Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 53

DYLAN

I hate being shut out. It’s one of the few things that can unnerve me faster than anything else, and right now, that feeling was eating me alive. The article Beckett sent had practically laid everything bare–every question that had been haunting me since this morning suddenly had answers I never asked for. Answers I didn’t want.

But even with the truth staring me in the face, some stubborn, aching part of me refused to accept it. I wanted to hear it from Hunter himself. I wanted to believe that there was some reasonable explanation, something I just didn’t know yet.

I wanted to give him a chance.

I wanted to trust him.

I hate to think that he already betrayed me even before I had the chance to admit my feelings for him.

I pressed my back against the wall and listened. I need to find a way to escape this place. If Hunter won’t come here to give me answers, then I’m coming for him.

I clutched my stomach and let out a sharp, desperate cry, loud enough to echo off the hotel room walls. I dropped to my knees beside the bed, curling forward as if pain had ripped straight through me.

It didn’t take long. The guards stationed outside burst through the door, panic tightening their faces.

“Madam, what’s wrong?” one of them asked, rushing toward me.

“I–I don’t know,” I gasped, forcing my voice to tremble. “It hurts. My stomach… I think something’s really wrong. I need to go to the hospital.”

They exchanged worried looks. That was all I needed.

Within minutes, two more guards arrived. One lifted me gently, helping me stand while the others spoke hurriedly over their radios about an emergency transport.

They guided me through the hallway, moving fast, their focus fully on my supposed pain. I kept one hand pressed to my abdomen, breathing in short, shaky bursts.

When we reached the lobby, a car was already waiting. They helped me inside, one guard sitting beside me while two more climbed into the front seats.

Perfect.

The moment the car pulled away from the hotel, I leaned forward, clutching my stomach again. “Please hurry,” I whispered. “It’s getting worse.”

The guards urged the driver to go faster. Their attention stayed glued on me–exactly how I needed it.

When we reached a busy intersection near the hospital, I made my move. I lurched sideways suddenly, grabbing the guard next to me as if I were about to faint. He leaned in, caught off guard.

“Wait–madam-”

I used the momentum and shoved the door open on the opposite side, slipping out before he could grab me. The car screeched to a halt, horns blaring as I sprinted barefoot across the street.

“Madam! Stop!” one of them shouted.

napter 53

But I didn’t stop. The crowd swallowed me, faces blurring as I ran through them, weaving between people and slipping behind a delivery truck just as the guards reached the corner.

I pressed my back to the metal door, breathing hard, the city noise crashing around me. My heart pounded, adrenaline burning through my veins.

Once I was certain no one was behind me, I let out a shaky breath. My hands were still trembling, but I forced myself to lift one and wave down a passing cab.

It slowed beside the curb, the driver giving me a puzzled look when I yanked the door open and slipped inside.

“Where to, miss?”

“Green Heights Residence,” I said quickly, my voice still uneven.

He nodded and pulled back into traffic. I sank into the seat, hugging my bag tightly against my chest. Every bump in the road made my thoughts jolt back to the article and the photo.

But no matter how much fear gripped me, no matter how much my heart threatened to crumble, one thing was clear-

I had to hear it from him.

I needed answers from the only person who could give them.

The cab sped through the city streets, each passing block tightening something inside me. By the time we entered the quiet, upscale neighborhood of Hunter’s home, my pulse was racing so loudly it drowned out the engine.

When the cab stopped in front of his house, my breath caught. All the lights were on. His car was in the driveway.

He was home.

I paid the driver with shaky fingers and stepped out, the night air cool against my skin. For a second, I just stood there on the pavement, staring at the front door like it was some kind of threshold to the truth I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

But I swallowed hard, squared my shoulders, and walked up his steps.

I slipped inside without looking back, my heart thudding hard enough to echo in my ears. The guards outside didn’t even flinch at my arrival. They were tense–hyper–focused, scanning the perimeter, hands near their earpieces and weapons–but none of them tried

stop me, question me, or follow me in.

Whatever had them on edge… it wasn’t me.

The moment I stepped inside, my eyes locked onto him.

Hunter stood in the center of the living room, shoulders tight, chest rising and falling like he’d been pacing for hours. His phone was pressed to his ear, his expression carved sharp with fury.

“You are all a bunch of stupids! How can a woman manage to escape from all of you?” he roared, his voice echoing against the walls. “Don’t ever show your face to me until you find her!”

I froze by the doorway, my breath trapped somewhere in my throat.

He turned–probably to continue his tirade–and that’s when he saw me.

His entire body went still.

The anger on his face didn’t disappear; it just… shifted. Hardened. The muscle in his jaw flexed so sharply I thought it might snap. His fingers tightened around his phone until his knuckles turned stark white, like he was fighting the urge to crush the device right then and there.

