36. Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
DYLAN
I damn near forgot my own name for a second.
“Dylan,” I replied, weakly.
My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest, thrown on the floor and stomped on. It wouldn't have surprised me to see my blood, flesh and muscle had splattered the walls.
“So, how do you fit in with the Omega team?” Ally asked, her tone curious.
The question felt like a slap to my senses. She was the last person I wanted to engage in a conversation with.
I felt… hot. I struggled to breathe evenly. I needed to get out of there.
Greg jumped in and answered for me. Which was the least that asshole could do considering he created this pressure cooker. “She’s an interior designer.”
Everyone was watching me, waiting for me to say something.
But I couldn’t think, let alone speak.
My eyes darted to Brax. I didn't know what I was expecting from him, maybe some semblance of support. But his expression was a mixture of urgency and desperation, like he was silently begging me to just play along.
I wanted to punch him in his evil face.
"Anyway, I really must get back,” I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, Greg's voice rang out behind me, too cheerful, too insistent. “Nonsense! Stay, have a quick drink with us!”
My eyes widened.
He planned this .
Greg orchestrated this entire thing, he had me cornered.
Like a bug that needed exterminating.
Greg’s arm swept out, gesturing toward the empty seat next to Ally. I wanted to scream.
Instead, I plastered a stiff, fake smile on my face, and moved to sit down next to the fiancee of my lover.
Ally leaned into Brax, her body language possessive, territorial-like. She was reminding me that she was with Brax.
Engaged? ! Fucking lying motherfucker.
“Dylan, we were most impressed with the vision you’ve put together,” Henderson said from his seat next to Brax.
I had heard all of this shit before. I forced a smile, drawing on the acting skills I had learned in high school drama class.
“Thank you.” I said, my voice steady.
I'd died inside though. My soul had left my body.
Greg leaned forward, clearly trying to keep the conversation flowing, clearly trying to keep me uncomfortable. “Did you get what you needed from the site visit the other day?”
“Yes, I did.” I replied, not bothering to elaborate.
Ally’s sharp voice interrupted. “Are you two working on the same project?”
"Yeah," Brax answered before I could even open my mouth. “Dylan’s the interior designer on the bridal headquarters.”
I nodded, briefly meeting Ally’s gaze.
She took a slow sip of her champagne, her eyes pinned on mine. “Uh huh. So, where are you from, Dylan?” Ally asked.
“White Point,” I answered, trying to keep my composure.
“Nice town,” she responded, though it didn’t sound particularly sincere.
I figured that if I had to sit in this torture chamber like a fucking fool, then I was going to make damn sure Brax felt some of the weight of it too.
“So, how long have you two been engaged?” I asked.
Brax, clearly uncomfortable, cleared his throat.
“Three months,” she answered, twirling her big fucking diamond around.
Three. Fucking. Months .
It was another kick in the teeth. The bile rose in my throat. I had to swallow hard to keep it down.
“Congratulations,” I forced out. I almost choked on the word. “When’s the big day?”
Brax shot me an unsettled look. Was he feeling guilt, maybe? Shame?
Either way, I didn't really care. My shock was fast fusing into something much darker.
It was becoming white hot female rage.
At Brax. At Greg. At myself for being such a fucking idiot.
"With all of these work projects, I can't get this guy to commit to a date. Can I, B?" Ally placed her hand possessively on Brax’s upper arm.
I nearly rolled my eyes at the ridiculous nickname she had for him.
B . What the fuck kind of pet name was that?
I was in disbelief.
Where was the shitty, unhappy relationship Brax painted to me? They seemed like a perfectly normal couple. Ally was practically draped over him.
Was any of it true? Had I been played all along? Why did he lie to me?
Ally reached over the table and grabbed a piece of bread, buttering it. "How are you enjoying working with the Omega team?"
“Good, thanks.”
She smiled. “Well I think it’s great that a woman is finally in the inner circle! It’s such a male dominated industry. Good for you.”
Good for me?
It's been the worst fucking thing that's ever happened to me.
"Greg’s a really nice guy," Ally continued. "He’s looked out for Brax a lot. He rang me yesterday and asked me to fly in to surprise Brax tonight. Said Brax seemed like he was missing me."
I could almost hear Brax grind his teeth at Ally's words.
I glanced at him quickly, searching for any sign that this was the truth; that he missed her.
But there was nothing.
His expression was controlled, guarded, and the flicker of guilt I had seen earlier was long gone. He was good at playing the part, I’d give him that.
The MC tapped the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Entrees are about to be served. Can I please ask you to make your way back to your seats? Thank you.”
Relief coursed through me. I couldn't wait to get the fuck away from these people. I never thought I’d be so glad to see beef carpaccio in all my life.
“Well,” I stood quickly and swiftly, nearly knocking over my chair in the process. “Have a nice night.”
I spun on my heel, eager to escape, and promptly collided with Steven.
His grin was as smug as ever. “I was just coming to rescue you,” he said.
“I don’t need rescuing,” I snapped. “And besides, I’m coming back over.”
"Gents," his hand shot up in a casual wave aimed at the Omega table. “Good evening.”
I felt Steven's hand settle against the small of my back, firmly steering me towards our table. I stiffened under his touch, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his hand.
I dared a quick look over my shoulder.
Brax’s eyes were locked on me, his expression indifferent, keeping up the charade that he was unbothered. The blank look on his face was infuriating, as though none of this affected him.
But I knew better.
My rage, sadness and jealousy all blended into a volatile cocktail.
Into something meaner. Harder.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m petty. And in that moment, all I wanted was for Brax to feel a slither of what I was felt.
Blindsided, jealous and heartbroken.
If he wanted to pretend he didn’t care, fine. Two could play that game.
Brax hated Steven. And to be fair, I did too.
But everything had changed.
Brax was engaged .
And after being forced to sit there and watch Little Miss Girl Next Door hang off him, doe-eyed adoration and all, maybe it was time I put Brax through a little hell of his own.
Steven nudged his shoulder into mine. “You all right? Why haven’t you told me to keep my hands to myself yet?”
Everything about this man grated on my nerves and gave me the ick. From the way he carried himself, his cocky swagger, his inability to take a hint—all of it screamed pathetic loser.
But this time, Steven wasn’t just an irritant.
He was an opportunity.
I didn’t need much from him, just a little cooperation.
“Maybe I don’t want you to,” I replied, tilting my head just enough to nudge him back.
His eyes shifted immediately, darkening as they swept down my body. He didn’t even try to be subtle.
I fought the urge to cringe. He was the ultimate pervert.
This was exactly what I needed. It was all part of my fucked up plan.
“Come on,” I said, my tone teasing, as I grabbed Steven's hand and guided it down my back. I didn’t stop until it was firmly planted on my ass. "Let's go."
Steven’s grin turned wolfish. He squeezed my ass confidently.
I glanced back at Brax one last time.
He looked like he wanted to rip Steven’s head off.
He wasn’t able to hide it, either. His jaw was tight, his eyes wild with fury. He was at boiling point.
Perfect.
I didn’t even have to look back to know that he was seething. The thought of him sitting there, watching me walk away with Steven's hand on my ass, gave me petty satisfaction, even though I hated it.
I tried to let myself enjoy the knowledge that, for once, he was the one spiraling.