OBSESSION OVER LOVE

PROLOGUE

Eva had always believed love was enough. Until she met a man who showed her what obsession felt like.

Henry loved her in the way a man is taught to love—gentle hands, soft words, a warm bed shared with quiet affection. He made her feel safe, adored. He smiled when she entered a room, kissed her shoulders while she stirred coffee, and held her like she was something precious. And for a while, that was enough.

Until Lucas came into the picture.

Lucas wasn’t gentle. He didn’t whisper sweet words or touch her like she might break. He touched her like he would die if he didn’t. Rough. Demanding. Unforgiving.

He didn’t worship her, he consumed her.

There was power in his silence, in the sharp look in his eyes when he walked into a room. He didn’t need flowers. He didn’t need promises. Just one look from him, and Eva's knees would weaken. Her breath would catch. Her morals would crumble.

It wasn’t love. Not in the way she understood it, It was obsession.

It was danger. Temptation. A magnetic pull that made her forget the man who waited at home, who trusted her completely, who had never once looked at another woman.

With Henry, she was cherished.

With Lucas, she was claimed.

And she knew it was wrong. She knew the fire would eventually burn her alive. But still, she returned. Again. And again.

Because once you’ve tasted something forbidden, it lingers.

Now, the lies are piling up.

The silence is louder than ever.

And someone knows the truth.

Secrets unravels, confusion blown into the air,

Two men.

One woman.

And a secret that’s one message away from blowing everything apart.

This isn’t just a story about love.

It’s a story about betrayal. About power. About the part of them they try to bury, until someone dangerous digs it out.

Eva made a choice the night she let Lucas touch her. But choices come with consequences. And hers? Are just getting started.

EVA’S POV

Henry kissed the back of my neck softly, like he was afraid I’d shatter. His arms wrapped around me, warm and gentle, as if I needed protecting from the world.

But what do you do when the man protecting you… is also the one who makes you feel so alone?

“Are you okay?” he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

A lie.

We had made love—or, rather, Henry had. Slow, sweet, rhythmic. Like the kind of love they write about in greeting cards. He always took his time. He always made sure I was comfortable. And every time he reached for me, I told myself it would feel different.

That this time, I would feel something deeper. Something more.

But I never did.

I stared at the ceiling as his breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. His hand was still on my hip, like a quiet claim. Possessive, but never demanding.

My body was still.

But my mind was loud.

It wasn't that Henry was bad in bed. He was attentive, careful. The kind of man who asked before doing anything, who made sure I felt safe. He made love like a man who worshipped the ground I walked on.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because I didn’t want to be worshipped. Not in bed.

I wanted to be wanted. Needed. Taken. I wanted to feel the desperation. The ache. The fire that didn’t ask permission, the kind of desire that took and didn’t apologize.

With Henry, it always felt like… a task. Like a routine chore we had to check off.

Foreplay. Soft touches. Kisses that stayed in safe places. Whispered “I love you”

But never the raw hunger,

Never the chaos.

I missed chaos.

I missed the kind of nights where my breath caught and my voice broke. Where fingers dug into skin and moans weren’t muffled by pillows. Where I didn’t have to think or pretend or perform.

With Henry, I had to act satisfied, even when my body screamed otherwise.

“You were quiet tonight,” he said, pulling me closer.

“I was just tired,” I said again.

Another lie.

He didn’t press. He never did.

That was the thing about Henry. He always took silence as peace instead of the storm it really was.

And me? I was tired of pretending.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the rhythm of his breathing. His heartbeat against my back. The warmth of his skin.

This is enough, I told myself.

But the lie didn’t hold.

Because no matter how many times he held me, kissed me, loved me—

He never reached the parts of me that were starving.

They say a woman cheats because she’s not loved enough. That’s not true.

Henry loved me. More than I probably deserved. He gave me flowers on random Wednesdays. Held my hand in public like I was his whole world. Called my mom just to check in. He was... good. Soft. Gentle.

But sometimes, soft love feels like silence. And silence can be deafening.

I never planned to fall into someone else’s arms—especially not his boss’s. But Lucas didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t whisper sweet things. He didn’t need to. With just one look, one command, he made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years.

Wanted.

Not adored. Not protected. Just wanted. In the rawest, most sinful way.

