Semua Bab The Alpha In My Sheets: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Dylan’s Pov"You. Me. Dinner." He stepped away from the wall, standing a little closer—close enough I could pick up on the rich whiff of his cologne, bitter and expensive. "Unless you have something else you want to do."What the actual fuck???I chuckled without humor, shaking my head. "Why the hell should I have dinner with you?"“Because you're curious," he stated bluntly, as if announcing the most obvious fact on earth. "And because you know I'm not going to take no from you until you learn to say yes."He was crazy. "I'm not interested," I snarled at me.He wrapped his hand around my wrist. Not tight—tight enough to keep me still. "Come on," he growled, low in his voice. "It's just dinner, Dylan. I don't bite."I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right."His grin grew broader, and for a nauseating moment, I could have sworn he was enjoying himself. "Perhaps I simply want to meet the man who's been driving my fiancé to the edge."I seethed.Bastard. He knew which buttons to press."I'm no

Dylan’s PovI had barely finished gasping for air from the whole art show fiasco when my life decided to get even more complicated.The office was its usual circus—phones jangling, emails piling up, and the subtle scent of high-end coffee lingering in the air. I was neck-deep in scheduling hell, coordinating yet another last-minute meeting Tristan hadn't bothered to inform me about, when a voice I knew called out above the chaos."Morning, sunshine."Fucking hell.I looked up, and there he was. Oliver Sinclair. Leaning on the reception desk like he was king of the world, dressed in a navy business suit that probably cost more than I spent on the entire apartment lease. His hair was perfectly disheveled in that I rolled out of bed this way and you'll never be cooler than me type of way, and his smile? Tolerable.I sighed, already bracing myself for whatever kind of devastation he was about to unleash. "Mr. Wolfe is in a meeting," I said bluntly. "You'll have to wait."A slow, self-sati

Dylan’s POVI should’ve said no.I wanted to say no.But standing there, caught between Tristan’s impossible gaze and Oliver’s quiet, waiting confidence, my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. My heart was a fucking mess, hammering too fast, too loud, drowning out the one part of me still clinging to reason.The silence stretched—awkward, heavy, choking. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. And me? My brain was spinning out in a million different directions at once.I should walk. Should pack my shit, toss Tristan’s precious files on his desk, and leave this entire mess behind. I should.But I didn’t.Because even now—especially now—I couldn’t stop remembering.Every moment. Every mistake. Every fucking time I let myself hope—only to get burned.I remembered the first time I met him. Suit crisp, voice cold, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel. He didn’t smile. Didn’t look at me twice. I was just another assistant—another cog in the machine. But even then—even then—he got under my sk

Dylan’s POVIt’s been two weeks away from Tristan…. Day one working for Oliver, and I’m doing fantastic.It had been two weeks since I quit. Two weeks since I walked out of Tristan Wolfe’s office without looking back—without giving him the chance to stop me.And maybe I was fucking stupid, but part of me still thought he would. That he’d call. That he’d show up. That he’d do something.But he didn’t.Not a text. Not a word. Not a single sign that he gave a shit I was gone.So, yeah. Fuck him.I’d moved on. Or at least—I was trying to.Day one working under Oliver was… weird. Not bad. Just—different.His office wasn’t as cold as Tristan’s. No sleek glass walls, no sterile, soulless vibe that made me feel like an intruder in my own fucking life. Instead, everything here felt warmer. More chaotic. Like the entire place ran on caffeine and vibes.People smiled. Smiled. Like, actual smiles—not those tense, fake-ass grimaces everyone wore around Tristan like he might snap their necks for br

Dylan’s POVOliver did not give up.Not for a fucking second.Day by day, minute by minute, he was there. Pushing. Probing. Clouding the waters between boss and. whatever.I should have known better.The way he leaned in a little too close when he spoke. The way his hand touched my wrist when he handed me something. The way his eyes stayed on me for a fraction of a second longer—hard, calculating, aware.I ignored it.Told myself I was seeing things.But Oliver wasn't subtle. He wasn't Tristan.Tristan, who had spent years building walls. Who had moved as if it would kill him to touch me. Who could fuck me wild one night and take calls I wasn’t allowed to hear the next morning.Oliver wasn't like that.Oliver wanted me to know.He made it plain in ways Tristan never did.It was the manner in which he brought me food to my desk before I even realized that I was hungry. "Eat, Dylan," his handwriting would say, like I was some kind of child who needed reminding.It was the manner in whic