Claimed by My Ex Chapter 158 I heard Patrick talking non-stop

Chapter 158: Chapter 158 I heard Patrick talking non-stop

Victoria’s POV

I heard Patrick talking non-stop, his words tumbling over each other before Damien could even get a word in. There was sothing about the way the two n bristled around each other that made my wolf, Nora, pace anxiously inside .

"Victoria, I didn’t—that’s not what I ant," Patrick finally managed, his voice carrying a hint of desperation that made my skin prickle.

I sighed, feeling the tension build between my shoulder blades. "I know. Both of you, just stop. Damien, co with ." I reached out, my fingers wrapping around Damien’s wrist. His skin burned hot against mine, reminding

of the undeniable connection between us that I was still fighting.

Patrick’s face fell, his amber eyes reflecting disappointnt as he realized I was about to leave with Damien.

All the effort he’d put into preparing dinner would go to waste—I hadn’t even taken a single bite.

"Since Mr. Sterling is apparently your friend," Patrick said, his voice strained but polite, "why don’t we all eat together?"

Damien’s mouth curved into that infuriating smirk I was becoming too familiar with. "How generous of you, Mr. Wagner. I’ll gladly accept."

The bouquet of white chrysanthemums Damien had brought—sat untouched on the side table. Patrick had refused to accept them, likely recognizing them as flowers associated with funerals in many cultures. Damien sprawled on the couch like he owned the place while Patrick continued cooking with determined focus.

By the ti Felix Morgan and the others arrived, Patrick had just finished preparing the al. Felix hadn’t co alone—he’d brought enough people to fill a dinner table, and bizarrely, each one carried chrysanthemums identical to Damien’s. The ssage couldn’t have been clearer: they were here to crash this dinner, not celebrate it.

"You must be Mr. Wagner," Felix said with exaggerated politeness. "Pleasure to et you."

I could tell this was Damien’s doing. He must have ordered Felix to bring reinforcents, though I wasn’t sure why. My wolf growled softly, sensing the territorial display happening right in front of .

Felix’s eyes brightened when he spotted . "Victoria! It’s been too long." The knowing look he shot Damien confird my suspicions—Damien had canceled their plans specifically to intercept my dinner with Patrick.

I nodded in acknowledgnt. "It has been a while."

It was well past dinnerti now, and Patrick’s homade al would barely feed four or five people. He had originally planned to host just

and my grandfather—a cozy dinner for three. Now with Damien’s entire entourage, there wouldn’t be enough food.

Felix’s tongue was as sharp as a wolf’s canines. "Is this really all the food you’ve prepared, Mr. Wagner?" he asked, eyeing the modest spread. "Rather underwhelming hospitality. If budget was an issue, you should have ntioned it—we could have made arrangents."

"Fortunately," he continued with a predatory smile, "we brought our own contributions."

On cue, several professional chefs entered Patrick’s ho, each carrying elaborate dishes that made Patrick’s homade cooking look painfully simple by comparison. Each plate was a masterpiece—visually stunning, perfectly seasoned, clearly prepared by culinary experts. Next to these gourt creations, Patrick’s comfort food looked... ordinary.

I could sll Patrick’s disappointnt. He had wanted to impress

with his cooking skills, but now his efforts were being completely overshadowed. My heart twisted with unexpected sympathy.

"Mr. Wagner, aren’t you eating? Not accustod to Arican cuisine?" Felix asked, his voice dripping with false concern.

I could see Damien watching the exchange with calculating eyes, his wolf Arthur likely enjoying the show.

"You know," Felix continued, leaning forward, "forcing yourself to adapt to sothing that doesn’t suit you only leads to suffering. It’s like wearing ill-fitting shoes—you’ll just hurt yourself in the end."

The others nodded in agreent. "Exactly!"

"People need to recognize their proper place and know their limitations," another of Damien’s friends added, his voice carrying just enough threat to make Nora bristle protectively.

Patrick’s jaw tightened. "Whether I enjoy it or not is my business. What exactly are you implying?"

"I’m not implying anything," Felix replied with a grin. "What are you implying? Because your implication seems to imply sothing that lacks... implication."

The wordplay left Patrick montarily speechless, and I felt a surge of protective anger. This was becoming bullying, plain and simple. I nudged Damien’s foot under the table, shooting him a warning glare. He simply shrugged, his expression all innocence as if to say he wasn’t responsible for Felix’s behavior.

"Enough," I said firmly. "Let’s just eat. Patrick put effort into making this dinner, so you all should at least try it."

Just then, the doorbell rang again. Patrick looked concerned, probably wondering if Damien had summoned even more people to tornt him.

"I’ll get it," Felix volunteered, springing to his feet.

When he opened the door, Grace Mitchell stood there, my best friend looking completely bewildered.

She hesitated, confusion written across her face. "Did I co to the wrong house?"

"You must be Victoria’s friend. Not at all—co in!" Felix ushered her inside with theatrical enthusiasm.

Grace stepped in, her eyes widening as she took in the scene—the crowded dining room, the mixture of homade and gourt food, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud. "Victoria...?" Her tone carried a question.

This was perfect timing. I’d texted Grace earlier when it was just Patrick and , feeling awkward and needing backup. Now I was trapped between Patrick and Damien, their alpha energies clashing like thunderclouds around .

"Grace!" I stood up imdiately, relief flooding through . My position between the two n had beco increasingly uncomfortable, their competing scents making Nora restless.

"Co sit here. I’ll get you clean dishes," I said, escaping to the kitchen with more eagerness than I cared to admit.

Patrick, ever the gentleman—or perhaps marking his territory—smiled at Grace. "You’re Victoria’s friend, which practically makes us family. Please make yourself at ho."

Damien snorted. "You’re really pushing boundaries, aren’t you? Assuming she wants any familial connection with you."

Grace froze, her eyes darting between the n. "Um..."

I returned with dishes, but Grace suddenly clutched her stomach dramatically. "Oh! Victoria, my stomach’s killing . Don’t you have so pain relievers at your place? Could you co with

to get them?"

Her performance wasn’t exactly Oscar-worthy, but I seized the opportunity. "Of course. Patrick, Grace isn’t feeling well. I should take her back to my place."

I glanced aningfully at Damien, commanding with a single word: "Coming?"

Damien stood smoothly, all graceful predator. "Thank you for your hospitality, Wagner. We’ll be on our way."

With Damien rising, Felix and his entourage followed suit. Within minutes, we’d all cleared out, leaving Patrick alone in his ho.

As we walked away, I could feel the anger pulsating from Patrick’s house. My enhanced hearing picked up the sound of dishes shattering, tables being flipped, and his frustrated growl. While I couldn’t see him, I knew Patrick was likely destroying his dining room in rage.

Damien must have heard it too, because his lips curved into a satisfied smile, the scent of his triumph—smoky cedar mixed with sothing darker—wrapping around

like an embrace.