"You know what? It seems like you're playing hard to get."
Luke's cold, deep gaze held a biting irony that felt far too familiar to Dexie, familiar enough to make her chest tighten. The sarcasm in his voice was clear, but her expression stayed blank. No hint of embarrassment. No anger.
Luke's eyes darkened further.
Casually, Dexie reached out and toyed with the loose strands of his hair, her fingers light but teasing. A sudden smile curved her lips, sharp and dangerous, and without warning, she lifted her leg and kicked him in the knee.
He stumbled, caught off guard, instinctively grabbing her arm for balance.
Their eyes met hers, gleaming with mischief, his flashing cold and unreadable.
"See? It's human instinct," she said, staring pointedly at his hand gripping her arm. "When you're in danger, you cling to the person closest to you. Didn't you just do that?"
A mocking smile played on her lips as she added, "But Mr. Huxley Dawson… are you throwing yourself at me?"
In the year they'd been married, Dexie had always been gentle, patient, even when he'd been impossible. This, however, the sharp tongue, the defiance, this was new. And it rattled him more than he'd admit.
There hadn't been a moment of hesitation when she kicked him. It was as if she didn't care if she broke her own leg doing it.
Danger gleamed in her eyes as they locked onto his.
Luke expected her to pull away, expected her to retreat. But instead, she stayed right there, defiant and unyielding.
Then suddenly, his arm tightened, pulling her straight into his chest.
Dexie's breath caught, but before she could react, his other hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place. His touch was possessive, overbearing.
Her eyes flared with fury as she glared up at him.
"No, I don't throw anyone away," Luke said smoothly, his deep voice curling around her like smoke. "But I am trying to please my wife."
She struggled, pushing against him, but his hold didn't loosen. His eyes darkened with something fierce and unreadable.
"Luke Huxley Dawson, let me go," she snapped, her voice low and dangerous.
He leaned in, close enough for his words to warm her ear.
"What's the rush? Is it shameful to be in my arms at your father's house?"
His tone was slow, clear, deliberate, each word weighted with unspoken meaning.
Her eyes narrowed as she hissed, "I'm just your ex-wife."
"Has she signed the agreement yet?" he shot back, his gaze sharp, watching her carefully.
Dexie's jaw clenched. In over a year of marriage, he'd learned exactly how to provoke her, and she hated how good he'd become at it.
She stopped struggling, her body going still in his arms, her silence more dangerous than her words.
Luke frowned slightly at the sudden change, his grip loosening just enough for her to meet his eyes.
"I'd know if she was playing hard to get," Dexie said coolly, her smirk returning. "But your reaction? That's what confuses me."
Luke's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who sent the lawyer with the divorce papers," he reminded her. "I signed them. But you? You left them unsigned… and now you keep messing with me."
She paused, her eyes lingering on him for a heartbeat, then let out a soft, mocking laugh.
"Mr. Huxley Dawson, what exactly are you trying to do here?"
Luke's grip around her waist tightened. He probably didn't even realize it, but Dexie could feel the tension pulsing through his hands. Maybe it was embarrassment. Maybe it was that stubborn pride again.
But she wasn't about to back down. Her smile widened, sharp and careless.
"The way you're acting right now is… kind of pathetic, don't you think?"
Her words hit their mark. She saw it in the flicker of emotion behind his cold eyes, the truth he didn't want to face.
A few days ago, she'd finally signed the divorce papers just like he'd wanted. But him? He hadn't signed them. He couldn't.
Why?
The question gnawed at him, louder with every passing day.
When his grandfather forced the marriage, dangling the company inheritance over his head, he'd hated Dexie, resented every second of it. She was just the spoiled daughter of the Winston Hansley family. A pawn. Nothing more.
The marriage secured what he wanted —power, position, control over the company. He tolerated her presence. Ignored her. Waited for the day his grandfather passed so he could finally file for divorce.
That day came. But instead of satisfaction, all he found was… confusion.
She signed the papers with no fight, no pleading — only cold finality.
And somehow, that unsettled him more than her stubbornness ever had.
Lost in thought, he didn't notice her slipping from his hold.
Dexie straightened her shirt, smoothed the fabric, and with remarkable calm said,
"I hope you sign those papers soon. I've wasted enough time with you, and I don't intend to waste a second more fighting over a divorce."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out.
This house, with all its polished floors and quiet halls, had never felt like home. It suffocated her. It disgusted her. No matter how warm it tried to seem, she didn't belong here.
Luke stayed silent, his face unreadable. Her words had landed like a formal declaration, cold, absolute. No room for negotiation.
But as she reached the door, a familiar panic flared in his chest. He shot forward and grabbed her wrist.
Dexie winced, frowning as his grip tightened. She spun back to him, meeting his complicated, stormy gaze.
"What now?" Her voice was sharp with warning.
Luke hesitated.
"If you have more to say, take it up with Mr. Lawrence about the divorce," Dexie added coolly. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And do yourself a favor, stay away from the Zellwegers. Whatever's brewing around here… it won't end well for you."
She pulled free, leaving him standing there, and for the first time in a long while, Luke wasn't sure who was playing who.