Chapter 15
But this night–this night was different. Dwight stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, his eyes glassy, his breath sharp with the scent of whiskey. It was late, long after midnight. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the room that had become my prison. He looked at me, eyes red, staggering as he closed the distance between us.
“Sylvia,” he slurred, collapsing onto the bed beside me, his arms heavy as they wrapped around my waist, pulling me close with an urgency that sent a wave of revulsion through me. “You need to think carefully. Who else… who else will ever
treat you like I do? If we divorce, who will love you the way I do?” His voice
cracked, but it wasn’t from emotion–it was desperation, a last–ditch effort to bind
me to him.
I lay there, stiff and unyielding in his grip, staring at the ceiling as his meaningless.
words washed over me.
“Who will ever treat me like you?”
The irony was bitter. Five years had shown me exactly how Dwight “loved“-with
coldness, with control, with manipulation. Now, he was trying a different tactic,
but it was all the same in the end. I could see through it, and I wasn’t moved.
He buried his face in my hair, his breath hot and sticky against my skin. “No one loves you like I do,” he murmured, his voice thick with alcohol and something
darker, something possessive. His hands clutched at me as if I might disappear, as
if he could hold me here forever.
I turned my head slightly, my voice low and icy, “Have you finished your performance, Dwight?” The question sliced through the drunken haze that
surrounded him.
He froze for a second, blinking as if trying to understand my words. His grip on
Hushand’s Regret: 1 Shut la base Overnight Atter Our Divorce
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Chapter 15
me loosened just a little, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, I saw the flash of
anger beneath his carefully crafted exterior, but he mu
sickening smile. “Sylvia, I’m doing this for us.”
masked it with a
“For us?” I echoed, laughing bitterly. I twisted in his arms to face him, staring into the eyes of the man I once thought I loved, the man who now made me feel trapped. “If this is love, Dwight, I don’t want any part of it.”
His smile faltered, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. But before I could say more, the
smile returned, twisted and cruel. “You think you know what love is? You think
you can just walk away from me, from everything we’ve built? No, Sylvia, you’re
mine.”
His hand, gentle moments before, suddenly shot up to my throat, gripping it with a force that left me gasping. The scent of his Alpha pheromones filled the air, oppressive and stifling, wrapping around me like chains. My vision blurred as his face came closer, his breath rancid with alcohol.
“Sylvia,” he hissed, his fingers tightening, cutting off my air. “Before, I never
noticed… but now I see it. You’ve got the face of a whore, don’t you? A face that just begs for men’s attention.”
I clawed at his hand, my nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t seem to feel it. My lungs screamed for air, my vision darkening at the edges. I could barely hear
his words over the roaring in my ears, but I caught the name.
“Alaric,” Dwight spat, his voice venomous. “Who is he, Sylvia? Is that your lover? Is
that why you want to leave me?” He shook me, his hand tightening even more around my throat. “You think I don’t know? He had the nerve to confront me
tonight, to tell me I don’t deserve you! He wants me to set you free, can you
believe that?”
Alaric…
The name echoed in my head, a distant memory breaking through the haze. He was the heir to one of the other prestigious wolf clans, like mine. We had only
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Chapter 15
crossed paths at formal events, back when we were children. I remembered him
as a shy boy, always hiding behind his parents, a boy who cried easily. And now, he was a man challenging I he was a man challenging Dwight on my behalf?
My mind struggled to stay conscious, to piece together the implications of Dwight’s drunken ramblings. But it was getting harder to think, harder to breathe. My hands dropped from his wrist, my strength fading as I slipped closer to
unconsciousness.
Just when I thought it was over, Dwight released his grip, letting me fall back onto the bed, gasping for air. He swayed on his feet, eyes unfocused, before collapsing beside me, the alcohol finally pulling him under.
I lay there, choking on my breath, my body trembling with shock and rage. I turned my head to look at him–at this man I had spent five long years with. His face, handsome and beloved by millions on the big screen, lay slack in a drunken stupor. I felt no love, no pity, only revulsion.
This was my chance. My only chance.
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