Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

DYLAN

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The ride was quiet, except for the loud thumping in my chest. Beckett’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched like he was holding back a thousand words. I sat still beside him, barely breathing, unsure if I was more angry, scared, or heartbroken.

When we pulled into the driveway of the house we once called home, the memories hit me all at once like a cold wind brushing against my face. The many nights I waited for him to come home. The ache in my heart deepened.

Beckett jumped out and rushed to open my door. I didn’t move.

“Dylan,” he said softly, reaching for me.

I flinched before I could stop myself. The pain in his eyes when I did that was almost enough to make me cry.

“Please just come inside.”

His voice was no longer cold or forceful. It was broken. Desperate.

I looked down at the hand he held out to me, unsure. But curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly reached for it. The moment our skin touched, a strange jolt ran through me–familiar, yet distant. It didn’t feel like it used to. Almost like holding a stranger’s hand.

The front door swung open just as we reached the steps. Sarah stood there, wide–eyed with confusion. Her gaze went from Beckett to me and lingered on our hands.

“Beckett? What’s going on? Why is she-?”

“Not now, Sarah,” he muttered, brushing past her like she was nothing but a shadow.

Sarah crossed her arms, but the disbelief in her voice made my stomach turn. “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on here? What is she doing here?”

“I said not now,” Beckett snapped again, shutting the door behind us.

I yanked my hand free and stepped away from him. He stared at me, and I couldn’t read him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you here, Dylan. This is your home after all. I’m feeling guilty that I drove a wedge over your marriage,” Sarah said, which I know was all fake. She’s really such a good actress.

I can’t help but roll my eyes in annoyance. All I wanted was to get out of here as soon as possible.

“I–I’m just worried about our son,” she said, which made me raise my eyebrow.

Where is she going with this?

Sarah’s lips trembled slightly, her fingers knotting together like she was summoning just enough frailty to

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Chapter 25

play the victim–again.

“Y–You know… because of what happened last time?” She said with a fragile voice, casting a nervous glance toward Beckett, as if she hoped he’d jump to her defense like he always did.

Ah. So she was bringing that up again. The incident where they accused me of hurting their precious love child.

1 let out a bitter scoff, arms folding tightly across my chest.

“Believe me, I hate being here just as much as you hate seeing me.”

Before Beckett could say anything, Sarah took a shaky step forward, her tone soft, innocent–fake.

“I don’t hate you being here, Dylan. This is your house too. Why would I feel that way?”

I tilted my head, letting out a humorless laugh.

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“Your act doesn’t impress me, Sarah. We both know you wanted me gone the moment you stepped into this house, and you did everything in your power to make sure that happened.”

Her eyes widened, just for a split second. A flicker of truth behind the mask. But then she turned to Beckett, her expression wounded, as though I was the one causing trouble again.

Beckett stepped between us, his voice sharp. “Dylan, that’s enough! Can’t you see? Sarah’s trying to make this work. Why can’t you cooperate? Why can’t you just try to get along with her?”

I stared at him in disbelief, my heart hammering in my chest. How could he still not see it?

“No. I won’t,” I snapped, shaking my head. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? We’re divorced, Beckett! You signed the papers, remember? So why can’t you get it through your thick skull that I don’t belong here anymore?”

My voice cracked at the end, not because I was scared–but because I was tired. Tired of constantly being the one who had to justify her pain. Tired of being surrounded by people who refused to appreciate the love and care I offered them.

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Beckett’s jaw worked as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. Sarah just looked away, her mouth pressed into a tight, thin line.

I had enough. My heart thundered in my chest as I turned on my heel and stormed toward the front door. My fingers trembled with frustration as I grabbed the knob and yanked it open-

Only to come face–to–face with two large, stone–faced men in black suits.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m leaving.”

But the taller one stepped forward, blocking the doorway with a quiet firmness that sent chills racing down my spine.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Sinclair has instructed us not to let you leave the premises.”

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Chapter 25

ཟ

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“Are you serious right now?” I turned my head and glared at Beckett, who was now slowly making his way down the hall, hands in his pockets like this was just another casual afternoon.

“They’re just here to make sure you’re safe,” he said calmly, as if his words weren’t infuriating. “I was afraid you’d try to leave before we could talk properly.”

“Properly?” I laughed, the sound dry and bitter. “There’s nothing left to say. We’re done. We’re done, Beckett.”

He stepped closer. “We’re not done. You might think you’ve moved on, but I know you. You don’t let go that easily.”

I shook my head, eyes stinging.

“You…are out of your mind!” I exclaimed in annoyance.

He said nothing. He just looked at me with those infuriatingly calm eyes, like he had all the time in the world to fix what he broke.

My fists clenched at my sides. We are only going in circles, and with those bodyguards outside, there’s no way I’d be able to leave this place right now.

I decided to leave and went upstairs to the guest room. I locked the door to make sure Beckett was not able to follow me here. I couldn’t stand to be with him. The old me would probably jump in glee if she saw how Beckett was struggling so hard to keep me. But I’m not that girl anymore.

I was pacing around the room, thinking of all the possible ways I could escape this prison. I had barely settled into the guest room when the sudden roar of engines shattered the silence outside.

Curious, I rushed to the window, parting the curtains just enough to peek out.

My breath caught in my throat.

There, in the driveway, were at least ten sleek, high–end cars, their engines rumbling like thunder. The kind of cars that screamed power and danger. But it wasn’t the cars that made my knees go weak; it was the men who stepped out of them. All armed. All terrifying.

And at the center of it all, walking like he owned the world, was a man I would recognize anywhere.

Hunter Gage De Marco.

What is he doing here?