Dear Enemy, You're My Mate

Chapter 20 **

Patricia

The primary emotion leading my way is curiosity when I step into Dior's lake house. Sadly, it is soon replaced with anger. Marcus and two members from my ex-pack, Riley and Brad, approach me the second I'm done hanging up my jacket.

I should have known that they couldn't stay out of my life for one day.

"Great..." I roll my eyes. "Dumb, Dumbest, and Dumber are on their way already."

Alice giggles. "You knew it would happen."

I sigh in agreement. Coming to Dior's birthday party is asking for trouble, yet I can't leave.

I came here hoping to spread some light on my situation. My heart aches to know if Dior in this dimension is my mate because as twisted as it is, I'm falling in love with older Dior—someone who I should do everything to resist.

But how do you stop yourself from feeling certain things? In my opinion, it's like trying to tell your brain to stop thinking. It would be easier if the older Dior were evil or mean, which he is not.

Yesterday, I spent the entire night in the arms of the older Dior. His big hands massaged my back until I fell asleep sprawled over his chest. I wish I could say I hated it, but I felt safer than I've done in years.

Don't get me wrong—I'm capable of taking care of myself, but the moment Dior's rough fingers brushed through my hair, I gave up control. For the first time in my entire life, I allowed someone to protect me.

And older Dior deserved it. He was sweet and didn't ask or attempt to have sex with me.

I remember him planting a soft kiss on my forehead, and gosh, his scent of sandalwood mixed with something resembling the smell of incense will stick with me forever. I'm not joking. I swear older Dior could be bottled and sold as a fragrance called addictive.

The man is truly something else, but the problem is that he doesn't belong in my world, and according to Alice, a relationship between us wouldn't work. It's not natural and could disturb the order of things.

And because of that, I'm here to see if I'm also mates with the Dior in my world since it would show Alice is speaking the truth—that I'm meant to belong to someone other than older Dior.

Marcus steps forward. He is broad and so swollen with the muscle you can barely see his neck. Most girls consider him handsome, and Marcus is usually brimming with confidence. I can tell he has been crying tonight, though, probably grieving for his mate, and now he is here to make himself feel better by bullying me.

"Look who is here! Patricia, the one and only, dressed up like a hoe!" Marcus exchange a grin with Riley and Brad, who laughs as if Marcus is the funniest person on earth.

Riley sneers at me, showcasing her Victoria's secret bag and glimmering earrings. She is rich and beautiful, but her voice is thick with venom, and her tongue is more vicious than a snake. "I can't fucking believe you're here! You spent all those years pretending to hate Dior when, in reality, you're here, wishing he will become yours!"

Marcus is having a hard time containing his laughter. "The best part is that she thinks she has a chance!"

The three werewolves laugh in unison, and I clench my fist. I've never been good at fighting, but I'm itching to knockout Marcus, or at the very least Riley. I can sense my wolf begging to be released, howling within my head to rile me up for the battle.

"That is indeed sad," Riley says and throws her shiny locks over her shoulder as she sizes me up. "Dior doesn't like them thick—I would know since I'm the one dating him."

"Oh?" Marcus walks for me and takes my hair in his hand. Chills travel up my spine when he brings my dark hair for his nose to inhale. "I've always liked my women bigger. Do you remember when I peed on you, Patricia? Did you love it? Why don't we go outside and do it again? Or better yet, I could force you down on your knees and shove my dick into your throat. Wouldn't you love that, sweetheart?"

His words make me see red.

Did this bastard say what I think he did—that he is planning on forcing himself upon me?!

My instinct to defend myself spikes every hair on my body, and I move forward like a stealthy assassin. I punch Marcus in the face before taking another step, kicking Marcus as hard as I can in the abdomen before he has time to react. It sends him flying, but I'm not done with him yet—the bastard is about to get a piece of my mind too!

Alice is whistling behind me, but I'm too caught up glaring at Marcus to pay her any attention. My sole reason for breathing right now is to make him pay for how he has treated me for all these years!

"Don't fucking touch me, Marcus! I don't remember being told I couldn't come over, and don't you fucking dare to call me a hoe again! And don't you place me in the same category as those girls wishing for Dior to be their mate! I would rather die than see that nightmare come true!"

