All Chapters of Craving The Enemy: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

CHAPTER 172TYLER Waking up felt like dragging myself through thick water, like my body was made of lead and every breath was something I had to pull in with force, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was, didn’t know why the ceiling above me looked nothing like my apartment or Mason’s or the lodge, just a soft beige blur with a hum of fluorescent lights somewhere behind me.And then—“Mason,” I croaked before I even realized I was speaking.A chair screeched.Footsteps rushed to my side.And suddenly he was there—Mason Grant, breathless, eyes red, hair a mess like he had been dragging his hands through it repeatedly for hours, hands shaking as he cupped my face so gently I almost broke again right there.“Tyler,” he whispered, voice completely wrecked, “baby, please—God—please don’t cry—”But I was already crying.The second I saw him, everything inside me cracked open like glass slamming into tile.Tears spilled fast, hot, uncontrollable, blurring his face even as I tried so ha

CHAPTER 174TYLER Antonio Reyes never called unless something was wrong.So when Angela handed me my ringing phone with a small, terrified “Sir… it’s your father,” my stomach dropped so fast I swear the floor tilted under me.I answered with a soft, “Pa?”His voice came through low, steady, strangely calm.“Come to the house.”No shouting.No insults.No disappointment thick under the surface.Just… an invitation.Something was off.And, as usual, Mason was immediately beside me. “You’re not going alone.”I didn’t argue.I didn’t have the strength to.We drove in silence to the Reyes estate—gates tall and intimidating, lights warm against the evening sky, the air thick with humidity the way it always was in my childhood.My chest felt too tight, my hands cold, but Mason’s fingers laced with mine made everything feel a little less suffocating.The housekeeper opened the door, bowed politely, and led us inside.And there—standing in the foyer, older than I remembered, tired lines on hi

CHAPTER 176TYLER 3 years Later“ZACHARY! Don’t fight with him—oh my God, put the hockey stick DOWN!”The two boys froze mid-swing.Zach blinked at me like I was speaking another language. “Coach, he called me a wannabe Mason Grant.”I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And so you try to concuss him? On school property? During practice?”The other kid mumbled, “He is a wannabe Mason Grant.”“OH MY—” I dragged a hand down my face. “Everyone sit down. Everyone. Right now. Ten pushups. Each.”The groans echoed across the indoor rink, painful but expected.I started pacing like a stressed single mother.It had been three years since everything—Noah, the company, the drama, the chaos—and yet these kids still managed to give me aneurysms every Tuesday and Thursday.I kind of loved them for it.“Coach Tyler?” a tiny voice called from the far end.“What?” I snapped, turning.The entire rink squealed.Because Mason Grant—the Mason Grant—my boyfriend of almost a decade at this point, the national

CHAPTER 178MASONI woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee and bacon drifting through the apartment. Sunlight poured through the curtains, Tyler’s ring glinting on the nightstand where he’d left it so it wouldn’t get flour on it (he’s dramatic like that).I stretched, groaned at the delicious ache in my muscles, and pulled on nothing but sweatpants. My fiancé was cooking. I was going to go kiss the hell out of him.I padded barefoot down the hall, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and then I stopped dead in the kitchen doorway.Tyler was at the stove. Wearing nothing but the tiny red “Kiss the Cook” apron we bought as a joke in Boracay. Nothing underneath. The strings tied in a bow at the small of his back, the fabric barely covering his chest, and his perfect, red, freshly-spanked ass completely on display.He was humming, swaying his hips to whatever song was in his head, flipping pancakes like he wasn’t serving the hottest view I’d ever seen at 8 a.m.I leaned agains

TYLERThe violin started before I was ready.My fingers shook around the bouquet, not because I was scared, but because this moment—the moment—felt impossibly real in a way my brain wasn’t fully prepared to handle.“Anak,” my father whispered beside me.Antonio Reyes.Still stern. Still sharp.But not cruel anymore.He offered his arm, stiff but present.“You ready?” he asked.I swallowed. “Yeah.”“Good,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “Let’s… walk.”The doors opened.And I stepped into forever.Everyone stood.Rows and rows of people—family, friends, titas wiping tears, the twins throwing flower petals their parents definitely did NOT authorize. Vesper was crying so hard Mateo had to fan her.Gabriel winked at me.Andres mouthed, “You look beautiful.”My mother clasped her hands like I’d just been crowned king.And at the very end of the aisle—Mason.My Mason.Standing in a perfectly tailored suit, eyes wide, hand covering his mouth like he physically couldn’t handle seeing