The Gift of Obsession

Home feels far while Noah’s coat hangs heavy on me. Not wanting to step out from under it. Its thick fabric holds traces of him - smell, weight, quiet strength. That moment replays: his words slicing through Vivian Sumall like frost over glass. Not protection alone - he spoke and everything shifted. In that crowd, he changed how they saw me. Just like that. Now it's different. Quality defines me, not hunger.

A flicker glows inside me - soft, yet sharp enough to burn. It sits there, quiet but ready.

Outside the window, shadows slide past as he stays quiet. Across from me, his face cuts sharp lines in the flickering glow of street lamps rushing by. His palms rest flat on his thighs, unmoving. A heat hums off him, steady, watchful, tight. At the stop, he guides me out with pressure beneath my arm. That grip holds, unbroken, all the way through the tall front doors.

That is when he freezes. Facing me now, his gaze moves across my features, lit only by the faint glow from the wall fixtures near the door. Could you have been hurt? That seems to be what he wonders

What matters is not the ripped fabric. Humiliation does. Shock follows close behind.

I give a small nod, pulling his coat closer around me. Because of you, I say it out loud

A twitch runs through his jaw. This won’t repeat. Just that. A promise made quiet. Hesitation lingers - he might speak, but doesn’t. Eyes fall to the coat on my shoulders, his, now mine, warm with meaning. After a breath, one quick nod cuts the moment short. Rest is what he says I should do

Off he goes, footsteps heading again to his study, while I stay rooted, wrapped up in what just happened between us.

A quiet calm wraps around me, lasting through two full days. That kiss lingers - not just as ache or excitement, yet something firmer has taken hold beneath it: trust in his watchfulness. Regret might color his thoughts, maybe even name it an error, still - any threat to me would burn under his fire. Emotions twist together here, tangled, deep, far from simple.

Of course Beatrice shows up. Word of the trouble reached her ears.

“How dreadful for you, my dear,” she clucks, sympathy in her warm eyes. “Vivian always was unsubtle. But for the Duke to react so… forcefully.” She sips her tea, a thoughtful line between her brows. “It does make one a target, you know. Such obvious favor. It stokes the fires of envy. Be careful.”

A single phrase settles inside me, slowly coloring what felt certain. Could safety be hiding risk instead? That idea does not stay long. His anger feels kinder than her small, sharp jabs.

The third night comes around. Dinner is just me, sitting by myself. The food arrives carried in by Mrs. Greyson. Her lips are pressed flat. She says there’s a package. Delivered straight to the door. Left it right there on the tray

A velvet box rests near the soup, tiny and quiet. No label, no note - just smooth fabric inside. Tired as I am, a spark of wonder shows up anyway. Could be Noah’s doing. Maybe an apology. Or maybe not.

Only when she steps out do I lift the lid. It stays shut till her footsteps fade down the hall.

A soft click gives way to deep blue within. Silence follows as the door settles into place.

A small locket sits right in the middle.

Shape like an egg, detailed carvings cover its surface, built from dull silver. Feels ancient, solid in hand. Nothing he would ever choose. A chill runs down my back.

Out comes the object. Warm to touch, like someone just let go. The catch meets my thumb. Pressed now.

A tiny click, then it swings apart.

A shape appears inside, to the left - small, colored in careful strokes. Brown hair falls softly around her face, eyes calm. Not someone I know. My breathing stops short. Could it be Lillian?

Over there, my eyes move toward the right. The edge catches sight first. That direction pulls attention now. Rightward, everything comes into view slowly.

Curled up inside sits a strand of hair, held down by a clear glass cover.

That red tangle looks just like mine. Not close - identical. Same wild twist, strand for strand.

It’s my hair.

A shudder runs through my body, sudden and sharp. My fingers press against my temple. At what moment did it happen? Could it have been while I lay still in bed? Or maybe out on the path between trees? This feeling sticks, moves across me like something with too many legs. He got near - close enough to reach in. Took without asking. Left with part of what was mine.

This stands not as a present. Rather, it marks victory. It declares ownership. It holds a future kept.

Christian.

Quiet gave way to a cold dread, sharp as glass under skin. Not the sting of words thrown in courtrooms, but older, darker. A hunger grown crooked in silence. Less about deals undone, more about lines crossed long ago. His anger wears my name now.

