake. The man I once shared vows with, now a captor, carefully weaving a gilded cage around me.
For a full month, he barely left my side, watching my every move like a predator aking prey. Day after day, I woke up in this villa–beautiful but hollow, much like our marriage–held against my will by a man desperate to cling to the illusion of control. He acted as if we were in some twisted honeymoon phase, where love meant confinement, and care meant cutting me off from everything I once had.
What struck me the most was how he changed.
Dwight had always been cold and distant–his affection for me, if it ever existed, buried under layers of indifference. But now, he was suddenly attentive, gentle even, trying to woo me back with a tenderness that felt foreign.
He cooked every meal with his own hands, something he’d never done before. Each plate was artfully arranged, as if trying to impress me with a display of his efforts. “Here, Sylvia, let me feed you,” he’d say, his voice unnervingly soft as he brought the spoon to my lips, watching me swallow each bite as if I were some fragile bird. His touch, once indifferent and fleeting, now lingered in ways that made my skin crawl.
When my chronic gastritis flared up, he was there immediately, holding my hand- and massaging my stomach, whispering, “I’m here. Just breathe through the pain.” His concern would have been touching, maybe even heartwarming, if it wasn’t all part of the act.
I could see through his performance. I’d lived with this man for five years, and I knew that love was the furthest thing from what motivated him now. It was fear. Fear that I would finally walk away, that I’d break free and tear down the facade of his perfect life.
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The Ex Husband’s Regret
