All Chapters of Spellbound by Obsession: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The place she chose was dark, noisy, full of beautiful people and loud music that made the floor vibrate. Colored lights blinked in a frantic rhythm, and the air smelled of sweet perfume, sweat and alcohol. It wasn’t my style — it had never been, not even when I was younger and supposedly should have liked these things — but Eloise loved it, and I didn’t have the energy to argue.We drank. First a drink with vodka, sweet and treacherous. Then a whisky that burned going down. Then another drink with vodka, and I had already lost count. The alcohol warmed my stomach, loosened my tense muscles, blurred my memories like a merciful fog. For a few hours, I wasn’t the abandoned wife. I was just a woman in a bar, in a red dress with an insistent friend.“Look at that one over there.” Eloise pointed with her chin at a man leaning against the counter, beer glass in hand. Dark hair, square jaw, light eyes. Similar to Dorian in silhouette, in posture, in the way he tilted his head. But it wasn’t

The move was an organized chaos.Boxes everywhere, some stacked to the ceiling, others open and half-empty, revealing pieces of our shared life. disassembled furniture rested against the walls like puzzles waiting to be solved, and Aggy ran between the empty rooms as if she were exploring a new world. Which, in a way, she really was.The old apartment had been cramped for two people; for three, it was simply impossible, with toys invading the living room and Dorian’s clothes occupying an improvised corner in my closet. When he suggested renting something bigger, I resisted for a moment — the instinct for independence I had cultivated for three years screaming that I didn’t need anyone to support me.Then I gave in, as I always gave in when he looked at me with those green eyes full of plans and silent promises.“Let’s renovate the old apartment,” He said, while disassembling the bed with a screwdriver, the muscles in his arms contracting under his t-shirt. “It will be extra income in

The days that followed were a discovery.Not of territory — the new apartment was already ours, the routines were already adjusting like gears that finally fit together. But of something more subtle, more precious. The discovery that we could be normal. That love didn’t need to be fiery to be true, didn’t need to hurt to be deep, didn’t need to consume everything around it to be real. For so long, I had associated love with obsession, with magic, with lack of control. Now, I was discovering that love could also be pancakes in the shape of a star and arguments about unicorns at breakfast.Breakfast was sacred.Aggy woke up early — very early — and her little footsteps echoed down the hallway to our bed. She climbed up without ceremony, scaling the mattress like a miniature mountaineer, and nestled between the two of us, her hair messy, her breath still smelling of sleep. She squeezed into the tiny space between our bodies and announced, every morning, without variation:“I’m hungry.”“

Still with her trembling from the second orgasm — that muffled moan she tried to hide in her own arm, her teeth sunk into the skin so she wouldn’t scream and wake Aggy — I spun her with a strength I didn’t even know I had. Her back hit the cold tile with a muffled thud, and her dark eyes widened, surprised, hungry, pupils dilated with pleasure and expectation.The steam rose around us, fogging the glass of the stall, turning the world outside into a blurry smear.The hot water fell between us, running down our pressed bodies, our skins sliding against each other, hot and wet.“Look at me.” I ordered, my voice coming out hoarser than I intended, loaded with a desire that bordered on madness. I held her chin with one hand, fingers firm but not brutal, forcing her to face me, while with the other hand I aligned the head of my cock at her soaked entrance. “I want to look at you while I fuck you until you lose your sanity.”“Dorian…” She was already panting, her chest rising and falling ra

In the following week, Rowan sent me a complete dossier on Lara. Pages and pages of information that I devoured in a single night.“Clara Mercer.” He read aloud, during our meeting in the cafeteria, the file open on the table. “Is that the name she uses now?”“Yes. She changed it after she ran away.” I confirmed, eyes fixed on the pages.“Why did she run away?” He asked, the pen hovering over the notepad.“Because she kidnapped my husband. Because she tried to kill him. Because she’s a criminal who escaped justice because of a flawed system.” The words came out in a rush, each accusation heavier than the last.Rowan wrote something in his notepad, his expression still neutral.“Did the police know?”“They did. But they closed the case. They said there wasn’t enough evidence.” I laughed, a bitter sound. “Evidence. As if her diary wasn’t evidence. As if the candles, the dolls, the circles of salt weren’t evidence.”“Strange.” He murmured, more to himself than to me.“Not really. She’s m