Marcus glowers at me while holding his palm to his nose. Blood is dripping down, and the other werewolves have gone silent. They aren't looking at me anymore.

Without stopping my heavy breathing, I follow their gaze and find Dior watching us with a hard-to-read expression. He seems both amused and stung by my words.

"So if I happen to be your mate, you will reject me?" Dior frowns. It surprises me he seems upset by the idea of me not accepting him as my mate.

My eyes focus on him as he walks closer. He looks so much like the older version of himself that my blood is boiling, half-convinced that I face the same man. It indeed is confusing, and when I experience butterflies, I force my eyes to the floor.

"I don't know yet."

Dior says nothing. He exchanges a glance with his fellow pack members, who take the hint to leave us alone. I don't know when Alice left me, but she did.

After an awkward minute, Dior speaks. "Do you want a drink?"

Dior is peering down at me from the doorway, dressed in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, struggling to contain his biceps. His dark hair is the same, cropped close on the sides, with the top messy. I assume he has run his hair through it plenty of times.

I mutter my reply. "I didn't come here to drink."

Dior softens, and his lips turn playful—it's an unusual look for him. He typically glowers at me, but the alpha has been acting oddly around me ever since our adventurous day.

"Since you're at my birthday party, you better enjoy yourself, or else coming here won't be worthwhile."

I grow suspicious and follow the taller guy into a kitchen. A couple is making out on the kitchen counter, but one glare from Dior sends them fleeing into another room.

I lick my lips. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," Dior opens the fridge, searching for something on the shelves. He takes out a bottle and places it on the counter. "Since you're going to wind up being my mate, I think you might need alcohol—it might soften you up and keep you from rejecting me."

My lips twitch into a smile. "So if we were mates, you wouldn't want me to reject you?"

Dior doesn't reply. He glances at me for a brief moment before he is stirring up a drink. The secretive smile playing over his lush lips is so distracting, and before I know it, I'm standing before him, taking the glass from his hands.

"Drink up, Cinderella, and make a wish. Pray to the moon goddess that you will meet your fated mate tonight."

I lift an eyebrow, staring into the depth of Dior's blue eyes with my lips curling higher on my face. I'm courageous tonight. And stupid. And daring.

"What if you aren't the one I desire?" I ask, smiling under the dim lights in the kitchen.

Dior steps forward, locking me between the counter and his hulking body. He is so close I can hear his heartbeat. It's pounding and making me dizzy. Suddenly, I'm swimming in his scent, struggling to breathe and wishing he would close the distance and touch me.

Am I stupid? Why do I desire someone who has made my life hell, and how come I'm so willing to forgive him? It's so cliché and unromantic for me to want this jackass. Dior is an idiot, and yet I'm melting every second I spend looking at his smile.

"You're so feisty that it's almost annoying," Dior takes yet another step forward. "Yet we both know that you're attracted to me, and guess what? The feeling is mutual, princess."

My entire body seems to erupt in heat as I stare up at Dior. The warmth coming from his body is impossible to ignore, and I can visualize my willpower crumbling to dust. I want to touch him, yet I miraculously bend backward over the counter.

"I'm not attracted to you." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Dior places his palm over my chest, and my breath hitches. My heart gives a kick, and then I'm locked into place, paralyzed by the sparks that seem to travel over my skin. I'm going down in flames, and the worst part is that Dior knows.

"Liar," He breathes in amusement before whispering at me. "There is something between us, Patricia, chemistry, whether or not you like it. And if we are mates, I will spend every minute of my life trying to make up for the past. And once you fall for me, because Patricia, believe me, you will, then I will be there to catch you when you fall."

I have no words and hold my breath for the entire duration as Dior gazes into my eyes. He is intense and gorgeous, and I hate myself for wanting to kiss his lips. There is a conflict within, which leaves me frozen even as Dior steps back to give me some space.

Dior walks out through the kitchen with a smirk, leaving me blinking after him with my heart still throbbing.

I never expected Dior to say anything remotely romantic, and now I'm freaking blushing!

Shit. Shit. Shit! My head is a fucking mess, filled with images of Dior, but I convince myself that it's only his perfect appearance that got me confused—I can't possibly like him!