The locket snaps closed with a force that shakes my hands. It takes three tries to drop it into the box, my grip unsteady. That small container gets pushed across the table like it burned me. Food tastes wrong now, sour in my mouth. Shadows stretch without permission as I stay seated. Something unseen presses against the edges of the room. A memory of cut hair crawls over my skin, light but heavy at once.

Darkness settles in slow. Noah stays late with the king’s advisors, out of reach till dawn. Hours crawl forward, empty. My eyes fix on the box by the bed - small, dark, watching. Sleep never comes close. That thing sits there, breathing silence.

---

Downstairs at breakfast, my eyes are sunken, nerves on edge. The boy named Noah sits in the little eating room, paper spread out before him. When I come in, he lifts his head. His gaze sharpens fast - like he knows. What shows on my face? Fear. Nothing hidden there.

He puts the paper aside. "What's that?" he says.

My voice is gone. Slowly, I move toward the sideboard instead. The small velvet case rests there. Without a word, I take it in my hands. It travels across the room with me. Then comes rest on the table - right next to where he eats.

A door creaks open. Inside, a small locket rests on velvet. Not a muscle moves on his face, yet everything feels frozen. Slowly, he lifts it by the chain. The tiny hinge clicks when pried apart. There's a painted face inside. Then strands - fine, pale - a piece of someone remembered.

A hush sits heavy, like stone pressed into the air. His expression holds nothing now of that evening when he stood by me. The fire behind his eyes during the moment our lips met - vanished. Over him spreads a stillness older than memory, sharp and without warmth.

The locket shuts - soft click. His eyes stay away from mine. That box? He stares like it holds something rotten, something better left buried.

He speaks so softly it almost vanishes into air. "Alex," comes out like a whisper barely held together.

Captain Starwood steps into the frame of the door like sound pulled him there. “Your Grace?” he says

Alex reaches for the box Noah offers. Inside, something shifts his expression - suddenly cold, like stone settling over skin.

“Find him,” Noah says. The words are flat, devoid of all emotion. “Tonight. I don’t care where he is. I don’t care who he’s with. Find him. And when you do, send for me.”

Alex gives a small nod, eyes meeting just long enough to say everything. Off he goes, door clicking shut behind him, fingers curled around the box.

Frozen light fills his stare when our glances meet at last. Breakfast waits on the table, he murmurs, tone softer than expected. Night will close everything down

Later, he vanishes completely. A hush wraps around the house, thick like smoke after a fire. Reading brings nothing - pages blur into shapes. Walking helps less, each step echoing too loud. Nothing holds still inside me. That small chain, that metal shape - it stays fixed, bright and sharp, wherever I look.

Far past midnight, footsteps of a horse drift from the barn. After that, nothing moves.

---

Light creeps in, carrying word before sunrise - quiet, not loud, slipping past kitchen staff, moving toward the center where doors stay closed.

I hear it from Liza, her face pale as she helps me dress. “They say Lord Christian Zephry was set upon by highwaymen on the north road, miss. Terrible luck. He was beaten quite badly. His carriage was robbed. All his money, his papers… gone. The debt collectors are already at his townhouse, they say. He’s ruined.”

Her voice carries that stunned hush, like when news hits too hard to process right away.

A shiver locks me in place, cold rushing through every part of me. Bandits on the northern route. Left broken. Everything lost.

That look in Noah’s eyes - cold like midwinter light. He left without a sound, just before dawn. Tonight finishes what began then.

It wasn’t highwaymen.

A duke's rage drove it. Not protection, though he shielded my name again. This wasn’t about shame shown in daylight. Cold justice, not spectacle, marked his move.

Darkness was where he found Christian. Shattered him there. A strand of my hair had been taken. That theft sparked it. The intrusion cut deep. Fear showed in how I looked at him. That look sealed his fate.

A cold tremor runs through me - fear mixes with a strange clarity. Not just fear though. Something deeper takes hold. I see it now, how far he's willing to push. That moment wasn’t about passion in some quiet room. Crossing that boundary changed everything.

A long way down that path, night held everything tight. Knuckles cracked, metal flashed cold. Everything broke apart without warning.