Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82

Third Person’s POV

Seraphina actually had a toy boy on the side?! And she was spamming her feed with him every day?

Damn it. What kind of spineless, bottom-feeding scrap of a man would throw away his dignity to be a side-piece for a matcd woman?

Mortimer felt like his lungs were about to detonate. His blood was literally flowing backward.

He let out a jagged, gravelly snarl-the sound of a cornered beast-trailing a toxic cloud of high-end bourbon and lethal Alpha pheromones as he spun around.

He gripped his phone so hard the titanium frame groaned, his knuckles white as he tried to scroll through Seraphina’s profile.

But when he hit her landing page, he was met with a wall of blank, healing centeral white.

A single, horizontal grey line. A digital “Keep Out” sign. She’d blocked him.

Mortimer’s chest heaved. That ancient, hardwired territorial instinct was officially on fire.

A homicidal red mist started clouding his vision; he needed a target. He needed to find this “pretty boy” and tear him into confetti.

Inside the surgical wing’s breakroom, Seraphina was buried in Rolf’s charts when the door didn’t just open-it was kicked off its hinges.

She snapped her head up

Mortimer was framed in the doorway, his eyes a jagged, bleeding scarlet. He was glaring at her with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice was flat, professional, and exactly the kind of cold water Mortimer hated.

The lack of a reaction was like gasoline on a brushfire. It snapped the last thread of his sanity.

He marched across the room, his shadow swallowing her desk, and hauled her out of her chair without saying a word.

The smell of hard liquor hit her like a physical blow. She wrinkled her nose. “How much did you drink?”

She tried to take a half-step back, looking for some air.

Mortimer tracked the movement instantly. His hand shot out, a heavy, scorched-earth grip clamping around her waist. He yanked her into his chest, her frame disappearing against his burning heat.

She struggled for a second, but his arm was a locked iron bar. She was pinned.

“Mortimer, don’t play the drunk Alpha in my office,” she said, giving up the physical fight. It was a waste of calories.

She stood still, looking up at him with eyes that were too rational, too cold.

Mortimer stared into those eyes. For a split second, the booze cleared, and he felt the sharp, agonizing sting of her indifference.

It hurt worse than the fever. His throat felt like it was full of glass as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You blocked me,” he rasped. His voice was a shredded mess, and despite the rage, it sounded pathetic. Needy.

Seraphina blinked. She stared at this man-this powerhouse of a wolf-who had stormed a medical center at midnight to complain about a social media setting. “You’re making a scene because I muted my feed?”

“Am I not allowed to?” Mortimer’s volume spiked, echoing off the sterile walls.

1/2

+15 Bonus

In his head, she was dodging the real issue.

His possessiveness was screaming. “I’m your mate, Seraphina. You don’t get to black me out.”

She realized Mortimer was truly drunk; otherwise, he would never be so childish as to some here in the middle of the night just to question her about being blocked.

“I post too much. I didn’t want to clutter your notifications,” she said, her tone dripping with “let’s get this over with” energy.

Mortimer let out a sharp, jagged laugh. It sounded like a dry branch snapping.

He tightened his grip on her wrist. He wasn’t thinking about the pressure; he was just losing control. 1

Seraphina’s face went pale as the bone started to ache under his hand. Her brow hit a hard line of pain.

“You…”

“Is it about the notifications? Or are you just scared I’ll see your new ‘puppy’?

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