Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Alpha In My Sheets: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Dylan's POV"Let's end it."The moment the words moved from my mouth, the mood of the room changed. That dead, strangling quietness when you've spoken something so final, even the world goes, "damn, you sure about that?"Yeah. That.Tristan sat behind his ridiculously expensive desk—good grief, did he drag that abomination from the bottom of hell just to scare me even more?—his gray eyes locked onto mine. Hunting. Conclusion. Maybe attempting to gaslight me into thinking I hadn't just spoken what I spoke.What?" His tone was low, controlled. But I saw it. The twitch in his fingers. The slight tension of his jaw. Oh, he was reaching for control all right.I swallowed the constriction in my throat. This was it. No going back."I know about Oliver."A blink. A giveaway. The slightest crack in his perfectly maintained facade before he shut it again. But it was enough.I forced myself to maintain his stare even as my stomach performed a complete Olympic gymnastics routine. "About your enga

Dylan’s PovTristan fell onto the desk with a lifeless thud, his broad shoulders shaking once in shock. For a moment, my body protested—I almost jumped forward, my hands at the ready, forming fists against my waist, my body betraying me in its helpless worry.Then I remembered.This was Tristan Wolfe. A man who had just kissed me like he still owned me, like I belonged to him and he could do with me and do what he wanted. A man who was standing there, silent, stoic, providing me with nothing—no comfort, no answer, no apology.Nothing.I leaned back."I've made up my mind." My tone was firm, though there was a storm raging within me. "I can't continue like this—being your lover, and having no future."The words felt heavier than I'd expected, as if I was completing something that never really belonged to me to begin with.Tristan did not blink. He simply stiffened, his gray eyes boring into me like that, and my stomach dropping. His expression was blank, his body as naturally loose as

Dylan's POVNothing says "stress relief" quite like sitting back and observing your co-workers getting sloppy on beers while trying not to think about your boss—the same boss who kissed you shitless. Yep, just what I needed. An emotional purge.And icing on the cake, I got to sit here and watch the front-row performance of all the people pretending like they didn't spend most of their workweeks hating their lives. What a magical night.I should have remained home. Worn sweatpants. Binge-watched a show where men and women had mundane, utilitarian relationships. Anything but this.But no. I did come. Like an idiot.And, of course, Tristan wasn't where he was meant to be. He never came to these things—too cold, too somber. Which was just fine by me, because I'd already wasted more than enough time mooning over him.Daydreaming over the touch of his hands on my skin. The way he kissed me like he couldn't live without air if I wasn't there. The way I somehow managed to delude myself, for a

Dylan’s PovI should have said no.I should have laughed in his face and stormed out and left him thrashing about in the whiskey-muddled fury.But I did get up—of course."Guess I'm you’re chauffeur now," I grumbled."Good luck," I’m pretty sure I heard someone say.I did not need luck. I needed therapy.Tristan had already moved for his coat at the rear of the chair when I arrived, his smile to himself, his face locked in a mask. He did not say a word when I walked past him to the door, pounding of my heart echoing through my head.The bitter, slapping wind of night hit me in the face the moment I opened the door. I took deep breaths, wishing it would calm the raggity feeling threatening to boil up beneath the skin of my face. It didn't.Tristan followed close behind me—silent, persistent, and just tipsy enough to get in the way.The night was a chorus of noise emanating from the city—horns blaring, honking, slurred laughter, the beat of music drifting out a long way down the open ba

Dylan’s PovI sprinted down the corridor, my own heart pounding so furiously that I could hear it in my own head. My fists stung from hitting him, but I didn't feel a moment's regret—not a single iota.The nerve of him. The sheer, goddamn nerve.I should have walked. Should have thrown his keys in his face and walked away and left him to his own devices to get himself home. But no, because I was stupid—a broken, desperate stupid that never learned its lesson where Tristan Wolfe was concerned."Dylan," his voice behind me—deep, rough, and too damn close.I didn't.I couldn't.If I lost my temper, I'd say something I couldn't retract. And worse—feel things I couldn't control.But Tristan wasn't going to let me get away so cheap."Dylan!"His other hand wrapped around my wrist, and I was yanked up short inches from the bar. His warmth seeped into me through his fingers, stretched already-thin patience out all over again.Let go, I force through my teeth, not willing to turn around. If I