Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 64

Chapter 64

DYLAN

I could have stayed in that room. I could have locked the door, curled up on the bed, and refused to follow a single word he said. No one was forcing my feet to move. No chains held me there.

And yet… I didn’t stay.

Because deep down, I wanted answers. Answers that had been haunting me long before those men stepped into my shop, long before this mansion swallowed me whole. Answers I had been too afraid to ask, too careful to chase. No matter how much I tried to deny it, the doubts had already taken root inside me.

The wedding photos. The gaps in my memory. The way my chest never warmed when Beckett touched me. The dreams that felt more like memories than fantasies.

And now him.

This man–arrogant, infuriating, dangerous–yet unbearably familiar. As if my soul recognized him even when my mind couldn’t. Maybe that was why his presence unsettled me so much. Maybe that was why, despite everything, I didn’t want to run.

What if he was the missing piece?

What if he held the truth I had been searching for all this time?

My hands trembled slightly as I changed into the dress left for me. I stared at my reflection afterward, hardly recognizing the woman staring back. She looked braver than I felt. More determined. Someone standing on the edge of a truth that could either save her or break her completely.

Still hesitant, I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

Then I opened the door and went down the stairs.

I didn’t have a hard time finding it, as there were a lot of people pointing me towards the dining area.

When I entered the room, I couldn’t help but feel awe. The dining room was nothing short of overwhelming.

A long table stretched across the room, polished to a mirror–like shine, set with plates that looked too delicate to touch. Soft lights hung above, casting a warm glow that only made my nerves worse. This place wasn’t meant for someone like me. I felt like an intruder walking into a world that didn’t belong to me.

He was already there.

Standing by the head of the table, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, he looked completely at ease—as if this wasn’t a forced dinner with a woman he had practically kidnapped. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, something unreadable crossed his face. Satisfaction? Relief? Hunger? I couldn’t tell.

“Sit,” he said simply, pulling a chair out for me.

“I don’t take orders from you,” I replied firmly..

He wore a slow, knowing smirk, taking obvious pleasure in the way I fought to keep myself together.

I roll my eyes before I take slow steps forward and sit where he indicated. He waited until I was settled before taking his own seat across from me. The distance between us felt deliberate. Controlled. Like a line neither of us was crossing yet.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Cutlery clinked softly as servants placed food on the table and retreated as quietly as shadows. I kept my gaze on my plate, afraid that if I looked at him too long, I might see something I wasn’t ready to face.

“You look like you’re preparing for an execution,” he said calmly.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” he admitted. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything against your will…”

I finally looked up at him then, incredulous. “You locked me in a room,” I said, raising my eyebrow, and voice was laced with sarcasm.

“And you’re still breathing,” he replied, unfazed. “Still unharmed.”

“That’s a very low bar for reassurance.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.

my

We ate in silence for a few minutes. I barely tasted the food, my mind too busy racing with questions I didn’t dare ask. Every instinct screamed at me to demand his name, his intentions, and the reason I was here.

But I didn’t.

Because a strange fear wrapped itself around my chest every time the thought crossed my mind. As if knowing his name would make everything real. Permanent. As if once I said it out loud, there would be no turning back.

So I stayed quiet.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally said, watching me closely.

“Asked what?” I replied, though I already knew.

“My name.”

My fingers tightened around my fork. I shrugged, pretending indifference. “Does it matter?”

His gaze sharpened, as if he could see straight through me. “It will.”

That answer sent a chill down my spine.

my husband arrives, I said.

no reason to know your name, as I will be leaving this place as soon as

He scoffed, “Husband?” Then suddenly, his eyes turned dark. “Say that again, and I’m going to order a manhunt for him, and I’ll serve his head on your plate,” he warned.

“Why are you shaking?” he asked softly, not mocking, not amused–almost concerned.

“I’m not,” I lied, even as my fingers curled against the fabric of my dress.

His eyes dropped for a brief moment, noticing everything I tried so hard to hide, before lifting back to my face. “I liked it better when your body was shaking underneath me,” he murmured.

“Pervert,” I whispered.

He didn’t even flinch at the insult. If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted, slow and knowing, as if my words amused him more than they offended.

His gaze stayed locked on mine, unblinking. “If that’s what you need to call me to pretend you didn’t feel it,” he said quietly, “then go ahead.”

My breath stuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” he asked, voice low, dangerous in its calm. He leaned just close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, not touching, not yet. “Then tell me why your pulse is racing. Tell me why you’re gripping the chair like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.”

I hated that he noticed. Hated that he was right.

“You’re crossing a line,” I said, though my voice lacked the strength I wanted it to have.

“That line was crossed a long time ago,” he replied. “You just don’t remember it yet.”

My chest tightened. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Why?” he asked quietly. “Does it frighten you—the thought that what I’m saying might be true?”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t trust my voice if I tried.

He straightened slowly, giving me space again, but the tension didn’t ease. If anything, it settled deeper, coiling tight between us.

“Relax,” he said, his tone almost gentle now. “I’m not going to touch you.”

10:27 Thu, Jan 8

Chapter 64

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His eyes flicked to my lips before meeting my gaze again.

“Not unless you wanted me to.”