The Heir's Secret Obsession

Copyright © 2020 by M.Z. Mauve

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

Scenes, characters, dialogues and events in this story are all invented. This story contains mature themes, profanity, violence, and sexual content not intended for young readers. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this story or plagiarism of any kind is prohibited by the law.  

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE PHOTOS INCLUDED IN THIS BOOK AND ON THE COVER. FULL CREDITS TO THE OWNERS. 

P.S.  Thank you for giving this a read! This is a rewrite of my first crime/romance/vampire story now written in 1st person POV here on Goodnovel. 

Sit tight and enjoy!  ❤

. . .  E X C E R P T . . . 

◇ KEL ◇

It took me a while, but I finally figured it out. White mists came out of my nose and mouth, the dimness amplifying my dark imagination. The sky stayed black and unhelpful as my breathing grew shallow.  

"Miles?" I wrapped my arms around myself and peered around the grass-covered space.  My skin just hated the bitingly cold horror-movie ambience of this place.

To my utter confusion and horror, the paths diverged into more mazes.

Darn. This thing didn't end!   Did anyone see me walking into this labyrinth?  The security staff? Or one of the maids?  

Moonlight was sparse in this side of the lot. Shadowed hedges towered over me by at least four feet. How did I even end up trapped in this creepy old maze? I was just trying to find him. 

Miles and his older cousin must be hanging out somewhere in this backyard, which could be the size of an entire football field.

"Miles?" I called out. An old sweater covered half of my poor excuse of a nightgown as the wind tousled my hair, keeping my cold hands pressed on my neck.

Drats! Where's a flashlight when you badly needed one? Of course I stupidly forgot my phone in the guest room.

Forcing my numbing feet to move was getting difficult. Anxiety and a hyperactive imagination?  Worst combination ever.  Now I was trapped in the most complicated, suffocating pathway made of unnaturally tall hedges in the middle of the Falcos' huge yard.

Why did I even think he'd be out here? At this hour?  

Stupid!

My attention flitted from one path to the next.  The path on the right seemed to form a curve. The darkness was messing with my concentration, only giving me more goosebumps.

Two steps backward, my arms bumped into another thick hedge.  Leaves and stems rustled against my body.  The nippy breeze whistled. 

Dang it!  Why did it have to be this cold tonight?  This place just gave me major creeps. 

When something nearby made loud crackling noises, like that of dry stalks being stomped on,  the hairs on my nape stood up.  "Please be Miles. Please be Miles..." 

Footsteps crushed twigs and shrubbery. Fast approaching. The scary thing about it? I couldn't tell if they were human or not. 

I covered my mouth.  All I could do was shut my eyes and recite prayers under my breath... Pray I wasn't about to be savaged and eaten by wild wolves out here.

Cold, trembling in fear, I sat on the dry ground, succumbing to the darkness. 

"Mykaela, why are you out here?"

 . . . 

1 | The Pain of Rejection

Milan

◇ KEL ◇

Today wouldn't be any different.

This wouldn't be another one of those days. I prepared for this, prepared my brain for instances like this.

My breaths were turning shallow and quick. But I was in control.  Everything would be okay. I'd make it out of here easily—like everyone else—calm and in an orderly fashion.

I repeated the hopeful words in my head while focusing on the wide mirror in front of me.  "You're fine. Keep it together. You're in public. You've done your job...had a good run. Time to go home."  I pushed stubborn strands of hair away from my cheeks, ignoring the anxiety welling up in my eyes.

My hand clasped the edge of the cold sink as I tried to stop the voices. They weren't exactly voices, though. More like, unwanted thoughts that threaten my sanity. My lips wrinkled into a frustrated frown as my paper-white reflection stared back at me.

The wipes my fingers crumpled dampened my skin with a coolness my dazed senses could barely register. I rubbed the foundation off my face.  Then the swift, repetitive strokes started to chafe some color on my cheeks.

Two opening shows yesterday. One closing this afternoon. All went well. Typical work day—round-the-clock schedule, consecutive shows, nonstop changing and dressing up. My feet and back were killing me, but at least I didn't trip or fall off the catwalk.

It was my routine, including the work days I had to get up at 5AM to travel to the city for castings and fittings.  If I had other options, I'd quit in a heartbeat and find an easier job. But that wouldn't pay off my family's bank loans and credit card bills, would it?

As I leaned against the cold sink, a massive headache weakening my muscles started to bleed my patience dry. 

If this wasn't an escalating anxiety attack, then why did I feel like passing out on the floor right now?

"Because you're weak... Always been, always will be... You're nothing but a stupid, gullible, pathetic wannabe..."

◇

"Greetings, Ms. Nielsen.

We have received your application letter and regret to inform you that your application has been disqualified due to inconsistencies we have observed on your personal information sheet. We also failed to verify the birth records you have attached to your application files.

UCMLE's scholarship committee reserves the right to reject an application if false information has been provided. Scholarship grants awarded by UCMLE's committee are limited and are on a first come, first serve basis.

