Whispers of Obsession; Innocent. Obedient. His.

I followed him silently, my eyes boring into the back of his head. This man was no driver, he was something I couldn’t explain. I had never seen anyone except my mother make Mrs. Ivanoski act so humbled.He paused and turned slowly.Behind those dark glasses was the same cold look. He tilted his head slightly down, his gaze fixed on my bruised ankle while I still wore my ballet shoes beneath the pretty dress.“What?” I asked, subconsciously hiding my bruised ankle behind my other leg.He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the passenger seat and opened the door, waiting.I hesitated.With a tired sigh, I walked to the seat and reached for the door to close it, but instead, he gently removed my fingers from it. Not rough, just careful, like I was some fragile thing that could break in a second.I followed him with my eyes until he finally sat in the driver’s seat, adjusting the rearview mirror.Throughout the car ride, there was pure silence. Not the kind I found comforting whenever m

Sebastien walked closer, his face as cold as ever, though I noticed a bit of warmth in his eyes. He leaned over and held my foot again.I tried protesting once more, but a warning glance from him made me change my mind.He inspected my ankle like it was a project, his touch contrasting sharply with his personality. His long fingers trailed gently around the swelling.“Not as noticeable as before,” he murmured, bringing out the ointment. “Hold still.”He instructed quietly and rubbed the ointment onto my swollen ankle. His touch wasn’t… the normal aid type. It was different in a way I didn’t understand.His dark eyes pierced into mine.This time, I didn’t see the Uncle Sebastien I once knew as my father’s friend. I saw a completely different man.And the thought of him being my mother’s husband made my blood boil.“Let go,” I whimpered softly, trying to pull my foot away from him. “Betrayer… fake…”I muttered bitterly, “Fake friend. Marrying your own friend’s wife.”“Ex-wife,” he corre

My eyes widened instantly. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.Mother really wanted him to decide my punishment?“W-what? Him?” I blinked repeatedly. “You’re going to let him do it? You?”I stared at her, still struggling to believe she would so easily allow Sebastien to decide my punishment. She never even gave Dad the chance to punish me before. She always called him weak and insisted she was the only person capable of straightening me out.“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear what I just said.”Sebastien didn’t budge. His long fingers remained wrapped around the coffee mug as he took another slow sip, his eyes fixed on mine. There was something challenging in that stare.Mom stood up and grabbed a serviette, wiping her lips slowly.“I’m giving him the honor of deciding your punishment as your new father.”I tightened my grip around the fork, the metal pressing painfully into my palm unintentionally. My palm began to flush red because of it.Sebastien lowered his mug steadily, his hand li

My eyes sparkled slightly at the sight of the warm color. The color I was forbidden to like, to have, to touch, and to own, for no obvious reason.Now, it sat in front of me mockingly. A perfect contrast to the dark desk it lay on.“Why?” I muttered, staring at the journal.The inner child in me squealed at the sight of it. It was medium-sized and delicate, with details for the days of the week, weather, date, and more on each page.I gulped down my saliva, wondering why he gave this to me and what exactly I was supposed to do with a book.“Your punishment begins with that.” His dark eyes studied my expression and the way my fingers flickered through each page softly.I frowned slightly, confusion masking my stressed face. “My punishment is a book?”Saying it aloud sounded stupid and funny. I had expected worse. I had expected him to yell at me, to punish me in the ways I had always recognized. But him giving me a book was not what I had in mind.Not just a book.A pink journal.“Is t

I scribbled aggressively across the pages, my handwriting turning messier with each line.‘I hate him.’I repeated the words several times on each page, bitterly, until I got tired. I stopped and took in a deep breath. The silence in the room filled my ears. The only things I could hear were the beating of my heart and the deep exhales leaving my lips.I stared at the journal, looking at every imprint I had made on the pages. The sour scent of sweat clung to me, mixed with tears I hadn’t even realized had escaped my eyes without crying.My hands shook at every thought running through my head as realization hit me harder. He had been watching my every move, every reaction, the anger strained across my features, even the sweat and tears that had fallen abruptly.He leaned down slightly, pulled open one of the desk drawers in front of him, and brought out a box of wipes. He dropped them smoothly onto the desk, examining me once more. He didn’t point out the aggression in the journal, nei