Page 92 of Obsessing Over His Favorite
She had spent five years loving a man who, when she said ‘I'm terrified’, and when heheardthat she was dying… didn’t even care. He didn’t ask where she was. Didn’t try to reach her. He just went on with his life—like her fear, her pain, her life—meant absolutely nothing.
Even after she lost all her memories, he didn’t notice. He still treated her with that same cold indifference. He didn’t soften. He didn’t protect her. Even after that one call when she was crying for help, he dismissed her like she was being dramatic.
She had loved Lucas so blindly that she had ignored every cruel thing he did to her. She forgave everything. Because when they were alone, when he touched her gently, when he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered to him—she believed that he loved her too.
But when it came to choosing between her and Amelia?
He always chose Amelia.
He alwaysbelievedAmelia.
He believed Amelia… until the moment Emily died.
And with that, her love for him died too.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. It wasn’t even real laughter—it was the sound of something breaking inside her. A kind of emptiness she didn’t know how to live with.
Her body swayed slightly where she sat, shoulders slumped, fingers nervously twisting the edge of a cocktail napkin.
“I packed that suitcase,” she muttered aloud, almost to herself. “I wrote that letter… I thought if I left quietly after that party that night, he wouldn’t care. He’d just move on with Amelia, and I’d move on with my life.”
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. Her eyes shimmered, glassy with unshed tears.
She let out a laugh—short, hollow, jagged.
“But who would’ve thought”—she paused, blinking hard—“before I could leave I’d almost get murdered by a stranger.” Her chest rose with a sharp breath. “And Lucas would show me with his own words, that even if I died, it wouldn’t matter to him.”
Her voice was slurred now, her words stringing together like tangled thread. Her hands pressed on the bar table, and she tried to push herself up.
Her legs buckled.
Her words slurred, her sentences falling apart as she struggled to form them. Suddenly, she pushed herself up from the bar stool,blinking rapidly as the room spun around her. The bar was high-end, exclusive, but sparsely crowded tonight.
She scanned the space, trying to find the bartender, desperate for another tray of vodka.
Her steps were unsteady, her legs wobbling beneath her as she staggered toward the bar and then she nearly collapsed, catching herself at the last second.
Instead of reaching the bartender, she stumbled past into the darker side of the bar. The noise and people thinned out, and shadows crept closer. She didn’t even realize she was heading the wrong way until she was deep near the VIP rooms—the secluded section reserved for the city’s most elite guests.
She barely noticed when the bar turned into a hallway lined with black walls and heavy black doors. A dim, cold light spilled from the ceiling above, casting long shadows. She blinked, disoriented, and absentmindedly pushed open one of the VIP room doors.
Inside, she drifted toward the center of the room, eyes half glazed, barely registering her surroundings. She walked inside without a second thought.
Her vision took a second to adjust. The room smelled of expensive leather and cologne. As her eyes finally focused, she spotted the deep velvet couch in the middle of the room.
And sitting on it, casually like he owned the universe, was Sebastian Graves.
Emily blinked.
Then blinked again.
Sebastian was dressed to perfection, as always. Not a single thread out of place. He wore an all-black tailored suit, sharp enough to slice, fitted across his broad shoulders and tapering clean down his tall frame.
His face was striking, with smooth skin, high cheekbones, and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. His black hair was neatly styled back, not a strand out of place, as if even his hair obeyed him.
But it was his eyes that unsettled her most. Dark, intense, and unreadable. The kind of gaze that could make someone feel exposed, as if he saw too much. Looking into them was like falling into something dangerous and addictive, like getting drunk without a drop of alcohol.
Emily had known him as her brother’s best friend for years, and never once had she seen Sebastian look anything less than deadly perfect.
