Dear Enemy, You're My Mate

Chapter 44 **

Alice

For the first time in my life, I wake up feeling refreshed and entirely awake without a hint of tiredness. Older Dior's magic didn't work on me. I never visited William in my dreams, but at least I'm well-rested and more than ready to take on whatever challenge today will bring.

I stretch in my bed, smiling like a fool, when I notice older Dior folded my clothes neatly by the edge of the mattress before leaving. It turns out my friend is a nice guy whenever he isn't stealing my salty Pringles or eating my strawberry cheesecake ice cream.

I slip out of bed, put on my clothes, and barely make it through the door before a crying Patricia rushes up the stairs. She moves past me without saying good morning, and confusion is my initial response. Patricia seemed so happy going to bed with Dior yesterday, and now her mascara is running down her face.

Did Dior do something to make her cry?

Probably.

Anger hits me like a tropical wind, and I clench my fist in a ready-to-punch stance. If it turns out Dior hurt my best friend, be it mentally or physically, I will murder him. Nobody messes with my friends.

"Patricia?" I storm over to her door, knocking on it with worry slashing through me like blades. "Did something happen?"

"Please don't come inside my room," Patricia is sniffing, but by the sound of it, she seems determined not to let it show and is currently holding back her tears. "I want to be left alone..."

I lean against the door with my heart pounding inside my chest. Patricia has been through a lot—the last thing she needs is a dramatic fight with Dior to add to her pile of traumatic events.

"What did Dior do now?" I ask.

"Nothing..."

"Oh, I'm aware he did something," I say, sighing heavily. "Why don't you tell me what the bastard did so we can plan his funeral together."

There are actual giggles, and it warms my heart. I care about Patricia, even if we haven't spent that much time around each other lately. And now that her parents are dead, I worry she is trying to handle everything by herself, sheltering every emotion.

But Patricia needs her friends, and I need to prove that I'm loyal and here to stay forever.

I only wish Dior would come to the same conclusion. Who in their right mind creates drama with their girl right after her parents have died? I tell you who—an insensitive fuck who needs to get their ass handed to them.

After a long moment, Patricia speaks. "That would suit the bastard right."

"So, what did he do?" I ask.

Patricia is quiet, then she exhales. "He was a total asshole... We cuddled and had some fun this morning, and suddenly, he is a total alpha male with zero respect for women. He treated me like shit right in front of Elijah and didn't give a fuck about the things coming out of his mouth."

I process her words before responding. "It is weird for Dior to change like that after you've had an otherwise lovely morning," I ponder and open the door without asking. "I'm coming in."

Patricia is sitting in her bed, eyeing me like a small, suspicious animal afraid of getting caught by a predator. I don't mind her wariness and approach her, anyway. The woman needs me more than anything right now, significantly since her man has dropped all his IQ.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Patricia. My bad for leaving you alone with Dior. I assumed the two of you had worked things out, and I honestly considered I was doing you a favor by leaving you two to sleep together."

I climb up into Patricia's bed and take a seat by the corner. Patricia gives me a sad smile, and I hand her one back. I know nothing about what you're supposed to say after a person has lost their parents, but her love problems we can tackle together.

"You did me a favor. Dior was the perfect heater during the night. I hugged his body like glue all night, and he let me. He was so gentle and loving, and he was even sweet in the morning."

A picture of Patricia refusing to hug Dior and eventually giving in because she is freezing fills me with warmth. In my opinion, the two of them would make a cute couple, although Patricia would probably kill me if I told her.

"You used him as a heater?" I ask.

Patricia nods. "Yes, and in the morning, we took a shower together, and he opened up to me. He was the cutest guy ever, big, gentle, and huggable until after we had sex. Then we had breakfast, and he like, said he could find a fitter woman..."

I watch Patricia stare down at her body as if hating herself, and waves of heat, anger, and irritation travel through my veins.