Providing false or incomplete information on the application forms will immediately result in the applicant's disqualification. Charges of larceny and forgery may also be filed against applicants who knowingly provided false details in the scholarship application forms.

UCMLE SC Head Office"

◇

It might've taken three re-reads and an hour before my shock lessened to a manageable degree, only to let the disappointment and reality sink in.

Dropping the impeccably folded paper on my lap, I hunched over on the toilet seat cover. 

I didn't open the letter until I was sure I would no longer have to face any of my employers or agents today. 

The letter had to wait. I put it off all night. All morning. Sadly, it was just another rejection.

All I had hoped for, since those weeks of prepping the vexing amount of scholarship requirements, until today, was to be given a chance—a chance to join the list of scholarship awardees, and a chance to make my academic goals a reality this year.

UCMLE, a prestigious international school known to support local and foreign undergrads, provided medical scholarship programs to those who qualified and met their exigent criteria. I'd been waiting patiently for months. Long, tiring, anxious months.

I expected a positive response. However, fate seemed to have a different plan for me and my future.

Modeling was a temporary thing.  Just a means to support myself financially for now. Not getting any younger and a lifelong career in the modeling industry? Moving to the North Pole would be less impossible.

A bachelor's degree in the medical field remained my ultimate goal.  But it seemed the odds weren't in my favor.

Not yet, perhaps. I'd try again, but that would mean I was out-and-out desperate. Maybe I should just go home? Try my luck in other colleges?

That would mean I had to take weeks off work, though. It would cost me good money. Although my parents would be glad to help out, I couldn't ask them for help. They had enough bills to worry about.

Money was becoming an issue again. My dad was in and out of the hospital, battling respiratory complications his illness had once again triggered. I sighed and composed a short prayer in my head.

God willing, my dad's condition would improve. Rather unlikely, but we still prayed for it despite this fourth hospitalization. 

I shut my eyes tight, my palms covering my face.  Before I could finish a prayer in my head, my phone's shrill noises broke off my thoughts.

◇

"Mykaela? Hey. Kel?"

The familiar female voice relaxed my clenched fist and lulled my thoughts.  But the oddly painful sensation in my gut told me it wasn't going away anytime soon. I should be used to this type of rejection by now, given the nature of my current job.  Yet the tightness in my chest wouldn't go away.  

"Yeah?" I switched to speaker mode. It was my sister, Jill, calling to check up on me all of a sudden. I didn't want any more family drama, so I took her call without hesitating.

"Still at the show? Sorry. Really wanted to be there but the hubs had to fly out."

"It's fine." I zipped up my coat until it totally covered my shirt.

"You sound weird. Eat breakfast and lunch yet?" Jill asked over the line, probably worrying about my weight again.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I used a more pleasant tone to cover up my lie. My voice didn't falter, thankfully. I put the call on the background to check for unread messages.  

Wait—

It was way past lunch. Miles could be around the area.  I should text him now.

"Sure?" my sister asked. "What'd you eat? Don't say eggs again."

"Yeah. Precisely." I took a deep breath, pretending my rapid heartbeat didn't bother me. "How's Baby Meesha?"

"Always sleeping when not hungry. Mom keeps saying you're still too skinny."  Just like that, sis moved on to more pressing family issues. "She keeps Googling recent photos of you and Miles. It's hilarious."

"Ugh. Please don't tell me she saw his new posts," I droned on. I'd been praying my puritanical parents hadn't stumbled upon my roomie's latest paintings.

"Too late." Jill chucked. "Her mouth just hung open. Can't blame her, though. Your boyfriend's got mad painting skills. I mean, whoa..."  Jill giggled. "Those paintings looked so...anatomically correct."  

I sighed. She was referring to the nude paintings Miles just finished. "For the hundredth time, not my boyfriend." I scoffed. "He likes guys. Jeez... This is gettin' exhausting." Not my problem our parents didn't believe my roommate only let me live with him because I liked to clean and cook.

"Maybe he's bi. Did you even ask?" Jill teased. "Anyway, no after-parties tonight?"

"Not interested." I abstractedly stared at my retouched nails. All free. Perks of being a full-time model. Lately I just didn't have the time to pamper myself, or deal with the usual anxiety working models hid on a regular basis. I'd rather lounge in bed reading my new cardiology and pathology ebooks than spend all night partying with younger models whose last names I didn't even know.

"You're goin' out with Miles?"

"Got somethin' else planned." I checked my messages.

No reply from Miles. Was he busy hanging out with friends?

Impatience started intensifying my headache, so I decided to text him again. "Driving to the venue?  Pls wait in the parking lot," I sent twice.

He wasn't supposed to pick me up, but I just needed a friend right now. A comforting hug would be real nice, too.

"Better days ahead, K." I repeated the words in my head before stepping out of the toilet stall where I'd been hiding. I already did  some arms-above-the-head, standing yoga poses. I could barely breathe the first time I read the rejection letter.

