Chapter 153: How Does It Feel?

That smile flipped a switch.

The light in Dennis's eyes went dark again.

He rolled over and pressed her back down into the soft mattress.

"Since we're not seeing the place until tomorrow, we shouldn't waste tonight." His voice came out rough and low.

Stella didn't get a chance to say a word before his lips found hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation or holding back from before.

With what they'd learned about each other just now, the way they moved together was almost startling.

The temperature in the room climbed back up.

"Dennis..." Stella gripped his shoulders tight, her nails dragging faint red lines across his back.

"Call me honey." Dennis dipped his head and caught her earlobe between his lips, his voice thick with something possessive.

"Honey..." she whispered, giving in, her voice soft in a way she couldn't hide.

He gave a low, satisfied laugh and pressed closer, more demanding now.

The bed shifted with a gentle rhythm, and in the quiet room, every sound felt sharp and clear.

In the suite next door, separated by a single wall.

No lights on. Pure dark.

Miles sat on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey and an ashtray on the table in front of him.

A pair of black wireless earbuds sat in his ears.

What came through them were the most private sounds from the room next door.

Stella's soft gasps, Dennis's low groans, every word of every exchange that would make anyone's face flush — all of it poured straight into Miles's ears, not a single sound missed.

His eyes had gone completely red. In the dark, he stared hard at the wall across from him, like he could burn a hole through it with his gaze alone.

The hand holding his glass was shaking badly.

A sharp crack.

The glass in his hand shattered.

Jagged pieces bit into his palm, and blood dripped from his fingers onto the carpet.

He didn't seem to feel any of it.

Raw jealousy and something like desperation tore through him like teeth, like something venomous ripping at his chest.

That was his wife.

And now she was underneath another man, making sounds he had never once heard from her.

Miles's breathing grew heavier and heavier.

He didn't cry. He didn't fall apart like someone who'd already lost.

Instead, something in his eyes shifted — something fractured and unhinged slowly rising to the surface.

He was done crawling, and done trying to buy back her forgiveness with apologies and compensation.

If playing it straight couldn't get her back. If she'd rather be with Dennis than even look at him.

Then he'd destroy her. Or lock her away.

As long as he could drag her back to his side — even if she hated him for the rest of her life, even if she woke up every morning wanting to kill him — he didn't care.

He'd keep her somewhere only he could reach her. A chain around her ankle. Nowhere to go, not even a single step away from him, for as long as she lived.

Miles ran his tongue over the blood at the corner of his mouth. The look on his face had shifted into something dangerous and broken.

Next door.

The heat had finally faded.

Stella was too exhausted to move a finger. She drifted off against Dennis's chest, out cold.

Dennis pulled the blanket over and tucked it carefully around her shoulders.

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, then eased himself out of bed without making a sound.

He pulled on a pair of pants and walked over to the bar to pour some water.

Just as he picked up the glass, his eyes caught on the decorative vase sitting nearby.

Dennis had always had an almost unsettling sense for things being off.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, set the glass down, and reached into the vase, parting the fake flowers.

There, tucked in a hidden corner at the bottom, he spotted a faint flicker of red light.

He reached in and pulled out something small and black, barely the size of a fingernail.

A micro listening device.

Dennis's expression went cold on the spot.

He barely had to think. He already knew exactly who put it there.

Miles. That unhinged bastard had actually planted something like this in their room.

Dennis didn't yell. Didn't lose it.

He picked up the device and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, a slow, contemptuous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He brought it up to his lips.

"Miles." Dennis's voice was quiet, but it cut through like something sharp. "How does it feel, hiding next door and listening in?"

In the room next door, Miles went completely still.

"Feeling a little bitter?" Dennis kept going, his tone full of the ease that comes with winning. "Did you like what you heard? Too bad — those sounds she makes, she only makes them for me now."

Every word came through the earpiece and drove itself into Miles like a nail.

"You think planting a cheap little bug was going to get to me?" Dennis let out a cold laugh. "All it does is make you look pathetic. You're like a rat hiding in a gutter. Spying is all you've got."

"She's mine now. Every part of her."

"You've lost the right to even stand in front of her, Miles."

With that last word, Dennis pressed down hard with his fingers.

A small, clean snap.

The device crumbled in his hand.

He dropped the pieces in the trash without looking.

Dennis turned and glanced at Stella, still asleep in the bed.

He stepped out onto the balcony and slid the glass door shut behind him, cutting off the noise from inside.

He picked up his phone and called Red.

"Mr. Wright." Red picked up fast.

"Miles is next door." Dennis looked out at the city lights below, his voice flat and cold. "He's completely lost it — he's actually stooping to bugging our room."

"Want me to go take care of him?" Red asked.

"No need to get your hands dirty." Dennis said. "Doesn't he still have several offshore shell companies that haven't been liquidated? Package all those dirty  books and the evidence of his asset transfers, and send it straight to the IRS."

"Understood."

"One more thing." Dennis's eyes narrowed. "Cut off whatever's left of the Hudson family's shipping lines. Put the word out — anyone who lends money to Miles is picking a fight with me. I want him without enough cash to buy a plane ticket."

"On it."

He hung up and went back inside.

He got back into bed and pulled Stella close against him.

He wasn't going to give Miles a single opening to recover.

At the same moment, in the suite next door.

A flat, dead tone filled the earpiece.

Miles tore the earbuds out and hurled them at the wall.

They exploded into pieces.

Every word Dennis had just said had ground his pride into the floor.

He was breathing in hard, ragged pulls, his chest heaving.

He knew Dennis would come after him. Whatever was left of his network wouldn't hold up against that kind of attack.

But he was past caring.

He'd already walked away from the Hudson Group. What else was there left to be afraid of?