Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 156

Chapter 156

Third Person’s POV

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Mortimer lowered his gaze, falling completely silent. After a few seconds, he stood up with Dash, carrying him over to the fluffy cream-colored dog bed. He set the puppy down with agonizing care, then finally straightened up to look at Seraphina.

“Do you mind if I grab a shower first?”

Looking at Mortimer’s completely wrecked, sewage-soaked state, Seraphina really didn’t have the heart to kick him out immediately. She pointed toward the guest bathroom.

“It’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

The corner of Mortimer’s mouth ticked up into a victorious, deeply satisfied smirk, He turned on his heel and strode quickly toward the bathroom.

Watching this from the sidelines, Wilmot couldn’t stomach the guy’s smugness for another second.

“It’s an act. He is completely weaponizing that dog,” Wilmot said bluntly, looking straight at Seraphina. “Please tell me you can

sce that.”

Seraphina was momentarily speechless.

Of course she saw it.

Mortimer was treating Dash absurdly well-so well that it was completely out of character for the man who, just an hour ago, had been grinding his teeth at the mere mention of the puppy’s name.

It wasn’t like he was genuinely charmed by a stray dog. So what, was he trying to win her over by playing nice with the pet?

To Seraphina, that theory felt even more ridiculous than him suddenly becoming a dog person.

Mortimer Craig trying to win her favor?

Why?

Was he paranoid she was going to back out of the divorce and tank the Craig Group’s stock prices?

That was totally unnecessary.

Once she gave her word on the contract, she wasn’t going to backtrack.

He had absolutely zero reason to scheme for her approval.

Or maybe… did he suddenly realize, after three years of taking her for granted, that she was actually leaving him? Did he panic, realize he was in love with her, and decide to try and win her back?

If she were still a naive teenager, she might have entertained that kind of delusional, romantic fantasy. But she wasn’t.

She was twenty-five years old and had literally survived a brush with death.

She wasn’t that stupid anymore.

Thinking this through, she let out a dismissive, unbothered laugh. “Whatever his angle is, he still crawled into a toxic sewer to save Dash, and I just dumped a basin of dirty water on his head. I can’t exactly throw him out on the street looking like that.”

There was one thing she didn’t admit out loud.

When Mortimer hadn’t hesitated for a single second-ripping off his designer coat and dropping straight into an enclosed

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storn drain full of toxic fumies-she had been genuinely shocked.

To say she didn’t feel everra tiny hippie of emotion in that moment would be a lie.

But it was exactly that: just a tiny ripple. Nothing more.

“Sera.”

Mortimer’s deep voice drifted out from the bathroom

Wilmot felt the hair on his arms literally stand up. The sheer cringe was physically painful.

But since this was technically between Mortimer and Seraphina, Wilmot knew he had to keep his mouth shut.

Even though he absolutely despised how unconditionally Mortimer babied Vivian, he didn’t actually want to see his best bro suffer too much.

Hearing Mortimer call her that again made Seraphina’s skin crawl with awkwardness. But she walked over to the bathroom door

anyway.

“What is it?”

“Can you grab me a towel?” Mortimer’s voice echoed through the door, immediately followed by a pathetic, carefully calculated add-on, “Am I being too much of a burden to you?”

Seraphina didn’t even dignify that with a response. She just rolled her eyes, walked over to the master bedroom, and pulled a fresh, clean towel from the closet.

Right at that moment, Wilmot’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Mortimer.

Mortimer: Why the hell are you still here?

Wilmot: My wife is here. I’m waiting for her.

Mortimer: Take your wife and leave. Now.

Wilmot scoffed and was just about to type back a solid ‘No’, when the next text dropped onto his screen-

Mortimer: I don’t have any clean clothes to change into. I’m coming out wearing nothing but a towel.

Wilmot cursed inwardly. This bastard has absolutely zero shame.

“Babe, it’s getting late. Let’s head home,” Wilmot said, pocketing his phone and walking over to grab Trista’s arm.

It was indeed getting late, and Trista had been planning to leave soon anyway, but she was deeply uncomfortable leaving Seraphina alone with Mortimer in this tiny apartment.

“Why isn’t Mortimer leaving?” Trista frowned, resisting Wilmot’s pull.

“Because he doesn’t have any clothes on,” Wilmot shrugged, dropping the absolute truth.

Meanwhile, Seraphina stood outside the bathroom with the clean towel and knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, the door clicked and opened just a crack.

A blast of scalding, thick steam rolled out from the gap, instantly obscuring half of Mortimer’s body and making the hallway air feel dangerously hot and intensely intimate.

Seraphina immediately averted her eyes, holding the towel out through the crack. “Here’s your towel.”

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Mortimer reached out and took it. But the exact second Seraphina tried to pull her hand back, his large, wet fingers clamped down hard around her wrist like a vice.

The force was terrifyingly strong. Before she could even process what was happening, he forcefully yanked her straight into the

bathroom.

“Mortimer, what the hell are you doing?”

Seraphina slipped on the wet tile, barely keeping her balance. Her face darkened instantly, her voice as cold as absolute zero.

But Mortimer was completely naked. The white steam slowly cleared around them, exposing his broad, heavily muscled chest that looked like it had been carved from marble, radiating pure, feral power.

His chest was heaving with heavy, ragged breaths. The overwhelming, aggressive male hormones of a top-tier Alpha mixed with the scalding humidity, trapping her in a suffocating, airtight cage of his scent.

Without a word, Mortimer grabbed her and pinned her hard against the back of the door. His massive frame pressed down on her, leaving absolutely zero space between their bodies.

“Sera.”

His voice was a dark, gravelly rasp echoing in the steamy room, every single syllable burning with a dangerous heat.

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Seraphina demanded, glaring up at him.

She tried her absolute hardest to project pure, unbothered ice. But the way her hand was white-knuckling the doorframe, and the faint, undeniable tremor in her voice, entirely betrayed the chaotic panic tearing through her chest.

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