Page 35 of Lord of Obsession

"Something I can help you with?" The question is clipped, professional. A lawyer's dismissal.

Dario shifts, blocking more of the doorway. Not touching me, but close enough that I can smell his cologne—expensive, with undertones of raw energy that makes my skin prickle. His presence fills the small office, consuming oxygen and rational thought.

"Just making sure you're not forgetting our little conversation." His fingers trail across my desk, deliberately smudging the precise edge of a legal document. A small violation that speaks volumes about the territory he's claiming.

My jaw clenches, muscles tight with a war between restraint and something darker. "I don't forget anything."

"No." His razor-sharp smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You remember every single detail."

I adjust my briefcase strap, the movement deliberate. "I have commitments."

He doesn't move. Doesn't need to. His body blocks the doorway completely. "Your study group can wait."

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker, casting strange shadows across his face. Another distortion in the carefully ordered world I've constructed. I see the challenge in his eyes—a dare, a provocation that goes far beyond this moment, this office, this brief confrontation.

"Walk away," I say, but we both know it's not a real request. Not anymore.

Dario steps closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. "Make me."

A familiar refrain. A dance we've been performing since that first night in the library. My fingers curl around the handle of my briefcase—a futile defense against the storm he represents. Outside my office, the hallway stretches empty. My study group waits. The world continues, oblivious to the fault line developing between us.

But something has irrevocably changed. And we both know it.

"Your study group can handle one session without their star pupil." Dario prowls further into my office, each step eating away at the careful boundaries I've established. His fingers drift across my legal texts, deliberately disrupting their meticulous arrangement. "Unless you're afraid they'll notice something different about you."

The words spark heat beneath my collar. My skin still carries marks from last night, evidence of surrender hidden beneath expensive cotton. I force myself to maintain eye contact, refusing to show weakness. "This is a place of business."

"Is it?" He circles my desk, invading the space behind my chair. "Looks more like another prop in your ongoing performance." His breath stirs the hair at my nape. "The perfect office for the perfect student. But we both know better now, don't we?"

My fingers curl around a fountain pen on my desk, its weight a poor substitute for more lethal instruments. "I have responsibilities."

"To who?" His hand settles on my shoulder, burning through layers of fabric. "Yourprofessors? Your study partners?" A soft exhale carries dark amusement. "Or to the family you're pretending doesn't own every inch of this building?"

The truth in his words stings worse than any physical blow. My uncle's influence secured this private office, just like it smoothed my path into Valmont's top-ranked program. Another crack in my carefully constructed facade.

"What do you want?" I keep my voice steady despite the electricity arcing between us.

His grip tightens, just shy of painful. "I want you to stop lying to yourself." He leans closer, cologne and menace filling my lungs. "I want you to admit that all this—the office, the briefcase, the perfect tie knot—it's just window dressing on what you really are."

Heat pools in my stomach, equal parts rage and something darker. The overhead lights cast his shadow across my desk, stretching over case files and legal briefs like an oil slick. Evidence of my attempted escape tainted by his presence.

"You're disrupting my work." Another attempt at professional distance, atmaintaining the walls between his world and mine.

His laugh slides down my spine like ice. "Good." His free hand traces the edge of my desk, fingertips dragging across polished wood. "Maybe disruption is exactly what you need. A reminder that you can't hide behind paper shields forever."

I should stand and put distance between us. Should maintain the careful boundaries that separate civilized society from the underworld we both know too well. Instead, I remain frozen as his fingers find my tie, toying with Italian silk that suddenly feels like a noose.

"Did you tell them?" His voice drops lower, intimate as a blade between ribs. "Your precious study group, waiting so patiently in the library. Did you tell them where those bruises really came from? What you were doing instead of reviewing class notes?"

Images flash through my mind: concrete against my back, blood on my tongue, his hands marking ownership across my skin. I swallow hard, my throat working against the constraint of my collar.

"That's what I thought." Satisfactioncolors his tone as he reads my silence. "Still hiding. Still pretending. But I can feel you vibrating with it, the need to show them exactly what lives beneath this expensive suit."

The air conditioning hums overhead, pushing stale air through vents that suddenly feel too small. My carefully constructed world shrinks to this moment, this space, this inevitable collision of who I pretend to be and what I actually am.

"I could call security." The threat rings hollow even to my ears.

"But you won't." His fingers slide higher, finding my pulse point. "Because deep down, under all this careful control, you want them to see. You want them to know exactly what kind of monster wears this tailored mask."

---