CHAPTER 378: RED FLAGS AND WRECKAGE...

Lyla

I sat in Paul’s car in front of my house, my hands folded protectively over my growing belly as an uncomfortable silence stretched between us. The afternoon had started innocently enough.

I’d gone to farmer’s market to pick out some fresh vegetables because I was craving it. I also didn’t want to go with Ramsey. The last time I went with him, the women had swooned around him, asking for his number.

Some of the bold ones even took pictures.

The only thing that had stopped me from actually fighting that day was how Ramsey had ignored every one of them, focusing on me. I’d left the market with open glares from the women.

Coincidentally, I ran into Paul after I finished shopping, nearly three days after he’d visited us, and he offered to drive me home.

Now I was beginning to regret accepting his offer.

I turned toward Paul, managing a polite smile.

"Thank you for bringing me home," I said, reaching for the door handle. "I appreciate you taking the time to—"

My words died as I tried the handle and found it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked.

I tried again, noticing the door wouldn’t budge. I tugged again, harder this time. Nothing. The door was really locked.

Paul’s hand suddenly covered mine, his fingers warm and unwelcome against my skin. I pulled back instinctively, a warning bell going off in my mind as I turned to face him.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked, trying to keep the anger simmering inside me from showing in my voice.

Paul turned to me with pleading eyes that I’d never noticed before. Desperate, hungry eyes that made my skin crawl. "I love you, Lyla. I’ve loved you for the longest time, and you broke my heart. You showed up a few days ago with a husband, pregnant with his child. What am I supposed to do with these feelings?"

I blinked. "What?"

"I’ve loved you for the longest time," he said, leaning close. "I swear."

I sighed, rubbing at my temple.

"You sound ridiculous, Paul. We never even got around to you asking me out. Why should I feel entitled to your feelings?"

"But you were nice to me that day at the office," he insisted, his voice taking on a wheedling quality. "You agreed to go out with me."

"Only because you asked nicely and I was trying to be polite," I shot back, my anger building. "You were my colleague and my boss on top of it. Nothing more."

I reached for the door handle again, pulling on it frantically. "Get over yourself and open this door. Now."

Paul gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, leaning back against his seat. When he opened them again, there was something different in his expression.

"You know, I’ve always had my eyes on you since college," he said, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "You always had this snobbish air around you, like you were better than everyone else. Who do you think you are, Lyla?"

My blood ran cold. College? I stared at him, my mind racing. I didn’t recall ever seeing Paul in college, nor had I crossed paths with him before I started working at the firm. What on earth did that mean?

"I am offering you a chance to have the best things in life," Paul continued, his voice growing more aggressive. "Instead of living in this old, dingy house with some nobody, you could have everything with me. And you choose him over me? Are you serious?"

Alarm bells were screaming in my head now. I tried to compose myself while frantically working the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard I pulled.

"Paul, unlock this door right now," I said, my voice deadly calm despite the fear crawling up my throat.

He turned to me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "If you agree to one date with me, I’ll open the door. Just one chance to show you what you’re missing."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You’re insane, Paul. I’m married and will soon be a mother. You’re completely delusional if you think I would ever want you."

"Don’t say that," he snarled, leaning toward me with eyes blazing. "You don’t know what you’re saying. Once you see what I can offer you—"

"You’re insane," I stared at him.

"I’m in love."

"Open this door now, or else I’ll shout and the neighbours will gather."

"Go ahead," he said quietly. "I don’t mind."

He removed his seat belt and moved to reach for me. That was when I felt it. A deep guttural growl came through my bond with Ramsey.

Then, with a terrible screech of metal, the door was ripped clean off the car.

When I looked up, I saw Ramsey standing beside the destroyed door, holding the entire car door in his hands as if it were made of cardboard. His expression was blank, too calm, but I could see the storm raging in his dark eyes, and through our mate bond, I felt his fury simmering just beneath the surface.

Immediately, I scrambled out of the car and rushed into his arms. He dropped the mangled door with a crash and wrapped me in his protective embrace, his body trembling with rage.

"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly, his voice was strained, and it terrified me.

I’ve never seen an angry Ramsey.

I shook my head against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent and letting it ground me.

"Good," he said simply.

Then he walked calmly to the other side of Paul’s car and ripped the driver’s side door off as well, the metal screaming in protest as it separated from the frame.

Paul sat frozen in place, mouth open in disbelief.

"What the hell—?"

He started to climb out of his now-doorless car, his face flushed with anger and confusion.

"What the hell do you think you’re—"

Ramsey grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the side of the car with enough force to leave a human-shaped dent in the metal. Paul’s feet left the ground as my husband lifted him effortlessly.

"How dare you try to trap my wife?" Ramsey’s voice was deadly quiet. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Paul was choking, his feet scrabbling for the ground as he clawed at Ramsey’s iron grip around his throat. Blood began trickling from where his head had hit the car.

"Ramsey, let him go!" I rushed to them, trying to pull my husband’s arm away from Paul’s neck. "You’re going to kill him!"

But Ramsey wasn’t listening. Through our bond, I could feel his rage like a living thing, fed by the knowledge that someone had threatened his pregnant mate.

Paul’s face was turning purple, his struggles growing weaker as Ramsey’s grip tightened.

"Please, Ramsey!" I begged, panic making my voice shrill. "He’s human! You’ll kill him!"

He wouldn’t budge.

"Ramsey, stop," I begged, tugging at his arm. "Please. Let him go."

Paul was bleeding now, coughing, gasping.

"Ramsey—he’s not worth it!"

But he didn’t hear me.

Suddenly, a tall, winnowy man appeared seemingly from nowhere and grabbed Ramsey’s wrist. With surprising strength, he pried my husband’s fingers away from Paul’s throat.

Paul collapsed to the ground, choking and coughing, his hands clutching his bruised neck as he gasped for air.

After a few moments, he struggled to his feet, still holding his throat and staggering like a drunk man. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and fury as he backed away from us.

"You’ll hear from the police," he wheezed, his voice barely audible. "I swear to God, I will sue you both. This isn’t over."

He stumbled away down the street, occasionally looking back over his shoulder as if afraid Ramsey might follow him.

I was shaking with fear, my hands trembling as I turned to the winnowy man who had intervened. "Thank you," I managed. "Thank you so much for stopping him."

The stranger looked at Paul’s destroyed car—now missing both front doors and sporting a significant dent in the side—and studied it thoughtfully. "I can fix this," he said with an oddly cheerful smile. "At least before the police arrive."

I nodded rapidly, relief flooding through me. "Yes, please. I’ll pay you whatever it costs."

Ramsey still hadn’t spoken, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me unable to meet his gaze. Through our bond, I could feel his rage slowly cooling, but underneath it was something else—disappointment, maybe, or hurt that I’d put myself in danger.

He brushed past me toward the house without a word, his shoulders still rigid with anger.

I stood frozen, torn between following him and staying to deal with the car situation. The stranger seemed to sense my dilemma and gave me an encouraging smile.

"It’s fine," he said, already pulling tools from seemingly nowhere. "You can go in. I’ll just finish up with this, and when I’m done, I’ll let you know."

"Thank you," I said again, then hurried toward the house, my heart pounding as I prepared to face my husband’s anger.

As I reached the front door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Paul’s words about knowing me from college were more than just the ramblings of a rejected man. There had been something in his eyes, something that suggested he knew more about me than he was letting on.

But right now, I had bigger problems to worry about.

Like explaining to my furious Lycan Alpha husband why I’d gotten into a car with another man in the first place when we both agreed that he was bad news.