This was obsession

Luciano:

She called. Just like I knew she would.

Not immediately. Not impulsively. No, Ava Rivera was too disciplined for that. She needed time to convince herself that she still had a choice. That she wasn’t already mine from the second we met.

But the moment came. A clipped, professional message. She was in. Fully. Irrevocably.

I smiled—slow, cold, and amused. The kind of smile that never touched my eyes.

The pieces were falling into place.

I stood in the center of my study, the lights low, the air heavy with the scent of aged leather and smoke. My glass of scotch sat untouched on the table beside me, condensation bleeding into the wood. Outside, the rain had started to fall, painting silver veins down the window like spider cracks in glass. The city was loud, reckless, and alive—but here, in this room, I felt only the tightening stillness of control.

She had made her move.

And now it was my turn.

“Report,” I said without turning.

Dominic, my second, stepped forward from the shadows, silent as ever. He blended into the dark like he was born for it. “She’s been digging,” he said. “Deep. Court records, surveillance footage, chatter on the docks. She's talked to the medical examiner and filed two private subpoenas—quiet ones.”

“Good,” I said, finally taking a sip of scotch. It burned down my throat like gasoline. “I want her smart. I want her hungry.”

“She’s spiraling,” he added. “Hasn’t been sleeping. Drinking alone. She’s… unraveling. But focused.”

I closed my eyes briefly. Unraveling. The word stirred something primal in me.

Ava wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t bought. Wasn’t scared. She had no debts I could call in, no skeletons I could shake loose—just that rigid moral compass she clung to like it would save her.

And I wanted to break it. Bend it. Not just to win—but to see what lived underneath that mask of justice once it cracked.

This wasn’t about guilt or innocence. She’d already accepted that much. She knew I wasn’t clean. But just clean enough for her to tell herself the lie she needed to sleep at night.

I would give her that lie. Dress it up in court documents and technicalities. Feed her just enough truth to let her build the defense. Make her believe she was still doing her job.

And while she played the law—I’d play her.

Because now, she was mine to mold.

I moved to the fireplace and stared into the low flames. “How many hours did she spend on the file last night?”

“Nine,” Luca answered. “She paused at the March 18th report. Read it three times.”

That made me smile again. That report was a seed. A carefully curated half-truth buried in the middle of chaos. Just enough to cast doubt.

“She’s looking for a crack in the glass,” I said, more to myself than to him. “Good. Let her find it.”

A long silence stretched between us. Rain tapped the windows harder. I knew Dom was waiting for the next order. The next piece of this game.

“Has she gone back to the hospital?” I asked.

“No. She hasn’t visited her father’s grave either.”

I nodded. She was isolating. Trying to think clearly. Trying to get ahead.

But she was already behind.

“Start the next phase,” I said. “Have Tomas intercept the old court transcripts she’s looking for. Delay them two days. In the meantime, leak her name to the press—but keep it low-tier. Online rumor forums. Something easy to deny.”

Luca tilted his head. “You want her exposed?”

“I want her cornered,” I replied, turning to face him fully now. “Just enough heat to make her uncomfortable. Not enough to burn her. Yet.”

Because when she gets desperate, she’ll come to me. For answers. For cover. For comfort.

And I’ll give it to her.

Every time she comes to me, I’ll give her just enough.

And I’ll take more in return.

Ava Rivera was a slow burn. A woman who didn’t flinch at blood, but unraveled when something internal shifted. She fought herself harder than she fought anyone else—and I admired that. I wanted to watch it.

Hell, I wanted to own it.

This was more than strategy. More than chess.

This was obsession.

Not the kind that screamed. The kind that stalked in silence. That watched and waited. That sank into your bones like a drug and made everything else irrelevant.

I didn’t care about the courts. Not really.

I wanted her.

Her voice. Her mind. Her fury.

Her mouth, tight with defiance one minute and trembling the next.

I wanted to watch her fall apart—just for me.

And when she finally realized how far she’d gone, I wanted to be the only one she could turn to.

“I’ll be at the penthouse tomorrow,” I told Luca. “Have her meet me there. Off the books. No press. No team.”

“She’ll resist.”

“She’ll come,” I said simply. “She’s in, remember? And now she needs more—answers, leverage, protection.”

Or maybe… just me.

Dom didn’t argue. He never did. He nodded once and disappeared back into the dark.

I stood there alone, staring down at the fire.

She had called.

She had chosen this.

And now, the next move was mine.