Fading Obsession Novels & Stories

************** The evening was shrouded in dark lights as Marco and his goons approached Santiago's house. As they entered the house, Marco's eyes fell upon Santiago, a broken figure standing before him. The scent of fear clung to the air, mingling with the weight of desperation. The room was stifling, suffocated by the oppressive tension that hung in the air. Elena's father stood trembling before the imposing figure of Marco Moretti, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His voice wavered as he spoke, each word carrying the weight of his desperation. "P-please, Mr Marco," he stammered, "I beg you for mercy. I... I need more time to find the money. My family..."

My throat closed as if invisible hands were strangling me. I clawed at my neck, gasping for breath. Franny turned away, disappearing into the sea of people. My smartwatch vibrated—warnings flashing. Heart rate spiking. Blood pressure unstable. The distant hum of voices faded into nothing. The last thing I saw was the stark white of the mall floor rushing up to meet me before everything went black.

Fantasizing about fucking every inch of her, stretching her tight little holes, making her take my cock while she moaned my name like a prayer. Oh yeah. This was fucking dangerous. My jaw tightened. Fucking hell. She was an addiction, a drug-like obsession. And I have never been the type to get addicted to anything. Never been the type to care about anything. I didn’t care about her… not really. But I wanted her. And every time I saw her, that craving only fucking grew. There are two things you do with an unhealthy obsession: You either kill it or stay the hell away until it fades.

Obsession doesn’t announce itself with sirens. It seeps in quietly, like water under a locked door, until the floor you stand on warps and bends beneath you. For Rose, it began with little things. A text at odd hours, not of endearment but of command. Don’t go in tonight. Meet me instead. Wear the black dress.

It never ends well. Obsession is lethal. It creeps in quietly, wrapping itself around you like comfort, but it suffocates in the end. It erases who you were and replaces it with hunger. If I stay, the person I am will disappear, replaced by someone who longs for a violent man, a sadistic killer. Obsession has never been a good trait, and this one terrifies me more than he ever could. More than what happened earlier tonight. Being locked in that office was horrifying, but this is worse. This feels like addiction, deep and consuming.

It’s a shadow I can’t escape, no matter how fast I walk, no matter how far I go. And as I walk down the sidewalk, I feel the undeniable weight of something dark pressing against me. The kind of dark that doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. Watches. Waits. And I know, with a certainty I can't shake, that whatever this is—whatever has started—it’s only just begun. Alessandro's POV

Sarah said and Emma nodded. "I know Sarah but I can't fall into the risk of getting pregnant especially by him! No way Sarah. Don't worry everything's going to be fine. I just want him to set his eyes on someone else and then he might forget me" Emma could only hope but she was clearly wrong as she was his passion. His obsession. His drug and his will to live. Without her in his life, Damien wouldn't be able to bear it and might hurt everyone around him.

If his cousins could see him now, they’d probably be laughing at him for being so weak. Colton didn’t know why he was feeling what he was feeling. It was like he was on drugs and he felt the withdrawal of not being with her. Being with her made him feel alive like nothing else ever could. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was her. One could even say that he was obsessed.

Instead, it had turned waiting into its own quiet affliction, and I had never been a man who counted time this way, not for a person, not for anticipation that lived too close to hope. And yet by Thursday, I could have told you exactly how many candles had burned down in the side chapel since she left, the numbers of masses I had stood through without seeing her in the third pew on the right. How many times my gaze had moved to the church doors before I'd caught myself. I had become observant in all the wrong directions, and I knew, better than most, that observation left unchecked was only ever the first step toward something worse. (Obsession)That was the word I refused to use — even in si