Page 13 of Chains of Obsession

His smirk returns, lazy and arrogant. “You keep saying that, Amelia, but your body tells a different story.”

“Stop it. You don’t get to manipulate me like this.” My voice is sharper now, my anger rekindled.

“I’m not manipulating you. I’m just being honest. Maybe you should try it.”

I glare at him, hating how easily he gets under my skin, how effortlessly he dismantles my defenses. “Honest?” I scoff. “Fine. Let’s be honest, Matteo. What really happened to my father?”

His expression changes instantly, the playful arrogance replaced with a cold, hard edge. He doesn’t look away, but something flickers in his eyes, something he’s trying to hide.

“I told you. I didn’t kill him.”

“But you know who did,” I press, taking a step forward. “Don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as if he’s weighing how much to tell me. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Your father made enemies, Amelia. Powerful ones. I couldn’t stop what happened to him.”

“You expect me to believe that? You, the man who controls everything, couldn’t stop it?”

His hand slams against the desk, making me jump. “Enough,” he growls.

“You think you know this world? You don’t. It’s not black and white, Amelia. It’s survival, and sometimes that means sacrifices are made.”

I take a shaky breath, my heart pounding. “Was he a sacrifice?”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. He doesn’t answer, and that tells me everything I need to know.

“Damn you,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

His eyes soften, but only for a moment. “You think I don’t feel it too?” he says quietly. “The weight of it? The guilt? I didn’t choose this life, Amelia, but I live it because it’s the only way to protect the people I care about.”

“Care about?” I laugh bitterly. “You don’t care about me. You just want to control me, to own me.”

His hand reaches out, but I pull away before he can touch me. “You’re wrong. But you’re too angry to see it. You can run, Amelia. But you can’t escape this. You can’t escape me.”

The office is empty now, but his scent lingers—dark and intoxicating, like the man himself. Matteo’s words echo in my mind, conflicting with the emotions swirling inside me. Hate and desire, anger and something I don’t want to name.

I stare at the ceiling as I sit on the couch, the shadows dancing across the ornate molding. The room is filled with the faint scent of leather and smoke, the unmistakable signature of the man who’s made my life both a battleground and an inferno. The room is imposing, like Matteo himself, with its dark wood furniture and shelves lined with books I doubt he’s read.

I shouldn’t be here, not like this. But I need space to breathe, to feel like I have a sliver of control in a world Matteo dominates, his absence both a relief and a frustration. My eyes wander to his desk, where papers are meticulously arranged. Curiosity tugs at me like a forbidden temptation. My pulse quickens as I move closer, my fingers brushing the smooth surface. I’m not searching for answers—at least, not about my father.

What I want is something intangible, a sense of who Matteo is when he’s not suffocating me with his overbearing presence. I reach for the nearest drawer, only to find it locked. Of course. Matteo wouldn’t leave anything important unguarded. But the letter opener on the desk offers an easy solution. It takes only a moment to pop the lock, the small victory filling me with a rebellious satisfaction.

Inside, I find ledgers, contracts, and other documents—evidence of the empire Matteo commands with ruthless precision. The weight of his power is palpable in every carefully filed paper, every signed deal. I close the drawer, feeling more stifled than before. The sound of the door opening makes me freeze. I turn to see Matteo standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on me. He doesn’t speak right away, and that silence is more unnerving than any words he could have said.

“Amelia,” he says finally, his voice calm but threaded with steel. “What are you doing?”

“I thought we should talk,” I reply, forcing an air of nonchalance as I step away from his desk.

His gaze flicks to the open drawer, then back to me. The corner of his mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. “Is that so?”

I fold my arms, refusing to let him intimidate me. “I don’t need your permission to be in here.”

His laugh is low and dangerous. “You don’t, but you do need my trust. And rifling through my things isn’t exactly earning it.”

“I wasn’t rifling,” I lie, my cheeks flushing.

He steps closer, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the heat radiating from him. “Amelia, you’re terrible at lying. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

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