The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,267

is not Marcel.

I can’t see his face because his head is bent to kiss her. The picture is embedded in an article from a French magazine I’ve never heard of. The headline screams, “La femme de Landel montre au monde qui elle est: La Jézabel” The wife of Landel shows the world who she is: Jezebel

“Regan, what the fuck is this?”

“I fucked up, Remi. Really bad. Please come home. I need you.”

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Also by Dylan Allen

Rivers Wilde Series of stand alone stories -

Listed in suggested reading order

The Legacy

Book one of the Rivers Wilde Series. An opposites attract, enemies to lovers standalone that kicks off this brand new series.

The Legend

This is a second chance at love story. Remington Wilde has loved one woman in his life and even though timing, and family manipulations keep pulling them apart, it’s a love worth fighting for.

The Jezebel

Regan Wilde and Stone Rivers were born enemies. But love has other ideas.

* * *

The Daredevil: A Rivers Wilde/ 1001 Nights Novella (Preorder for July 2021)

Tyson Wilde’s story!

* * *

Symbols of Love Series

Rise

Remember

Release

Standalone Novels

The Sun and Her Star

Thicker Than Water

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The Jezebel

A Rivers Wilde Stand Alone

Copyright © 2020 by Dylan Allen

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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v.72620-DA

Present Day

HOUSTON, TX

The Jezebel’s Undoing

Regan

“I need to speak with you.”

The unexpected sound of my husband’s voice nearly stops my heart. My reflexive gasp draws soap and water into my nose and throat, and I cough violently to clear it. I turn the water off and meet his unreadable gaze in the mirror.

The burn of mint scented face wash invading my nostrils and stinging my eyes barely registers against the shock of seeing him standing in my bathroom when he should be on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

I grab a towel from the small pile on my counter and wipe the soap off haphazardly and turn to face him. “Why are you here?” I demand.

He raises one gray flecked eyebrow as if surprised by my question. “This is my house. You are still my wife.” He curls his lip and drags a possessive gaze over my towel clad, shower damp body.

I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and glower at him. “Please leave, now.”

He shakes his head slowly; one side of his thin mouth curls upward in a sneer. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.” He informs me, and then he turns and walks out of the bathroom.

I release the breath I was holding, and rush into my closet, slide the door closed behind me and start to pace. Mounting dread compounds my shock, but I can’t afford to indulge either.

Since our confrontation after he received the divorce petition, he’s been radio silent. I’ve been praying, unceasingly, he’d stay that way. Marcel being here today is a very, very bad sign and even worse timing.

The State of Texas gives a respondent twenty days to respond before granting a divorce by default. This morning, I woke up and drew the nineteenth red “X” on the small calendar I keep on my bedside table. It was like hearing a key slide into the lock of a door that had been sealed shut for years.

Just one day left. I could taste my freedom. And, for the first time ever, I dared to imagine welcoming Stone to Houston as a single woman.

It was stupid to think Marcel would make this easy.

I glower at my reflection, this time, the sting in my eyes from tears I won’t allow to fall. There’s no reason to cry. Marcel will drag it out and make it as painful as possible, but he can’t do anything to stop the divorce. This is just one battle in a war that, ultimately, I know I’ll win.

I take my time getting dressed, pulling on my softest pair of leggings and a t-shirt Stone