Chapter 23
Chapter 23
“Let go of me!” I managed to grit out, my voice tight with fear and anger. “I’m your stepmother!”
He laughed again, this time softer, more dangerous. His lips curved into a wicked grin as he leaned in closer. “If you could accept the old man,” he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek, “why resist me?”
His fingers brushed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. I tensed as he gently squeezed my cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of my lips. “I’m sure I’d make you much happier than he ever could.”
A chill shot down my spine. I turned my head sharply, breaking his hold.
“Are you avoiding me, sis?” He taunted, his voice playful but laced with something darker.
I was trapped. There was nowhere to go. Alaric–no, the illegitimate son–had me cornered, his presence overwhelming. The cool scent of cedar clung to him, mingling with the lingering alcohol. It was intoxicating, disorienting me to new levels.
But I wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not for him. Not for Alaric.
The wolf inside me stirred. It was a low rumble, a reminder of the beast I tried so hard to contain, but the scent of danger, of him, had woken it. My senses were heightened, and I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as my pulse quickened.
Alaric’s eyes softened for a moment, shifting from mockery to something else–something more possessive. “Sis,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “when you act like this, it makes me want to kiss you.”
I froze. Those words weren’t in the script. They weren’t part of the scene. He had
21:31
The Ex–Hushand’s Passat
Chapter 23
improvised and crossed a line, but the director still hadn’t called “cut.”
My mind raced, searching for a way out. I forced myself to meet his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible for me to think straight.
“I’m your elder,” I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Stop saying foolish things.”
Before he could respond, a cold gust of wind swept through the room as the door
swung open.
A shadow crossed the set, and I saw Dwight step inside, his face as hard as stone. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His piercing gaze locked onto me, then shifted to Alaric, as if assessing every inch of the scene he’d just interrupted.
“Cut,” the director’s voice rang out, at last breaking the spell.
I pulled myself away from Alaric’s hold, my hands trembling as I straightened my clothes. Relief flooded through me, but the moment I looked up, my eyes met Dwight’s. His face was dark, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw was unmistakable.
Alaric stepped back, his easygoing demeanor returning as if nothing had
happened. But Dwight’s gaze stayed locked on me, cold yet burning with rage all at once, and I knew that this was far from over.
“Enough.” Dwight suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his tall figure looming over me as he grabbed my wrist with a grip that felt like iron. His fingers were lean and strong, pressing into my skin as he yanked me to my feet. “Sylvia, haven’t you had enough fun?” His voice was low, a mix of frustration and authority, as if he thought I was some disobedient child in need of correction.
The pressure of his fingers sent a sharp jolt of pain up my arm, and I couldn’t help but wince. His sudden appearance threw me off balance, and I stumbled forward, nearly crashing into his chest.
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The Ex Husband’s Regret: 1 Shot to Pane Overnight After Our Divorce
Chapter 23
The lingering scent of alcohol on his breath hit me just as hard as his grip, mingling with the faint smell of gardenias in the air, a stark contrast to the cedarwood cologne that clung to him like a second skin.
“Dwight, let go!” I hissed, trying to pull my wrist free, but his grip only tightened.
Panic began to swirl in my chest. I could feel the eyes of the crowd on us. We were
at a high–profile audition, surrounded by actors, directors, and producers–the
kinds of people who lived for drama on and off the screen.
I could already hear the whispers, see the discreet phone cameras pointing in our
direction.
But Dwight didn’t care. He never did.
He dragged me further toward the exit, his jaw clenched tight. “Sylvia,” he muttered under his breath, the frustration evident in his voice. “You’ve had your fun with these people, now it’s time to go home. Enough of these games.”
Games? Was that how he saw me now? Just some pawn he could drag around on á whim? The realization sent a wave of disgust rolling through me. I tried to yank my arm back, but he barely noticed, still gripping me with all his might.
But before I could gather the strength to fight back, another voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade. “Dwight, w
