Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 151

Chapter 151

Third Person’s POV

“Wilmot, go drive the car.”

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Just as Wilmot was busy putting a hex on Mortimer in his head, that arrogant, entitled command hit his ears again.

Wilmot threw him a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. But under the heavy weight of Mortimer’s terrifying pressure, he still ended up shuffling his feet and heading outside to play chauffeur.

Mortimer kept his face dark, his powerful arms forming a rock-solid cradle for Dash.

He used his long legs to stride out of the medical center. 1

His arms were steady as iron, carrying the puppy without a single wobble.

Maybe because Mortimer was the guy who had jumped into a disgusting storm drain without a second thought to haul him out, the fragile puppy had developed a totally defenseless sense of trust and dependency on him.

Dash just lay there against his broad chest, completely still.

His bright little eyes were locked dead onto Mortimer, staring at him like he was a savior who had literally dragged him out of

hell.

Watching Dash’s codependent look from the side, Seraphina felt completely exhausted.

This poor little thing was just way too innocent; he had absolutely zero understanding of how toxic people could be.

How could he trust this guy so easily?

Just an hour ago, this exact same man was calling him a piece of trash and wishing he would completely vanish from the earth.

A moment later, Wilmot pulled the luxury Maybach up to the curb,

Seraphina stepped forward and pulled the rear door open, but before she could get in, Mortimer slid into the back seat first, still clutching the puppy.

“Thanks.”

Once he settled in, Mortimer raised his heavy lids, locking his dark eyes onto Seraphina as she stood by the open door. His lips curved into a smug, victorious little smirk.

Seraphina let out a sharp, breathless laugh, her chest heaving.

She had literally opened that door for herself.

“I think you’d be a lot more comfortable in the front seat,” she said, her voice dropping to a freezing text-book dismissal.

“The passenger side is too tight,” Mortimer lied without blinking. “Dash fractured a rib. Pushing him into the front is going to mess with his injury.”

Sitting at the steering wheel, Wilmot nearly choked on his own saliva.

Tight?! The front seat of his Maybach had enough legroom for a guy to lie down flat, and this bastard actually had the nerve to call it tight?

Everyone in the car knew exactly what his dirty angle was-he just wanted to get squeezed into the back with his woman.

He was throwing out the most ridiculous excuses just to make it happen.

“Jesus Christ, the guy is completely shameless.”

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Wilmot was cursing him out in his head, but realizing what a free front seat meant, he turned his eyes toward Trista with a pathetic, desperate spark of hope.

“Babe,” he said. “You definitely don’t want to get crammed into the back with a total creep like Mortimer, right?”

Trista’s face was total ice.

She gave Mortimer a cold glance, then looked at Wilmot with pure annoyance.

Both of these high-and-mighty men were a total drag, but she definitely wasn’t interested in suffocating under Mortimer’s toxic Alpha aura in a tight back seat.

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She threw Wilmot a lethal side-eye, stepped onto her high heels, and climbed into the passenger side anyway.

With no other cards left to play, Seraphina had to walk around to the other side of the car, her face dark as she climbed into the

back seat.

The car rolled smoothly away from the clinic, the cabin instantly filling with a heavy, awkward tension.

After a few blocks, Mortimer turned his head, his deep eyes burning into Seraphina.

He broke the silence out of nowhere. “Move back into our estate. There’s plenty of room there. When Dash gets bigger, he’s going to need a massive yard to run around.”

Wilmot let out a silent scoff at the steering wheel.

“Look at this schematic bastard,” he thought. “He found the perfect loophole.”

Poor Dash was being weaponized as a pawn in this guy’s mating crisis, and the dog didn’t even know it.

Seraphina’s brows knitted tight, her rejection coming fast and completely flat. “No thanks. The apartment I’m renting is plenty big enough for him.”

“But it’s not your property,” Mortimer said, cutting straight to the reality of the situation. “Golden retrievers are destructive when they start teething. They chew through furniture like termites. Do you think your landlord is going to be thrilled when he finds out his place is being turned into a demolition site?”

His casual comment dropped like a bomb, leaving Seraphina in a dead silence.

Even though she hated giving an inch to this man, she had to admit that every single word out of his mouth was a hard fact.

Landlords in the city were notorious for making life hell for pet owners for this exact reason.

and had only

Worse, the apartment she was staying in was a fresh remodel–the owner hadn’t even lived in it yet, and had only leased it to her as a huge favor to Trista.

If Dash actually ripped the place apart, she’d have no way to look her friend’s connection in the eye.

She bit her lower lip hard, staying quiet.

The urge to buy her own house started multiplying frantically in her head.

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