All Chapters of Bad boy's obsession : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Ethan POVThe hall didn’t look like a place meant for grief.It was too polished.Too arranged.Too… intentional.Rows of chairs stretched across the floor, lined with careful precision. White cloth draped over each one like someone had tried to soften the reality of what this was. At the front, a long table stood beneath dimmed lights, covered in candles that flickered quietly, their flames steady despite the weight in the air.And at the center—A picture.Framed.Smiling.Frozen in a moment that no longer existed.Ethan stood near the back, arms loosely crossed, shoulder resting against the wall. He hadn’t planned to come.Didn’t really care for things like this.Memorials always felt… performative.Like people gathered to prove they felt something, whether they did or not.But this—This wasn’t about grief.Not entirely.It was about answers.Or rather—The lack of them.Voices filled the room in low murmurs. Not loud enough to be disrespectful. Not quiet enough to be sincere.“Th

Mason’s POV Night didn’t fall gently. It never did. It crept in like something unwelcome—slow, deliberate, swallowing the last traces of daylight until the world felt quieter than it should. Mason stood by the window, unmoving. The city stretched beneath him in scattered lights and distant noise, but up here It didn’t reach. Nothing did. That was the point. His fingers rested lightly against the glass, not pressing, not tense. Just… there. Still. Controlled. Always controlled. But his thoughts They weren’t. She went back. The words hadn’t been spoken out loud. They didn’t need to be. They lingered anyway, heavy in the silence of the room. Because it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a guess. It was fact. Belle had gone back to the one place she was never supposed to return to. And somehow That changed everything. Mason’s jaw tightened slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice. But enough. Because that place— It wasn’t just a cemete

Belle’s POVThe note didn’t move.I don’t know why I expected it to.Maybe because everything else had stopped making sense.Maybe because a part of me still believed this would unravel if I looked at it long enough—like the words would shift, rearrange, turn into something harmless.They didn’t.Stop digging.Two words. Simple. Clear.Deliberate.I read them again.And again.Each time, they felt heavier. Not louder. Not sharper. Just… heavier. Like they were settling deeper into the room. Into me.My fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.“Digging into what?” I whispered.The question didn’t sound like mine.It sounded small. Uncertain.Like I already knew the answer and didn’t want to say it out loud.My eyes moved slowly to the diary.It hadn’t changed.Not at first glance.Still open. Still quiet. Still pretending to be nothing more than ink and paper.But that wasn’t true anymore.It hadn’t been true for a while.I placed the note down carefully. Not because I was calm—

Belle’s POVThe room didn’t go back to normal.That was the first thing I noticed.Not the silence.Not the cold.Not even the fact that I was still staring at a window that had just swallowed someone I thought was dead.No—It was the absence of normal.Like something had been disturbed too deeply to settle again.I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting against the sheets, fingers slightly curled like I was holding onto something invisible.Maybe I was.Maybe I had been this whole time.My eyes drifted slowly to the window again.Closed now.Still.Nothing there.No sign he had ever been.No sound.No movement.No proof.Except—My chest tightened.I could still hear his voice.Clear.Close.You still shiver.My arms pulled in slightly again, instinctively.That small, automatic reaction made my stomach twist.Because he had known that.Not guessed.Not assumed.Known.“Luke…” I whispered, the name softer this time.He hadn’t denied it.He hadn’t corrected me.And that—That m

Belle’s POVI shouldn’t have pressed play again.I knew that.The first time had been enough to prove it wasn’t just music. Enough to prove something was hidden inside it—something deliberate. Something meant.But knowing that didn’t stop me.It made it worse.Because now I couldn’t not hear it.My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second.Then—I pressed play.The sound slid back into my ears, soft at first, almost normal. A melody I used to know. A melody that used to mean something simple.Now it felt layered.Too layered.Like there were things sitting underneath it, buried just out of reach.I leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table, eyes locked on the diary. My fingers hovered above the page again—but this time, they didn’t hesitate.They followed.Left.Pause.Curve.Drop.Rise.The rhythm matched.Not perfectly.Not obviously.But enough.My breathing slowed, syncing with the pattern as I traced it again, more carefully this time. I wasn’t just listeni