Sentence Of Obsession の小説・ストーリー

His arm wrapped around my waist, “I work better when I know exactly where you are and what you’re doing.” The dark possession in his voice spread warmth through my chest like honey. I was so fucked. In every sense of the word. “That sounds obsessive,” I said. “It is.” He pressed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply. “Everything about you makes me obsessive. I used to be able to focus for hours. Now I can’t go twenty minutes without wondering what you’re doing. If you’re comfortable. If you need something. It’s fucking maddening.” “Poor you,” I said, but I was smiling. “Sounds terrible. The big bad mafia boss, brought to his knees by a pregnant woman who can’t stop eating pickles dipped in

“He's a psychopath.” “That might actually help their argument.” I stared at him. “What does that mean?” Lucas shifted his weight slightly. “They're going to claim he has an obsessive disorder.” My stomach tightened. “Obsessive with what?” Lucas didn't answer right away. I already knew. “Mia.” I said quietly. “They're building a case that his actions were driven by psychological fixation. That's enough to set him free from any repercussions that would require jail time, I'm sorry.”

HUSBAND. He smiled sadly. She didn't want to acknowledge their marriage but didn't react. He was tired of always reacting to every little thing. If he was to win her back, he had to start with always controlling his temper especially around her. ‍​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‍Book From Passion to Obsession, chapter Chapter 43, page 1 read online

“If you're absolutely right, I'm a committed man, I shouldn't be doing this, don't worry about money, you don't owe me anything, feel at home” Andy runs out of there, he felt ashamed, he was violating all his values, he was against anything that disrespected a relationship, a marriage, or any belief, he was very correct. But Camille aroused all kinds of bad thoughts in him, and when he became obsessed with something, there was nothing to get it out of his head, and that was what he was feeling for Camille, an obsession.

"And you really look like someone who likes dark lyrics.” I gave an innocent smile, hiding in the background any characteristic of that little monster that lurking underneath.” "What's so dark about a woman who says she's crazy about someone?” "Nothing that is good comes from someone who is obsessed with someone else," he scored wisely. "You're right," I replied, arching an eyebrow. "Obsession always ends in a tragic way.

“You really think your little love for Cameron will save you?” My chest tightened at the mention of his name. “No. It doesn’t save me. But it gives me reason. Reason to survive. Reason to get back up, even when I can barely move. Reason to make sure you regret this.” “You’re obsessed,” he muttered, shaking his head like it explained everything. “Obsession will get you killed.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Then maybe I deserve it. But at least I’m not the one hurting someone else to feel powerful.”

"Some people let their actions speak louder than words." Layla's smile tightened, the sweetness turning brittle, like spun sugar about to shatter. She could feel Johnny's gaze on her now, heavy and assessing. He!nished his drink in one smooth swallow, the ice clinking softly against the glass, the only sound in the sudden, charged silence. He placed a few bills onthe bar, then stood, allowing Layla to loop her arm possessively through his. He looked at Alli one last time—a long, smoldering gaze that felt like aphysical touch, undressing her more thoroughly than any hands could—before turning and leading Layla toward the door.

He wasn’t punishing her for Isabella’s choices; he was seeing Isabella in her, and he wanted to recapture that lost connection, to possess the living embodiment of his deepest regret. He wanted to mold her into his partner, his weapon, his queen. The words from the outline she’d only just glimpsed in her own mind when planning the novel now resonated with terrifying clarity. He wasn't just breaking her; he was remaking her. And the profound, unsettling realization settled over Amara: Dante Moretti’s obsession, born of a past he couldn't let go of, was now deepening, dangerously unstable, and irrevocably focused on her. She was not just a pawn in a game; she was the central piece, the one he