Novel & Cerita Strange Obsession

He didn’t leave; instead, he took another look and readjusted it. “Perfect,” he muttered, a bit satisfied. Then he turned to strut towards his chair and sat on the bench. “I’ll give you another warning, Dorothy.” “Don’t touch things without permission.” I swallowed hard. He could see through my lies and didn’t point it out. And whatever he had noticed stands right before him. Swiftly, he arranged his desk with calculative moves. I watched every movement. Uncle Sebastien wasn’t just a perfectionist; he loves things being in order in an obsessive manner, probably.

That if Antonio touched her, tasted her, fucked her, maybe I'd stop feeling so obsessed. Maybe I will remember she was just a plaything. And just another sexual arrangement. I didn't like sharing things I was obsessed with. But if she was just a toy? Sharing wouldn't matter. That's what I told myself as I sent him the invitation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Antonio arrived at my penthouse around ten that morning. Antonio is tall, dark-haired, with an easy smile that women love. He clapped me on the shoulder. "You sounded urgent yesterday," he said. "What's going on?"

Ghosts of the Past Dominic POV I had never expected to feel attached to any woman before, especially after a night, but Alessia was different. She was just some woman and yet I couldn't get her out of my mind. I left her a note. She was bold following a stranger to his home. When I returned to the room, Alessia was gone. Madame Calista gave me the side eye when she came to change the sheet. I retreated to my private office room and Madame Calista returned to me a few minutes ago later, staring at me until I felt uncomfortable.

Possibly escaped from a lab. As crazy as a cannibalistic rabbit with swine flu. That’s the only explanation. I sit on the bed, lace my boots tight, and let the questions roll in anyway. I get how obsession happens. I get how a lunatic can latch on and spiral. But why me? Where did we even meet? And seriously — why me? I skip makeup, swipe on pink gloss, and stare at my reflection. I look normal. Annoyingly normal. Definitely not balloon-based-declarations-of-possession material.

"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.

Lena asked, though her tone suggested she was already working through the possibilities. "Because he's obsessed," I replied, thinking about the photos, the note, the pattern of behavior we'd been observing for weeks. "He doesn't want to run from me anymore, he wants to confront me. He wants to possess me, reclaim me, make me choose him over whatever life I've been building." "That's insane," Lena said flatly. "Yes," I agreed. "But it's also predictable. Obsession makes people irrational, makes them take risks they normally wouldn't.

A rather blissful smile spread across his face and he looked at me with a strange happy look. “I ‘loved’ the panicked expression you wore when you saw me get stabbed.” What? “The look of pure horror after you realized what you had actually done.” He reached out his hands and placed them on my cheeks, “I loved how scared you were when you thought I was going to die.” My heartbeat started racing, “No one has ever shown me expressions like that. It was something new. It was something strange. I wondered why a random person would panic like that.” He whispered the words since he was really close to me, “But you did, and you did it for me.” I froze in my place, “ And that felt,” He paused, “Good.

Morning brought no answers. Just rain and a new alert. A woman in the financial district had locked herself inside her office at midnight after a loop caught her and would not release. She had been there for six hours before someone noticed the lights were still on. The report used the word obsessive with the careful flatness of clinical language, that kind of word chosen to describe something without fully saying what it meant. What it meant was that a person had been held inside her own desire by a signal Aria had built, unable to find her way out of it, and had needed strangers to come and bring her back.

“Her name, her past, it's all fog and nothing concrete. You're about to marry a woman whom you haven't completely vetted. What if we're wrong about her?” “I'm aware.” My reply seemed to infuriate him, but he hid it pretty well. “Are you?” He pushed. “Because it looks like obsession, and in our world, it gets men like us killed.” My jaw ticked, but I stayed silent. Matteo was my right hand man for a reason, and this was one of them. Everything he'd said to this point was true, but you know what else was true? The fact that she was getting on my nerves. She intrigued me too.

“I understand. I have one final secret. One last truth that could change everything you think you know about this family. About the entire war we have been fighting.” John’s grip on my hand tightened. “What is it Sarah? Tell us. No more games.” Sarah looked at all of us, her eyes heavy with the weight of years. “The obsession was never just about me or Kane or Elena. There is one more person. Someone who has been pulling the strings from the very beginning. Someone who faked their death years ago and has been waiting for the perfect moment to destroy everything. Someone who wants the Voss bloodline for themselves. And that person is…”