She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother Chapter 369: Heena Sterling

Heena Sterling gazed at the identical paragraph she'd been perusing for twenty minutes straight, only to grasp that zero words had penetrated her thoughts.

Her thoughts remained ensnared by the lingering resonance of her husband's words.

He had lingered in this office's doorway, fiddling with his silk tie in a gesture that seemed overly practiced.

"Heena, darling," he'd murmured, his tone cloaked in that deliberate, scripted worry.

"I’ve just had a few urgent departmental matters to attend. Truly tedious stuff. Don’t wait up for me; you know how these ’emergencies’ can spiral."

He hadn't met her eyes at all. A casual wave was tossed her way before he slipped into the hallway, trailing the heavy aroma of his pricey cologne.

"Important work, huh?" Heena muttered to the deserted space, her tone laced with bitter sarcasm.

She wasn't foolish. She knew precisely where his abrupt haste was leading him.

Once, in a fit of desperation, she'd trailed him. Parking two blocks away from a shadowy bistro, her pulse thundered in her chest while she hoped for a boring faculty gathering.

Instead, devastation unfolded in slow motion. He leaned close to a woman half his age, his palm on her lower back with a craving he'd withheld from his spouse for ages.

The rare occasions she'd mustered the nerve to challenge him ended predictably. No regrets from him—just a barrage of mental manipulation.

"You’re projecting, Heena," he'd declare coolly and condescendingly, like schooling a dim pupil on fundamentals.

"You’re taking your own insecurities and painting them onto me. I’m trying to mentor a junior colleague, and you’re turning it into something sordid. Is that really how little you think of me?"

He invariably cast her as the antagonist. Her worries, her years, her vivid fancy—all blamed. Her legitimate hurt morphed into a personal defect until she questioned her own sight.

Recently, though, the pretense had vanished completely. The intricate deceptions and mind games were abandoned.

He no longer minded if she knew. His pursuits grew overt, targeting her department's women with brazen predation that mocked her self-respect.

Her office served as a quick layover before he prowled her own turf.

’What do they have that I don’t?’

At forty-seven, she was aware. Yet forty-seven wasn't the end. Mornings in the mirror still revealed the woman Sterling wed—the defined jawline, prominent cheekbones, intense dark eyes that once left him tongue-tied.

Time had blurred some edges and etched others deeper, but hadn't wiped her out.

Still, he overlooked her as if she were mere decor.

She couldn't fathom it. She'd maintained herself fiercely—physique, intellect, profession—with unyielding resolve.

Her attire was sharp. She projected the poised command of someone who'd risen by talent, not allure. Objectively, she outshone most women he pursued.

But success wasn't his prey. Nor was youth exclusively—some conquests matched her age. He craved the pursuit. The pushback. The rush of a woman yet to yield.

And Heena, who'd yielded fifteen years back with full commitment, had faded from view for a man fixated on the unattained.

’So what is it about Tisha Wells?’

That question clung stubbornly.

Tisha was stunning, granted. Younger, sure. Yet Heena had seen Sterling chase stunners before and stumble. Tisha stood apart—a fortified safe amid unlocked rooms.

The sort who didn't merely rebuff; she shamed suitors for the attempt.

For over a year, Sterling had orbited her, his tenacity signaling to Heena a darker fixation: not mere desire, but compulsion.

And this evening, he'd exited her office convinced that safe would unlock for him.

Heena twisted off her pen cap. Snapped it back on.

She half-wished Tisha would eviscerate him. Return him slinking down the hall, tie askew, pride in tatters.

"Let’s see if you are truly as untouchable as you claim, my dear Tisha," Heena mused, eyes sharpening behind her glasses. "Or are you just like me? Frozen on the outside to hide the fact that you’re starving for a single look, a single touch that makes you feel like more than just a piece of the furniture."

If even she crumbled under a Sterling assault, Heena could cease pondering her deficits.

It wasn't her failing. Merely how men operated—coveting the absent, spurning the possessed.

She'd nearly embrace that truth. It would silence the doubt.

​

Knock. Knock.

The rapping shattered her brooding like a sharp smack.

Heena jerked, gaze darting to the entrance.

"Who could it be at this hour?" she whispered, rising to straighten her skirt. Her work facade settled smoothly from habit.

She swung the door wide.

Tisha Wells waited in the hall, bag over one shoulder, chunky glasses glinting under the corridor glow.

Heena's gut plummeted.

For a horrifying instant, every nightmare scenario from her marital shadows erupted together.

’Had Sterling crossed the line at last? Was Tisha reporting assault? Would this spark the complaint demolishing careers and Heena's frayed honor?’

Terror stabbed her insides coldly... until Tisha's face registered.

Tisha wasn't quaking in fury; she radiated joy. Her smile beamed too vividly for the late hour, eyes sparkling with wild, unfamiliar zeal.

"Hello, Heena... I hope we aren’t interrupting," Tisha said. Her cheer carried peril... and Heena sensed the undercurrent of playful scheming.

Tension drained from Heena's shoulders in a whoosh. She eased visibly, hand falling from the frame as she exhaled unknowingly held air.

"Tisha! What a pleasant surprise," Heena welcomed, her composure faltering against this lively version of her longtime peer. "It’s rare to see you wandering this far into the Finance wing so late. Nice having you here."

"I could say the same for myself," Tisha shot back, eyes darting briefly to the figure trailing her. "But it turns out there were some... unexpected developments tonight that required a bit of inter-departmental collaboration."

That's when Heena spotted the lanky, at-ease form emerging into view behind Tisha.

Heena observed the silhouette solidify into a towering, wide-shouldered young man. Before comprehension hit, he advanced casually, his demeanor oddly personal amid the harsh fluorescents.

"Hello, Mrs. Sterling," Alex said.

He went beyond a nod; his hand enveloped hers in a solid, heated clasp that persisted. Contact sparked an intense tingle racing up her arm to her core.

A feeling absent for years—a primal, virile draw that snagged her breath unprofessionally.

Heena stiffened briefly. His stare pinned her, her sharp mind blanking on all but his scorching nearness.

Catching herself gawking, she yanked her hand free, face aflame. Tucking hair aside, she flushed at being silenced by a student.

Her eyes swung to Tisha, sharpening with unspoken demand.

’Why him here? Why bring him to my office now?’

"Ah!" Tisha exclaimed, catching the query. She lounged on the frame, exuding lax contentment unlike her typical stiffness.

"This is Alex Hale. He’s my favorite student... and my driver these days. He’s very, very good at it."

Tisha capped it with a languid wink that baffled Heena anew.

The phrasing felt alien.

This wasn't her familiar "Ice Queen." This was someone reveling in a secret delight.

Heena eyed her peer, hunting the aloof guard she'd known, encountering only this lively trickster.

’A driver?’ Heena's thoughts repeated it, a subtle pang squeezing her chest.

The twist choked her. Sterling chased folly elsewhere, yearning for a woman now "chauffered" by a youth who could unravel lives with one glance.

Heena gulped, the hall's quiet pressing in. She retreated, waving them inside.

"I... see. Well, come on in, then," she managed, poise fraying. "If you’re here to talk about ’urgent matters,’ I suppose we should get started."