"You're beautiful," I tell her fiercely. "And don't let that idiot of a man make you assume otherwise."

Patricia attempts a smile. "Thank you, Alice."

I meet her teary eyes. "I wonder what went through Dior's head when he said that to you. It doesn't sound like him. Yesterday, he was totally into you, and I can't imagine him being mean like that."

"Me too," Patricia hugs her knees to her body, peering down at the floor with glistening eyes. She has been crying her eyes out, and her eyelids are still swollen. "Elijah blamed the shadows and asked if the reason he was acting disrespectful was because of them."

"Shadows?" I ask, blinking in surprise.

"Yeah, apparently, they were circling by Dior's feet when Elijah found him this morning."

My lips part and a sudden realization hit me. Yet I can't let it show. For now, my inner thoughts are still only a suspicion. I don't want to worry Patricia by telling her what I suspect—that my crazy and incredibly lonely friend might have switched places with the other Dior.

"I see," I say. "And where is Dior right now?"

"Locking himself up somewhere—there is a full moon tonight, and Dior probably wants to make sure not to hurt anyone. He blames himself for Gloria's death and doesn't want anyone else to die."

Patricia then laughs, but the sound isn't pleasant. She lifts her chin, then glares at me, although the burning emotion within her eyes probably isn't aimed towards me in particular.

"Wait, you don't determine the other Dior can change his physical appearance, do you?" Patricia asks with hatred radiant in her puffy eyes. Her hands are clenching the bedsheets, and at that moment, I find her scarily beautiful, like a fallen angel ready to carry out her revenge. "If that is the case, then what the hell did he do with MY Dior?"

I study the rage on her face, wondering what Patricia would do if she got her hands on Dior, and it turns out it's the older Dior taking the place of the alpha she is falling in love with—I shudder at the image.

Older Dior needs to watch his back. I've seen what angry Patricia can do, but this is more than that—I'm looking at a woman in love, someone ready to sacrifice everything to save her man. Her eyes are waging wars, conveying her desire for blood.

Despite Patricia's disturbing expression, I answer her earnestly and hope she won't murder my friend. "I'm not sure, but I don't think so."

Patricia glares at me. "I know you spend the nights watching Netflix with him—I'm not dumb, Alice. I've heard his voice through the wall, and if you're hiding something from me then-..."

"I'm not hiding anything!" I exclaim, and then I sigh in defeat, understanding Patricia has every reason not to trust me. "You're right, and I won't hide the truth from you. I spend a lot of time with older Dior. I have learned a lot about him, but his powers are still a mystery to me."

Although sitting in her bed calmly, I can still see the violence spiral inside of my friend. Patricia is ready to kill. "Promise me you're not lying."

"I promise you I'm not lying!" My voice is frustrated, eyes pleading with hers as I search for words. "If older Dior is behind Dior's odd behavior this morning, then you should learn that I did not know he was planning on doing something like this. Patricia, I promise! I have noticed how much he seems to like you, but I was under the impression he had accepted his defeat to younger Dior."

Patricia is silent for what seems like an eternity before exhaling and getting up from bed. When I look up at her, she offers me a small, insecure smile.

"Come on," she says, motioning for me to follow her. "We should find Dior and question him, make sure it's him, and not older Dior playing some sick mind game."

"Sure," I say. "But I doubt Dior will be honest about it, and chances are we won't find him before he is chained and locked up."

Patricia shrugs. "I will take my chances."

"Alright then," I reply, smiling despite my inner turmoil. "Let's find the man himself."

I'm worried about inner Dior. I honestly hope it wasn't him being rude to Patricia, or the idiot has ruined his chances with her. I understand what he might have tried to achieve—make Patricia hate the younger Dior so that the older one can swoop down like a hero.

Patricia leads the way. "Older Dior must underestimate me if he believes I wouldn't have figured this out eventually," she glances past her shoulder with her eyelashes all wet from tears. "And if he has hurt my precious mate, then I will kill him."