HEALING THE SCARS

CHAPTER 25

PENELOPE

As I enter the house, I barely get the door open when Dylan's hand clamps down on my arm. His grip is tight, his fingers digging into my skin, and his voice is low, simmering with anger. "Where have you been?"

"I was at Mabel's place. You can ask her if you don't believe me," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, though inside I'm trembling. The intensity of his gaze feels like it's burning right through me.

"Since when do you stay late at her place and come back home at midnight?" His eyes narrow, suspicion darkening his features.

"It's not even midnight, Dylan. Look at the time," I retort, pointing to the clock on the wall. My frustration is growing, fueled by the unfairness of his accusations. It's almost laughable—he who keeps secrets expects complete transparency from me.

"Shut up!" he snaps, yanking me up the stairs with a force that makes me stumble. My heart races, panic setting in as I realize how alone I am. The staff is gone for the night—I made sure of it. I thought I needed space, but now the emptiness of the house feels like a trap closing in on me.

He pushes me into his room—a place I've never set foot in, despite living here for months. The room is cold, as impersonal as the man who occupies it. Stark white walls, dark furniture, no trace of warmth or personality. "Get in," he orders, his tone brooking no argument.

I stand in the middle of the room, trying to keep my composure. "What is this about, Dylan? You're acting like—"

"I know you've been meeting up with Eric," he interrupts, his voice dripping with accusation.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "It's not what you think, Dylan. Eric and I are just friends."

His eyes flash with anger, and he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "It is exactly what I think. You're sleeping with him. I'll find the proof, and then I can finally divorce you."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. "Then do it!" I shout, my frustration boiling over. "You keep saying that, so just do it already! I don't want your money or anything from you. Just divorce me and let me go."

"Don't speak to me like that," he growls, his voice dangerously low as he closes the distance between us. "I'll do as I please."

"Fine! And so will I!" The words burst out of me, fueled by a deep-seated hurt I can't seem to shake. "You think you can control everything? God help me, Dylan, if you find out I've slept with someone else, you'll what? Kill us both? So what? You can keep screwing Lindsey under the same roof as me? I'm supposed to stay loyal to you while you openly betray me?"

For a moment, there's silence between us, thick and suffocating. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and cold, yet there's something beneath the surface, something almost defensive. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

I stare at him, disbelief coursing through me. "What are you saying, Dylan?"

He takes a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. "Lindsey... she sleeps in the same bed, yes. But I haven't touched her since we came back from the honeymoon. You don't understand—there are things..."

His words hang in the air between us, and for a fleeting second, doubt flickers in my mind. But it's quickly squashed by the bitter taste of his past lies. "You expect me to believe that? That you're sharing a bed with her and not touching her? After everything? After you kissed her and told her I was just a contract? I was wide awake you know."

His expression hardens, frustration seeping into his tone. "I knew you were awake. That's why I said what I said. I wanted to make sure it would hurt you but I'm telling you the truth. I've kept my distance from her—"