Tangled Obsession

Palmer’s POVA chilling sensation crept down my spine. I froze my eyes locked onto the familiar face of the news anchor and the head line displayed on the television screen.This could not be real, this could not be happening."Greenwood Electronics has declared bankruptcy. Legal troubles are mounting as the chairman and CEO, Mr. Richard Greenwood, faces accusations of fraud and embezzlement." The announcer said, his voice is cold, almost gleeful as if he was enjoying the downfall of someone he has never met.My heart pounds in my ears. My father? I watched in horror as a picture of my father, with his familiar warm smile that I was all too familiar with displayed on the screen.My eyes nor ears were not playing tricks on me, this was really happening."Palmer, is that… is that your father?" Claire asked, her voice breaking through my panicked state.I had no idea how to reply, everything felt fuzzy, it felt like the world was closing in on me. I could not breathe.Everything felt t

Palmer's POV For a second I forgot how to breathe, it felt like the world stopped. I could not believe my ears.My brain seemed to be failing me as I was struggling to process what Claire said.“What?”“He was found dead in his apartment, he was electrocuted in his bathtub.” she cried out, her words barely audible.And just then for the first time since our wedding night Arrow walked into the house. As soon as our eyes met I knew. I knew he was behind it.I was married to a killer, he had threatened to kill him and he did.I cut off the call and approached him.“Why? Why did you do that?” I asked, tears streaming down my eyes.“Do what?” He asked, giving me a nonchalant look.“Why do you kill him?” I asked, slamming my hands on his chest.“I don't know who you are talking about.” He said, but the coy smile on his lips said another.He was mocking me, he found my pain amusing. He was a psychopath.“You are insane, he was innocent. We broke up.” I cried as the realisation of Christians

Palmer’s POVThe coffee shop still smelled like cinnamon and burnt caramel when I walked back in the next morning, as if the air itself remembered the moment my hand had brushed his. I told myself it was ridiculous — a dangerous, ridiculous thing to be thinking about — and yet my fingers kept going to my phone as if searching for a message that might as well have been a lifeline.He was there, of course. The same easy posture, the same careless smile that felt like punctuation at the end of a sentence. He looked up and that smile widened, like he’d been waiting for me to return.“Palmer.” He said my name like it was something sweet he’d found on a shelf and meant to keep.I didn’t know why my heart clubbed so hard when he said it. “I thought maybe I should apologize for spilling coffee on your shirt,” I said, because small talk was a safe place to start. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted.He laughed softly, and the sound tugged at something inside me that had been bruised and un

Palmer POVThe days after my father’s surgery passed in a blur. The doctors said the operation had been successful, but they also warned me he was still fragile. He would need time, medication, and constant care.I should have felt relief. I should have felt gratitude. Instead, I felt empty.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Arrow’s face hovering over mine, his voice echoing like a curse: “You will learn, Palmer. You belong to me.”I hated him.And yet, I was tied to him—more tightly than ever.The night of the surgery, I lay in the cold expanse of our bed while Arrow slept peacefully beside me, his hand sprawled across my waist like a brand. My body was there, but my mind was screaming. I had given him everything he wanted, and in return, he had given me the funds to save my father. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even marriage. It was a transaction.And I had paid the price.I avoided him as much as I could in the days that followed. When he was home, I stayed silent, moving through the

Palmer’s POVThere is a peculiar shame that settles over you when the person you once trusted becomes the architect of your fear. It’s quieter than anger and heavier than grief — a slow sediment that layers itself under your ribs until you forget what it feels like to breathe without pressure.I found myself living inside that shame.Days blurred into a string of small, awful routines: waking to Arrow’s measured steps, answering to his schedules, smiling at functions as if my lips could convince the world I was intact. At night I replayed the memory of Christian’s laugh until it faded into static. I clung to the card in my wallet like contraband, like a private map to another life. Andrew’s name on paper felt safer than his voice in my head; it was a talisman I refused to lose.But talismans don’t always protect you from the obvious. They only make the danger more bearable.On a Wednesday morning I found a bruise on my hip. Small, a faded crescent the color of old wine. I didn’t remem