And God help anyone who tries to get between us again.
Chapter 12
I wasn’t surprised when my my step father, Marcus, arranged for me to su next to Dorian at dinner. He’s predictable like that–manipulative in a way that’s almost pathetic. Every move is calculated, every gesture made to ensure I stay tethered to this family, like a pawn. Tonight’s no different.
The table is set, candles flickering in some half–assed attempt at an intimate family meal, but all I feel is dread clawing at my stomach. Dorian sits beside me, close enough that his presence wraps around me, suffocating and thrilling at the same time. It pisses me off that I can still feel him like this, that his scent–dark and familar–makes my pulse skip when it should make me sick.
Selene, do you know how long we have waited for you to come back? Alpha Dorian has been worried sick,” father, says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching, always watching.
I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing a polite smile. He’s not even subtle. “That sounds concerning. You both know I’m living great out in Seattle Musice is even, but my mind’s racing.
He nods, taking a bite of his food, pretending like it’s all normal conversation. That’s good. Very good. Especially now that you’re back”
I almost snor. Sure, if you call a head full of twisted, obsessive thoughts “good. But that’s not what this is about. No, he’s using Dorian to lay the groundwork for his precious eldest son. Always the puppet master, trying to pull strings, thinking he’s clever. It’s almost laughable how much he values the days I spent in Dorian’s life–as if that gives him some kind of power over me. He’s an idiot. And the eldest Don’t even get me started.
But, as much as I hate playing his games, I know what’s at stake–Mom I’m willing to cooperate, to make him think I’m still of value, to make him believe I’m his perfect pawn. Maybe, just maybe, if I keep up this charade, he’ll be easier on my adoptive mother. She doesn’t deserve the shit she gets caught in because of Marcus‘ need to control everything.
Dorian stays quiet beside me, his presence looming like a storm ready to break, but his eyes flick to mine, and I know he’s thinking about the same thing. The past. The moments we had. The mistakes I made. The mistakes he made.
My father–adoptive or not–thinks he’s playing us, but the real game is happening under the surface, where his manipulations can’t touch. Where Dorian’s obscision burns too hot too consuming. Where I can’t deny that some part of me is drawn back to him, even when I want to rip myself free of everything he represents.
“You know,” Marcus continues, breaking the tense silence, “my eldest son has been asking about you, Selene. He thinks highly of you.” His voice has that oily quality to it, like he’s trying too hard to be nonchalant
I swallow the bitterness that rises in my throat. Of course he’s asking about me. The perfect daughter, the one he could never really claim, now caught in this sick game between Dorian and his family. I glance over at Dorian. His jaw clenches, and I can feel the rage simmering beneath his
calm extenor.
“Really
interesting. I reply, my tone flat, uninterested. I won’t give h
e hi
the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
Donan’s hand Brushes mine under the table, the contact brief but enough to send a jolt through me. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know what he’s thinking. The eldest son, father’s little golden boy, has always been a looming shadow. And now, my father wants to use me to bridge that gap. As if I’m some kind of bargaining chip to secure alliances between them
It’s fucking pathetic
The temion at the table thickens. Father kreps talking, dropping hints about family and loyalty, but I’ve stopped listening. I’m too aware of Dorian beside me, of the way his leg presses against mine under the talde, like he’s staking his claim even here, in front of everyone.
As inuch as I hate it, part of our feck sale when he’s close, as twisted as that sounds. It’s the same part that remembers the way he looked at me. I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The part that knows he’ll never let me go, no matter how much I want to break free all these years.
But Marrust He’s tou stupid to see i
cally going on. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can use me to strengthen his position, in tighter to
1 Dance myself to swallow another bite of food, tny stomach knotting. After all these years, Marcus still believes f’in his obedient little daughter He dscnocribe how far from the truth that is. But I play along. For now. For Mom, who by the way is eating so little with those skinny hands, I might lave të larij, and nok her some sur
Alter dinner, faller doesn’t waste any time. He leans back in his chair, satisfied, and glances at me with that smig look I’ve come to hate. “Selene” he says smoothly, “why don’t you take Aloha Durian for a walk? Our VIP deserves the best treamem, don’t you think?”
around the napkin on my lap. VII That’s what he calls him now. The audacity of it makes me want to laugh. Durian isn’t a guest.
the past that refuses to stay buried, the man who tome me apart, chose another woman, and still thinks he
But I’m no coward. If this is Marcus pathetic way of pushing me humo Dorian’s arms for the sake of his grand plan, fine. I’ll play my part–for now.
1/2
5:47 PM c
Chapter 12
I push back from the table, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, Dorian stands as well, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There’s a flicker of something there–anticipation, desire, that goddamn obsession that thate myself for still feeling
“Of course,” I reply to father, keeping my voice light, polite. Tll take Alpha Dorian for a walk”
We leave the dining room, and the second we’re outside, the cool night air hits me like a stap. It clears my head, sharpens my focus. Dorian walks beside me, too close, as usual, his presence looming like a shadow I can’t shake.
For a few minutes, neither of us says a word. The silence stretches, heavy and tense, but I can feel his gaze on me, burning through the darkness. It’s unbearable, that suffocating feeling of being watched, of being unwanted all these years and yet he now faces me with that expression.
Finally, I stop walking. I turn to face him, squaring my shoulders, meeting his gaze head–on. It’s hard when he’s at least a head taller than I am, but I pull myself together “Let’s get one thing straight, Alpha,” I say, my voice steady, even though my heart’s racing. “I didn’t come back for you.”
There. I said it.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes flickers, something dark and dangerous. He steps closer, too close, his breath hot agamst my skin as he leans in, lowering his voice.
“Didn’t you, though His words are soft, almost mocking, like he knows something I don’t
1 grit my teeth, resisting the urge to back away. “No, I didn’t. I came back because 1 had no choice but to help my seriously ill mother if you may ask. And whatever you’re thinking, whatever sick fantasy you’ve built up in that twisted head of yours, it’s not happening”
He smirks, that infuriating smirk that always made my blood boil. “You always were a terrible liar, Selene”
I clench my fists at my sides, hating how much control he still has over me “Believe what you want,” I snap. “But I’m not here for you. Not anymore.”
Dorian steps even closer, his hand reaching out to graze my arm. The touch is electric, sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. “You think I don’t know why you’re really here?” His voice drops lower, more dangerous now: “You think I can’t see it? You’re still mine, Selene. You always will
My breath catches in my throat, and for a second, I almost believe him. Alroost. But then I remember everything–the pain, the betrayal, the years of being tom apart because of him. I take a step back, putting some distance between us, my heart pounding in my chest.
“No” I whisper, shaking my head. “Not anymore.” my voice breaks.
He watches for his eyes dark, unreadable. I could see the hurt flashing for a second before it disappeared. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll push, if he’ll try to force his way back in like he always does. Hut instead, he just stares, a strange mixture of frustration and something else–something raw and unspoken–flickering across his face. Regret. He knows what he’s done,