My last panic episode months ago being the worst, I actually did some research. Turns out I had an anxiety disorder. I'd tried some self-treatment I found online, because, if I hadn't, Miles would've dragged me to a psychiatrist in a heartbeat. 

No thanks.  Seeing a shrink?  Out of the question.  My bank account said enough.

"I read somewhere that, his family's filthy rich. True?" Jill's voice drifted off to a whisper, her tone curious and a bit playful.

"They run two businesses. A hotel chain and shipping company."

"Really? Wow," Jill muttered on the other end. "By the way, Mom told me to remind you to submit another application to NYU School of Med."

Ugh. Not again...   I rolled my eyes. I'd applied into NYU years ago. So far, not even a short rejection letter to show my folks.  Hence my decision to move to another country to try working as a model here, because, apparently:  no hard cash, no medical degree.

"K, she really wants you home," my sister went on.

"Why? She knows we're real busy right now."

"She found videos of Miles drinking and partying. So, now, Mom and Dad's more convinced your roomie's bad influence."

"Fine. Tell 'em I'll make time this month."

"Great! But, seriously?"

"I'll try." I stood alone by the sink.  Well, what else was there to say?

Although I didn't appreciate the idea of another drastic change in my everyday life, I would submit another slew of scholarship applications to the medical schools in New York, just to appease my mother's worries. I sighed.

My entire savings couldn't even pay for half of my tuition should I choose to resume my studies in New York. And now my parents wanted me to quit my only job and go back to university?

After saying goodbye to Jill, I hung up. My shoulders drooped.

At a clicking sound,  my senses went on full alert again, acknowledging the complete silence around me. The bathroom looked clean.  The lights stayed bright enough, but the space was still rather small. Again, the tension  built up in my chest.

Darn those rejection letters. I should've just thrown them in the trash right away. Shouldn't have read them over and over. 

Maybe leaving New York was a bad idea. I left my family and friends just like that. And perhaps I took a huge risk for nothing.

Luck was on my side when I met Miles again. Or else I wouldn't have mustered up the will to just move away from home and make a living in a foreign country. Thanks to him and his generous parents, I was able to follow through. I could honestly say I loved my life here in Italy. 

I checked for any new texts from him, mindful of my dizzy, aching head. With cold hands, I shoved my phone back inside my satchel and headed out of the ladies' room.

It's just a short walk...  

Deep breaths...

No negative thoughts...

"You're fine. You're okay," I murmured under my breath.

I jostled my way out of the crammed lobby, politely mumbling "Excuse me" and "Sorry". My vision began to blur when a ringing in my ear intensified, drowning out the party music playing over the blaring speakers, the sounds of champagne glasses tinking, high heels click-clacking, and the loudening buzz of the conversations  around me.

Jeez. I needed to get out of here. Now.

My stomach rumbled. I drew in another deep breath, keeping up a steady pace.  I could make out the sidewalk behind the building's wide windows. There weren't as many people loitering by the entrance—20 or so.

To seem perfectly normal, I smiled at the guard who opened the door for me. "Hi." I put on a smile, which disappeared when I made it out the huge glass doors.

An array of vehicles lined either side of the sunlit street. I started my hasty strides towards the parking lot, thankful that my intakes of breath weren't as forced and noisy. Street noises echoed around while my eyes skimmed the multi-colored lines of parked cars.

My anxious search didn't last a minute. 

A tall, dark-haired guy in a familiar pair of sneakers waited beside a black sedan with his back to me, his attention on his cellphone.

My happy pill!

I wanted to call out to him, but my throat felt funny, almost compressed.

"Hey!" Miles spotted me and put his phone away, his brisk steps accompanied by dark, scrunched brows. Old paint smudged the hem of his wrinkled shirt. 

During season breaks, if he wasn't doing print jobs, Miles spent days and nights in his studio just painting and painting until he lost either inspiration or concentration.

"What's up?" he asked upon reaching my side. His brows crumpled more when he noticed I'd gone stiff as a board in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Let's go home," I managed to say without stuttering.

Miles pulled me closer to his side, then bent down to peer at my face. "Now?"

"Please." I handed him my bag, his arm tight around my back. I sped up my steps even though his ride waited a few cars away.  My fingers curled inside my pockets while I blinked away the dizziness and tears warming my tired eyes.

Crybaby. No one really likes you. You don't take anything seriously. You're a quitter! You made that conscious choice over and over. Live with it...

Ugh. Great. Ms. Pessimist was back in action, her voice gnawing against the back of my head. 

Hopefully I could just sleep it off. I held back tears as Miles and I rushed along the busy sidewalk. 

"You look like you're gonna be sick."  

"No. Just hungry," I lied, fighting the urge to cry.  I glanced at Miles when he gripped my wrist. 

"You sure?" He didn't sound convinced, probably because he could easily spot my lies.  "You wanna take something? Painkillers or..." Miles opened the passenger door for me.

"No." I looked away when he kept staring into my eyes. "Let's just go home." I kissed him.  "Please?"

◇