Page 43 of Lord of Obsession

What waits for me at the end of this drive? Another game, another trap orchestrated to unravel me further? Or something deeper, something that whispers of inevitability and forbidden understanding?

I think of that night on the rooftop, rain sealing my skin as Dario and I came together in a clash of violence and my hunger for him. No masks. Just raw truth laid bare beneath lightning-torn skies. The memory sears through me, igniting nerve endings I've spent too long denying.

My hands tremble as I hit the turn signal, guiding the car onto a narrow dirt road branching off from the main route. Trees close in on either side, ancient branches seeming to bend toward the intrusion. Gravel pings against the undercarriage as the path winds deeper into shadowed woods.

This is madness. Driving to a secluded spot to meet a man who represents everything I've fought to escape. Risking everything I've built on the altar of a sick fascination I can'tseem to shake. I'm too smart for this. Too controlled. Too...

My throat tightens around the lie. Because that's what it is, isn't it? A lie I've told myself over and over, a desperate attempt to outrun the blood-soaked reality of my birthright. Dario has merely held up a mirror, forcing me to confront the cracks in my porcelain facade.

The car breaks free from the treeline, gravel giving way to hard-packed sand as the ocean spreads before me. And there, at the edge of the water, stands Dario. His silhouette is a slash of darkness against the star-studded horizon, solid and unyielding. Waiting.

I pull to a stop, cut the engine. Silence envelops the cove, broken only by the rhythmic shush of waves against the shore. It feels like another world, a stolen pocket of space and time separate from the city's neon pulse. Separate from rules and expectations and carefully maintained illusions.

My heart drums against my ribs as I reach for the door handle, fingers clumsy with conflict. Every instinct screams to run, to peel out of this cove and race back to the safety of my organized little life.

But I know it's futile. There's no outrunning this. No denying the electrified pull between us, the twisted recognition that runs soul deep.

For better or worse, this is a collision three years in the making.

The door swings open with a groan, hinges protesting the salt-tinged air. Each step across packed sand echoes the cadence of my pulse, an unsteady rhythm driven by trepidation and a darker anticipation I can't fully suppress. Dario doesn't turn at my approach, his gaze fixed on the sea's restless churn.

"You came." Not a question, barely an acknowledgment. As if my presence here was never in doubt, despite the war raging in my chest.

"You didn't leave me much choice." My voice is rougher than I intend, scraped raw by the weight of this moment. Sand crunches beneath my feet as I move to stand beside him, careful to maintain a sliver of distance. A futile attempt at control, given the heat radiating between us.

Dario's smile is a flash of white in the darkness. "There's always a choice, Rafael. You're just finally makingthe right one."

The ocean breeze carries his words, threading them through the crash of waves and rustle of beach grass. I want to deny it. To cling to the tattered remnants of my carefully constructed identity. But with Dario beside me, the vast expanse of the Atlantic stretched before us, the little lies I've told myself turn to ash on my tongue.

"Why here?" I ask instead, grasping for any semblance of solid ground. "Why now?"

His shoulder brushes mine, the contact electric despite layers of fabric between us. "Because you're ready to stop running and admit what you've known since that first night in the library." He turns then, the planes of his face harsh and beautiful in the starlight. "That we're the same, you and I. Two sides of a blood-soaked coin."

I want to recoil from the raw truth in his words. To seek shelter in righteous denial and cling to the facade I've spent years carefully constructing. But the ocean air fills my lungs, salt and brine and untamed wildness, and the craving I've tried so hard to bury rises swift and brutal in response.

"I'm not..." But the protest is left unfinished as Dario steps closer, obliterating thepretense of distance. His gaze sears into mine, peeling back layers of polite fiction to expose the ugly-beautiful reality beneath.

"Not what? A killer? A Valenti?" A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest. "Please, Rafael. We both know better. You can wrap yourself in Zegna suits and bury your nose in legal texts, but it doesn't change what flows in your veins. What your hands are capable of."

My heart kicks against my ribs, like a fluttering, trapped moth desperate to escape. Because he's right. God help me, he's right. The weight of my family name, the brutal teachings of my childhood, the rush of vicious satisfaction that accompanied my first kill—they live inside me still, dark seeds waiting to sprout anew.

Dario's hand finds the back of my neck, his touch a brand even through the crisp barrier of my collar. "I see you, you know" he murmurs, the words carried on a gust of wind and the promise of absolution. "The real you. The man behind the pressed suits and perfect manners. And I won't let you hide from him anymore."

The ocean seems to swell in response, waves rising higher, foam hissing as it reachesfor our feet. Above us, clouds scuttle across the moon's pale face, plunging the cove into shadow and erasing the artificial boundaries that have kept me caged for so long.

Here in this liminal space, suspended between sea and sky, past and present, the last of my resistance crumbles. The mask I've worn for the world, for myself, splits wide, revealing the raw, pulsing truth beneath.

"What do you want from me?" I rasp, the question scraping my throat like broken glass.

Dario's hand tightens, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. "Everything," he breathes, the word a dark vow that echoes in my marrow. "Your anger, your hunger, your true self. The parts of you that academia will never sate, that the courtroom can never contain."

Each word is a hammer blow against the chains I've willingly donned, heavy iron forged from lies and stubborn self-delusion. The waves crash higher, a rising crescendo perfectly timed with the thunder of my heart.

Here in the space between worlds, the line between past and present blurs into insignificance. There is only the pounding surf, the night-cool sand, and the predator wearingmy skin, rising swiftly and hungry to meet its match at last.

A distant roll of thunder breaks the spell, the sound muffled by the crashing surf. I step back, sand shifting beneath my feet as I try to reclaim some semblance of equilibrium. My skin prickles where Dario's touch lingered, a phantom heat that refuses to dissipate.

"This is insanity," I manage, the words scraping my throat raw. "You and me, whatever this twisted game is, it can't end well. For either of us."

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