Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

DYLAN

It was already dark outside when someone finally knocked on my door. I couldn’t help but smile bitterly at the irony of it. Someone was knocking on my door when I was the one locked inside.

I was kind of surprised when a middle–aged woman walked into my room. She had a long, beautiful dress, and then she placed it right on top of the bed.

“Good evening, madam. I’m here to assist you with your preparation,” she greeted.

“Preparation? Preparation for what?” I asked in confusion.

“Master is expecting you to join him for dinner.”

“I’m not joining anyone for dinner. They are holding me here against my will. Are they expecting me to just eat with them and treat them as a friend?”

It was a misplaced anger towards her, but I couldn’t hold off my emotions anymore. She was probably working for them and has no say in this, and I felt sorry for that.

“I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” I apologized.

“I completely understand, madam. I’m only following orders,” she replied.

“Will you get in trouble if I say no?” I asked, just making sure that I’m not causing harm to innocent ones.

“I will probably not. But just a word of advice, don’t.”

She looks like she was pleading despite her telling me that she will not get in trouble.

I raised my head and looked at her proudly. “Tell your master, I’m not going to talk to him until he lets me talk to my husband,” I said.

She gave me a long, unreadable look before nodding. There was something heavy in her eyes, like she already knew how this would end.

“As you wish, madam,” she repeated softly.

She turned and left the room without another word, the door closing behind her with a quiet click that echoed far too loudly in the silence. I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding and sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling in my lap.

The dress lay there, untouched. Elegant. Expensive. Completely wrong for a woman to be held against her will.

I stared at it for a long moment before turning my gaze toward the window. Night had fully settled outside, the grounds swallowed by darkness, the mansion glowing faintly with warm lights that only made everything feel colder. Somewhere beyond these walls, Beckett existed. Somewhere, he was living his life, unaware or maybe very aware of where I was.

And that scared me the most.

Minutes passed. Then more. Time dragged until it felt like it was deliberately testing my patience.

Then I heard the footsteps again–slow, steady, and unhurried. My heart started racing, not out of fear alone, but something stranger. A pull. A quiet sense of familiarity that made no sense at all.

I pressed my palms against my thighs, grounding myself. “Get it together,” I told myself..

10:39 Wed, Jan 7

Chapter 63

The door opened.

This time, it wasn’t the woman.

A man stepped inside, tall enough that the room seemed to shrink around him. Broad shoulders, sharp lines, and a Lace so striking it almost felt unreal–like something sculpted rather than born. The kind of beauty that didn’t try to impress, yet commanded attention without effort. For a split second, my breath caught, and I hated myself for it.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t smile.

He took in the room calmly, his eyes lingering on the untouched dress on the bed before finally settling on me. When his gaze met mine, something stirred in my chest–recognition without memory, warmth without reason.

I felt like I’d seen him somewhere.

“So,” he said, voice deep and steady.

“So, what?” I shot back, folding my arms, refusing to let him see how shaken I felt.

His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “You wanted to talk to your husband. So here I am.”

I stared at him for a second before a laugh slipped out–sharp, disbelieving. Then another, louder this time. I shook my head as if that alone could clear the absurdity of it.

“You got me there,” I said, still laughing. “You really do have a sense of humor, mister. But enough of the jokes.” My laughter faded, replaced by steel. “Call my husband. Now. And let me go.”

He didn’t react the way I expected. No anger. No mockery. Just patience.

“I am your husband,” he said quietly.

The words landed wrong. Too calm. Too certain.

I scoffed again, though my chest tightened. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “But it doesn’t erase the fact that you are indeed mine.”

“In your dreams. I don’t even know you, mister.” I snapped. “My husband is Beckett.”

At the sound of that name, his eyes immediately turned so dark that it sent shivers down

“Was that the lies he told you about?” he asked in a cold tone.

my

spine.

I took a step back, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Stop. Just stop this. You think confusing me will make me cooperate?”

“No,” he said softly, almost gently. “I don’t need your cooperation. I’m not letting you go–whether you like it or not.”

The words hit me like a slap.

My eyes widened, my breath hitching as disbelief rushed through me. For a moment, I just stared at him, trying to understand how someone could say something so calmly, so confidently, as if he were stating an unchangeable fact.

Does he really think he can lock me up here without consequences?

“You can’t do that!” I shouted, my voice echoing against the walls. Anger surged through me, hot and sharp, masking the fear creeping up my spine. “You have no right. This is illegal! I will scream, I will call the police, I-”

He smirked, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

10:39 Wed, Jan 7

Chapter 63

The door opened.

This time, it wasn’t the woman.

A man stepped inside, tall enough that the room seemed to shrink around him. Broad shoulders, sharp lines, and a face so striking it almost felt unreal–like something sculpted rather than born. The kind of beauty that didn’t try to impress, yet commanded attention without effort. For a split second, my breath caught, and I hated myself for it.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t smile.

He took in the room calmly, his eyes lingering on the untouched dress on the bed before finally settling on me. When his gaze met mine, something stirred in my chest–recognition without memory, warmth without reason.

I felt like I’d seen him somewhere.

“So,” he said, voice deep and steady.

“So, what?” I shot back, folding my arms, refusing to let him see how shaken I felt.

His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “You wanted to talk to your husband. So here I am.”

10:39 Wed, Jan 7

“No,” he said, meeting my gaze steadily. “But you don’t have a choice but to stay beside me because there’s no chance I will ever let you go again.”

That familiarity again. That unsettling certainty, like he kn

“I will leave this place,” I said firmly. “One way or another.”

He nodded, almost approving.

parts of me I had never shared.

“I know,” he replied. “And I like to see you try,” he said before tapping his finger on my nose as he leaned closer, leaving only

a few inches of space between our faces. “Now, be a doll and get ready for dinner,” he commanded.

I clenched my fist as I looked at him sharply. “No.” I firmly answered.

He smirked as his eyes glowed in burning desire. “Do you need my help?” he teased.

My eyes widened in surprise. “You wouldn’t dare,” I warned him, forcing my chin up even as unease curled in my stomach.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the world tilted without warning.

I gasped as my feet left the ground, my body flipping upside down in one swift motion. A startled yelp escaped me as I found myself slung over his shoulder, my protests useless as he carried me towards the huge bathroom like I weighed nothing at all.

“Put me down!” I protested, pounding weakly against his back.

He ignored me.

Moments later, he set me down beneath the shower, the cool tiles biting against my skin. I immediately wrapped my arms around myself, instinctively trying to shield what little dignity I felt I had left. My heart hammered wildly as I stared up at

Chapter 63

him, bracing myself for what he might do next.

He only looked at me, amused, his gaze steady and infuriatingly calm.

“Do you need help with your clothes?” he asked, one brow lifting, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“No!” I snapped instantly, my voice sharper than I felt. “I can do it myself. You can leave now.

For a second, he just studied me, as if weighing something unseen. Then he chuckled softly, low and warm, the sound sending an unwanted shiver down my spine.

“I’ll be meeting you downstairs,” he said lightly.

I barely had time to process his words when he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips–brief, unexpected, and far too gentle for the situation I was in. Before I could react, before I could even push him away, he was already stepping back, turning, and leaving the bathroom.

The door closed quietly behind him.

I stood there frozen, my lips tingling, my chest rising and falling too fast. I released a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, my knees suddenly weak.

I should be furious. I should be terrified. I should be screaming.

And yet…

Why did that kiss leave warmth blooming in my chest instead of fear?

I pressed my fingers to my lips, confusion twisting tightly inside me, hating myself for the questions forming in my mind-

and hating him even more for making me feel them.