Chapter 53

For a heartbeat, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me–unmoving, unreadable, furious and relieved, and something else I couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, he lifted the phone back to his car.

“Never mind,” he said, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous. “She’s here.”

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy… and terrifying.

Hunter didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just kept staring at me like I had just walked into the center of a storm he’d barely managed to hold back.

And I stood there, my pulse hammering, unsure if I wanted to run.

to

him

run from him.

frightening.

He didn’t raise his voice this time, but somehow his calm was far more

“When are you going to learn how to listen to my instructions?” he asked, each word slow and heavy, like he was holding back the rest of what he wanted to say.

He started walking toward me with steady, deliberate steps. I instinctively backed up, but it didn’t matter–he reached me in seconds.

His hand closed around my arm, firm but not painful… yet the tension in his grip told me he was far from calm. Before I could say anything, he pulled me closer, guiding me toward the center of the living room as if he needed space–space to look at me, to talk to me, to yell at me; I didn’t know.

My breath hitched as he stopped right in front of me. His touch wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding, like he was terrified I’d slip away again if he didn’t hold on.

“You don’t storm off like that, do you hear me?” he muttered, his eyes scanning my face and was hurt.

He cut himself off, jaw tightening hard.

my

clothes, like checking if I

The anger was still there, burning hot under his skin, but threaded through it was something unexpectedly raw. Something that made my chest tighten.

He lifted his other hand, his thumb dragging slowly across my cheekbone–light, almost tender, yet the way he touched me felt like a reprimand. Like he was reminding himself I was here, breathing, not gone.

“I told you to stay put,” he murmured, but beneath that quiet tone was a storm barely kept in check. “Do you have how dangerous your recklessness is? ”

any

idea

I scoffed, heart still pounding from everything that had happened. “I would have if you didn’t lock me up in that hotel room. What exactly are you hiding from me, huh?”

His jaw clenched again, that familiar muscle ticking at the edge of his restraint. “You don’t need to dip your head into that,” he said, voice low and final. “I’ll handle it.”

He stepped back just enough to look me over again, as if assessing whether I was capable of running off a second time. Then, without a single explanation, he dropped the words like a command I was supposed to obey without question.

“Pack your bags. You’re leaving in a few hours.”

My breath caught.

Leaving?

Chapter 53

He didn’t give me time to react, didn’t soften his tone, or offer any reason. He said it like a fate already sealed, as it my opinion didn’t matter, as if fear or worry or anger weren’t clawing their way up my throat.

Something inside me twisted–not just from shock, but from the sting of being pushed away right after everything between us had finally begun to feel real.

“Why? “I asked, quieter this time, but he didn’t answer.

He just looked at me with a darkness I couldn’t read, a tension in his shoulders that told me whatever he was hiding it wasn’t small.

It was something big.

Something he was willing to lie, manipulate, and even cage me for.

And he fully intended to send me away because of it.

The moment I opened my mouth to demand answers, the front do doorway. My stomach dropped.

creaked, and a familiar silhouette appeared in the

It was her–the woman from the photo. Hunter’s so–called wife, S

looked exactly like she had in the article: poised, elegant, and with an air of confidence that made her presence impossible to ignore.

Her eyes widened when they landed on me. “Hunter… what’s going on? Wh

is she?”

Hunter stepped in front of me instantly, blocking her view, his expression calm but sharp. “She’s a friend,” he said smoothly, his tone casual, like he’d been caught in nothing more than a trivial misunderstanding. “She needed some help, that’s all.”

The woman blinked, clearly confused but not suspicious. “A friend?” she repeated, glancing between us. “Help with what?”

Hunter shrugged, just enough to appear relaxed, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder as if to confirm my presence was incidental. “Some personal matters. Nothing you need to worry about, honey.”

I felt a sharp pang in my chest as I watched her step closer to him, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. My stomach twisted, a hot, uncomfortable knot forming in my gut. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pull away, and didn’t give me the comfort of a glance. Instead, he looked at her with that easy, relaxed smile he reserved for her, and my heart sank deeper with every second.

“Go back upstairs,” he added, his tone smooth, almost indulgent. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

I wanted to protest, to demand that he explain, to remind him of everything between us, but my throat had gone dry. The words stuck like lead. I could only stare, torn between anger and pain, as she nodded and moved away, giving me the briefest of polite smiles before retreating up the stairs.

His face turned dark when he looked at me. Gone was the warm gaze he was giving to that woman a while ago.

The moment she disappeared upstairs, something inside me snapped. I couldn’t breathe in that house, couldn’t stand the weight pressing against my chest. I needed to leave–needed space, air, anything that wasn’t him pretending nothing was

wrong.

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