Luring The Enemy

RENEE

“Mister Dylan is here to see you, ma'am.”

When Harry announced Dylan’s arrival, I wasn't sure who was more surprised—myself or Nicole, who had arrived only a moment before.

We almost didn't believe him; I tried to call his bluff for a second. But then, he repeated it, emphasizing that the “Dylan” in question was Dylan Clarke—his boss's son, my ex-boyfriend, the man who had ruined my life many times over.

And now he was here. To see me.

He stood awkwardly in the living room, his hands buried in the pockets of an oversized grey hoodie. His dark hair was chopped short and brushed out but still unkempt.

He wore his customary faded jeans, tattered around the knees, and sneakers without laces. Rough stubble lined his jaw, and shadows were under his eyes.

He looked exhausted, but not from lack of sleep. No. Something clearly pulled on his conscience.

I could see the tiredness in his body language, in the way his shoulders slumped forward slightly as if he were carrying a great weight.