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홈 / Romance / HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect / ###035: THE DOSES

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###035: THE DOSES

작가: T.C. Wolfé
last update 게시일: 2026-03-19 14:06:29

//VESPER//

I sat by my mother’s bed, my hand resting on the thin sheet covering her leg just as the door pushed open.

Detective Nora walked in carrying a bunch of supermarket carnations and two cups of coffee. She looked less like a detective and more like a concerned friend, which made my decision to cooperate feel even more obscene.

“You didn’t have to,” I said, taking them anyway and offered her the chair I was using.

“I know.” She offered me a thank you smile as she settled, but her gaze dr
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  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###045: THE COLLECTION

    //VESPER//I came down the stairs with my duffle bag hanging off my shoulder, the strap digging into the marks he had left on my collarbone. My mother was at the kitchen table, a glass of water in her hand, her eyes bright with a hope I had not seen in months.“Ready, baby?”I nodded. I did not trust my voice.Detective Nora was in the living room, her voice low and urgent, her body angled toward Theodore Pierce like she was trying to find a crack that was not there. I stood in the hallway and watched them.“—cannot let her leave with someone we haven’t vetted.” Nora’s voice was sharp, professional, but underneath it I could hear the desperation she was trying to hide. “She’s a key witness in an ongoing investigation. Her safety is our responsibility.”Theodore—Azrael’s voice was calm and reasonable, as if he had never raised his voice in his life. “With all due respect, Detective, your responsibility is precisely why I am offering her my home. Your agents could not keep a brick from

  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###044: THE TRAP

    //VESPER//“Mrs. Martin.” His voice found my mother like a lighthouse finding a lost ship at sea. She emerged from the kitchen, tear-streaked and shaking, and he crossed to her in three quick strides, taking her hands in his with a gentleness that made my stomach turn. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to stay in a home that is no longer secure.”My mother looked at him, then at the shattered window, then back at him. Her brow furrowed with confusion, the pieces not quite fitting together.“Mr. Pierce, I don’t understand. Mark said this was about the lawsuit. Why would someone throw a brick through our window over a lawsuit?”Azrael’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker behind his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or satisfaction.“I’m afraid your friend here—Mark hasn’t been entirely honest with you, Mrs. Martin.”Agent Miller’s face went pale. “Mr. Pierce, I don’t think this is the time—”“The FBI doesn’t typically assign agents to protect civilians over civil litigati

  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###043: THE BREACH

    //VESPER//The rotting didn’t stop. It spread, a pulsating decay that made every breath feel thick and heavy in my chest.I woke each morning to the same hollow ache behind my ribs, a colony of black mold that thrived no matter how many times I told myself the agents outside meant safety. They didn’t. They were foreign bodies, irritants my system kept trying to reject, and every day they stayed made the rejection worse.Agent Miller came by at noon.My mother called him Mark now, a friend from my old archive job who’d stopped by to check on us after the lawsuit stress. He wore a flannel shirt and smiled like a neighbor, but I could smell him from across the room—stale coffee, gun oil, cheap detergent. Every breath he took felt like an invasion of a space that no longer belonged to anyone but the ghost who haunted it.“Vesper, dear?” My mother’s voice floated from the kitchen. “Are you going to pour the tea or just stare at the kettle?”I blinked. The kettle screamed. I didn’t remember

  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###042: THE CALL

    //VESPER//The silence of the last four days wasn’t a reprieve. It was starvation. A slow, cellular wasting that left me hollowed out and vibrating with a frequency I couldn’t name and didn’t want to understand. I went to work. I came home. I smiled at customers. I checked under my pillow every night like an addict searching for a fix.Nothing. Always nothing.By the fifth day, I had started to believe the rotting was permanent. That this empty, humming shell was all that was left of me.I was wrong. There was still fear. I left the bakery at dusk, the sky a bruised purple overhead, my feet carrying me toward the bus stop on autopilot. I didn’t hear the car approach. Didn’t sense the danger until it was already there.A black sedan screeched to a halt at the curb, cutting off my path. The doors flew open and two men spilled out—thick-necked, caps pulled low, their faces carved from the same desperate, hungry mold. No preamble. No taunts. Just hands reaching for me.One grabbed my thr

  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###041: THE HOLLOW

    //VESPER//The bell above the bakery door chimed and I felt it in my teeth.A woman in a floral coat walked in. I bagged her sourdough, took her cash, gave her change. My hands moved like a machine I no longer controlled. When she left, I stared at the space where she’d been and forgot what I was supposed to do next.Chime. A delivery driver. I hadn’t realized I handed the wrong order until he corrected me. I nodded, apologized, watched him leave.Chime. Nothing. Just the sound, ringing in my skull like a tuning fork against bone.I stood behind the glass counter with my fingers tracing the edge of the wood and realized I couldn’t feel the surface. Couldn’t feel anything except the low hum under my skin, the vibration that started in my chest and spread outward until my throat itched with it.Four days since he’d come. Four days since he’d poured that honeyed poison down my throat and taken me apart piece by piece. Four days of silence that felt more violent than any touch.I was rott

  • HIS DARK OBSESSION: The Architect   ###040: THE SECOND

    //VESPER//I came home and shut the door behind me like closing a coffin lid.The house was quiet. My mother’s soft snoring drifted from her room, oblivious to everything, and I was grateful for it. Grateful she couldn’t see me or hear the echo of my own voice still playing in my head.I locked my bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing hard, though I hadn’t run anywhere.The room was the same as I’d left it. The same sheets tangled on the bed. The same candle stub on the nightstand. The same wire under the pillow, the one that had somehow betrayed me.I stripped off my clothes without looking in the mirror. I didn’t want to see the marks. I didn’t want to see anything. I stood in the shower until the water ran cold, then stood there longer, letting the chill numb me from the outside in.When I finally crawled into bed, the sheets still smelled like him.I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and let the weight of everything press down on me. The recording. His voice. My voice. Th

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