The first time was a mistake. I told myself that. Over and over.

But it’s hard to walk away from a man who knows how to make you forget your name.

Lucas was danger in a tailored suit. He didn’t kiss to please. He kissed to own. His touch wasn’t about romance—it was about claiming territory. And my body responded to him like it had been waiting its whole life to be taken like that.

I should have said no. I should have walked away.

But every time I looked into Henry’s eyes and saw trust, my guilt grew... and so did my hunger for escape. Lucas gave me what Henry never could—control and surrender, all in one breath.

That’s the part no one talks about.

We don’t always cheat because we’re unloved.

Sometimes, we cheat because we’re unseen.

It started four months ago.

A night I’ll never forget.

The company had organized one of those formal events, fancy catering, smooth jazz in the background, and people pretending to care about things they really didn’t. I wore a sleek black dress that hugged my curves, mostly for Henry. He liked it when I dressed up, when I looked polished and elegant by his side.

But that night… someone else saw me.

He stood across the room like he owned the air around him.

Lucas Watson, Henry’s boss.

Broad shoulders, a tailored suit that fit like a second skin, and that cold, unreadable look in his eyes. He didn’t smile. Didn’t mingle. Just stood there with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a presence that drew attention without even trying.

Our eyes met and for a second, I swear the room went silent.

He gave me a look. A simple, heavy, slow-moving stare that slid from my heels to my lips and made my skin feel too tight. It wasn’t a compliment. It wasn’t even curiosity.

It was a warning.

But something inside me stirred anyway.

I told myself it was nothing. Just a glance. But when he walked over during the break and introduced himself, I barely remembered how to breathe.

“Lucas Watson,” he said.

I nodded, told him my name. The conversation was short. Polite. But his voice… it was deep and steady, every word a command even when he said nothing demanding.

Before I left, he handed me his card and I gave him my phone number.“Call me sometime. You’re interesting.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I didn’t call either. But he did.

Three days later, I got a message.

Lunch? Just you and me. No pressure.

I shouldn’t have gone. God knows I shouldn’t have.

But I did.

I told Henry I was meeting an old friend. Lied to his face while he kissed my cheek and told me to have fun.

Lucas gave me his address, an upscale condo in the city. When I knocked, he opened the door… wearing only a boxer.

No shirt. No apology. Just confidence.

I should’ve walked away. Asked questions. But all I did was stare.

He was carved like stone. Chest broad. Arms thick and veined. The kind of body that didn’t just exist—it threatened. There was no softness in him. No patience in his eyes.

“You’re late,” he said, with a grin that wasn’t friendly.

He walk me through the door leading me inside, every nook and cranny of this apartment screams luxury.

And then he reached for me.

The second his hand touched my waist, all logic disappeared. The moment his lips crashed into mine, I lost every thought that ever told me right from wrong.

We didn’t make it to the kitchen. Or the couch.

The wall was enough.

He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t whisper sweet words or take his time.

He took.

And I gave.

He had me up against the wall, my dress bunched at my hips, his mouth on my neck, his voice low and rough in my ear. I felt him—every inch—and for the first time in years, I felt alive.

He knew exactly what to do.

How to pull. How to hold. How to make my back arch and my lungs burn.

He wasn’t gentle. He was deliberate.

Commanding.

Unapologetic.

And when it was over, when I lay there breathless and shaken, I didn’t feel shame.

I felt hunger.

The kind of hunger that grows teeth.

That was the beginning.

I left his place trembling, legs weak, heart racing—and mind ruined. I tried to go back to normal. To lie beside Henry and pretend nothing had changed.

But it had.

Lucas had touched something in me I didn’t know existed.

He unlocked a part of me that Henry had never reached, and once the door was open, I couldn’t close it again.

He didn’t chase me.

He didn’t have to.

Every time I saw his name light up my phone, I ran to him.

And every time, it got worse.

Rougher. Wilder. More addictive.

I didn’t just crave the sex.

I craved him—his control, his dominance, the way he made me feel like I was his to own.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even affection.

It was obsession.

And it grew like fire behind closed doors.

The more I tried to fight it, the deeper I sank.

Lucas didn’t just seduce my body.

He captured my mind.

And no matter how much Henry tried to hold me, he could never touch the part of me that was already gone.