Page 24 of The CEO's Obsession

This guy doesn't know who he's messing with. I will burn down the entire world to get Harper back. I immediately place a call and get a contact to find out who the fuck this Tyler is and where he's staying. And God help him when I find him.

The phone barely rings once before my contact answers. I bark out orders, my voice low and dangerous. "I need everything on Tyler Morris. Now."

As I wait for the information, my mind races. I can still see Harper's face, the way she looked at me with those wide, frightened eyes. It's like a dagger twisting in my chest. I'veprotected her, given her everything. How dare this nobody swoop in and try to take her away?

My fingers drum against the steering wheel of the rented Bentley, the leather creaking under my grip. The streets of Paris blur past, quaint shops and manicured lawns that usually soothe me now just fuel my rage.

My phone buzzes. I snatch it up, drinking in every detail about Tyler fucking Morris. Trust fund kid turned starving artist. Renting a loft in LA. Known to frequent The Palette, a dive bar masquerading as an art gallery.

And then I see what I’m really after. Where he’s staying in Paris.

I'll crush him, this boy who thinks he can play in my league. I'll show Harper the mistake she's making, remind her of everything I can give her that he can't.

I spin the Bentley around, tires squealing on pristine asphalt. The setting sun paints Paris in shades of blood red and deep purple. It feels like an omen, a promise of the storm I'm about to unleash.

Tyler Morris has no idea what's coming for him. By the time I'm done, he'll wish he'd never set eyes on Harper. And she'll realize that there's no escaping me, no matter how far she runs.

She ismine.

Harper

My heart races as Tyler and I dash through the winding streets of Paris, the cobblestones uneven beneath our feet. The City of Light feels more like a shadowy maze as we duck into narrowalleys and slip between buildings older than time. I can still feel Mason's eyes on me, burning with possessive fury.

We finally reach Tyler's rented flat, a cozy garret tucked away in a quiet corner of Montmartre. As soon as the door closes behind us, I slump against the wall, my legs shaking. Tyler wraps me in a tight hug, and for a moment, I let myself believe we're safe.

The flat is small but charming, with slanted ceilings and dormer windows that offer glimpses of the Parisian skyline. Canvases and art supplies are scattered everywhere, evidence of Tyler's latest creative burst. In any other circumstance, I'd be itching to pick up a brush myself.

Instead, I pace the worn wooden floors, hugging myself tightly. "He'll find us," I whisper, more to myself than to Tyler. "He’s rich."

And obsessed with me, I can’t help thinking. Didn’t he admit as much?

Tyler tries to distract me, pulling out a bottle of wine and two mismatched glasses. We sip the rich Bordeaux as the sun sets, painting the sky in hues that would make Monet weep. For a brief moment, I allow myself to relax, to imagine a life free from Mason's suffocating grip.

But even as I try to villanize him, I can’t forget how gentle he was with me. How his hands and mouth felt on me when we made love.

But then I remember his possessive fury when he assualted that waiter for whistling at me. There are definitely two sides to Mason. I just don’t know which one to trust.

As night falls, the flat takes on an almost magical quality. Moonlight streams through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The distant sounds of Parisian nightlife drift up from the streets below—laughter, music, the clinking of glasses.I hate myself for wondering what Mason and I would be doing right now if I hadn’t fled with Tyler.

But I did the right thing, right? Because I can’t stay with Mason if what Tyler said about him is true, and Tyler wouldn’t make something like that up.

Tyler and I talk late into the night, reminiscing about our days in art school, dreaming of the future. Talking more about Mason.

Just as I'm starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, we've given Mason the slip, there's a sharp knock on the door. I look at Tyler with wide eyes. I already know it's Mason. He's found me already.

My breath catches in my throat as the knocking grows more insistent. Tyler and I exchange panicked glances, frozen in place like deer in headlights. The old wooden door rattles on its hinges with each thunderous blow.

"Harper!" Mason's voice booms from the other side, a mixture of fury and desperation. "I know you're in there. Open the door!"

My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. I grab Tyler's arm, my nails digging into his skin. "What do we do?" I whisper, though I already know it's hopeless.

Before Tyler can answer, there's a deafening crack as the door splinters. It flies open, revealing Mason silhouetted in the doorway like an avenging angel. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and stormy with barely contained rage.

"Harper," he growls, striding into the room. His presence seems to fill every corner, making the cozy garret feel claustrophobic.

Tyler steps in front of me, arms spread wide. "Leave her alone, man. She doesn't want to go with you."

Mason's laugh is cold and humorless. "Is that what you think?" He brushes past Tyler as if he's nothing more than anannoying insect. "Harper belongs with me. Always has, always will."

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