Page 36 of Lord of Obsession

I close my eyes, fighting for composure that slips further away with each passing second. The scent of his cologne mingles with leather and paper, creating something intoxicating that makes my head spin.

"Look at me." The command carries steel beneath silk.

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze in the reflection of my computer screen. The man staring back is a stranger: pupils blown wide,color high on sharp cheekbones, every line of his body screaming awareness. This isn't the face I've practiced in mirrors, the perfect image of legal professionalism. This is something rawer, hungrier.

This is truth.

Satisfaction blazes in his eyes. "Finally." His grip shifts to my hair, tugging until my neck arches back. "The mask cracks so beautifully when you stop pretending. When you remember exactly how it felt to embrace the darkness last night."

My breath catches as he applies more pressure, walking the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Outside my office, footsteps pass in the hallway. Any moment, someone could look through the glass panel in my door and see us.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends lightning down my spine.

"Your study group is waiting." His words brush against my ear, promising and threatening in equal measure. "Go play normal. Pretend this never happened." His grip tightens, forcing a small sound from my throat. "But remember, I know exactly what lives beneaththis costume now. And I'm not done exposing it."

His grip loosens, but he doesn't step away. Beyond my office walls, activity in the hallway dwindles as afternoon slides toward evening. My phone buzzes—another message from my study group, probably giving up on me showing up.

"Looks like your perfect attendance record is about to be marred." Dario's satisfaction fills the shrinking space between us. "Such a shame."

Through the glass partition, I watch the law offices empty. Support staff gather their belongings, other students head home, and professors lock their doors. The familiar rhythm of end-of-day routines carries a different weight now, as if the normal world is withdrawing, leaving me alone in this space with him.

The sun dips lower, shadows lengthening across my desk. My legal texts stare up at me, their carefully highlighted passages now seeming like fairytales, simple stories that can't begin to capture the complexity of what I am, what I've always been.

What he refuses to let me forget.

The floor's motion-sensor lights click off one by one as the last stragglers depart. Only my office remains illuminated, a bright cage constricting smaller by the second. Dario hasn't moved, his presence behind my chair a gravity well pulling me deeper into territory I've spent years avoiding.

Night presses against my windows, and with it comes the knowledge that everything is about to change.

The lock on the door clicks into place with metallic thunk. I spin in my chair at the sound, catching Dario sliding a key into his pocket. A key that shouldn't exist.

"That's not yours." My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears.

"No?" He moves away from the door with calculated grace. "Like this office isn't really yours? Like that degree on the wall isn't bought with Valenti money?"

Each word strikes true, dismantling the illusions I've built. The empty law offices beyond my door stretch silent and dark, security lights casting strange patterns through the glass partition.

No witnesses. No interruptions. No escape.

"What do you think will happen here?" I stand, needing to level the playing field, to reclaim some semblance of control. "You'll force me to admit something? Make me confess to being exactly what you say I am?"

His smile turns sharp in the fluorescent light. "Force you? No, baby. You're going to beg for it."

Heat floods my veins, equal parts fury and arousal. I circle my desk, keeping the polished wood between us. "You have a remarkably high opinion of yourself."

"Do I?" He trails his fingers across my case files, deliberately smudging the precise organization. "Tell me you haven't been thinking about last night. About how it felt to finally stop pretending."

My skin burns with phantom sensations: concrete against my back, his mouth hot and demanding, violence transforming into something darker. "That was a moment of weakness."

"That was real." He rounds the desk, eliminating my barrier. "The only honest thing you've done since walking into Valmont's hallowed halls."

Each step brings him closer, forcing me toretreat or stand my ground. Pride wins. I lift my chin, shoulders squaring despite the tremor running beneath my skin. "This fascination with me borders on obsession." I inject ice into my tone.

"Fascination?" His laugh cuts through the darkness. "I just recognize quality when I see it." Another calculated step forward. "All this expensive education, these careful habits, this pristine office—it's like watching a tiger try to convince itself it's actually a housecat." His eyes lock onto mine, stripping away defenses. "But I see those claws you're hiding. I see the instincts you can't quite bury."

My back hits the window. Stars glitter beyond the glass, distant and cold against the city's neon glow. The night presses close, turning the office into an intimate cage.

"We're done here." But I make no move to leave, to fight, to do anything except stand frozen as he closes the remaining distance.

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