Page 31 of Sinful Obsession
I pulled my black trousers back up, the fabric rough against my bare skin. My stomach knotted with revulsion, my skin crawling at the thought of going without underwear—exposed to his whims. What kind of man does this?
He tossed me a helmet, its weight heavy in my hands.
“Get on,” he said, straddling the bike. I glanced at the two cars, their sleek frames promising comfort. “My dress will get ruined,” I said, my voice small. “Can we take a car?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then—
“You don’t get to make requests.”
He straddled the motorcycle and revved the engine.
I hesitated, then climbed on, the bike’s vibration jarring my already unsteady body.
As it lurched forward, I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist, my hands gripping his suit, the heat of his body stirring that confusing pull—hatred, fear, and something I couldn’t name.
I hated him, despised his cruelty, but my body betrayed me, craving the closeness, the memory of a time when his touch might have meant safety.
We tore through the streets, the wind whipping my hair, the city’s opulence unfolding.
The bike’s rumble drowned out my thoughts, but not the fragments of memory: his smile, my arms around him, a life I couldn’t recall.
We approached a gated estate, its iron entrance flanked by armed guards who didn’t blink as Cassian sped through, their silence a testament to his power.
He pulled into a sprawling garage, the bike’s engine cutting to silence.
“This is the Moretti penthouse,” he said, adjusting his tie with a fluid grace. “We’re attending a meeting with the mafia leaders. Your father and brother will be there.”
My heart stopped. My father? The man who’d betrayed Grandfather, stripped him of his title, and exiled us to that wretched cabin.
And my brother?
A memory crashed through the fog—Vincent, my younger brother, his boyish grin, our nights sneaking cookies before Mother vanished.
She had disappeared when I was ten, her absence a wound Father never explained.
He’d sent me to Grandfather after, severing my bond with Vincent.
Why hadn’t I remembered Vincent—or Mother—until now? My brain was a broken puzzle, pieces missing, and the realization hit like a blow.
“I need to see a doctor,” I said, my voice trembling. “My memory—it’s all fogged. I need to know how damaged I am.”
Cassian turned, his eyes boring into mine, their intensity overwhelming. I tried to hold his gaze, but it was like staring into a storm.
“No.”
“I can’t make sense of my past,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t remember Vincent, my mother’s disappearance, our marriage, Elodie—any of it. I need answers.” I swallowed, my chest tight. “Please. I’m your prisoner now, but I deserve to know who I am.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “Don’t believe what anyone tells you there,” he said, dismissing my plea as if it were nothing. “No one is on your side.”
My fists curled tight, anger sparking hot.
He can’t gatekeep my past and tell me not to listen to others—but going up against a man like Cassian is a battle I’ll never win.
He was an unyielding wall, and I was trapped between his wrath and the jagged shards of memories I couldn’t piece together.
“Understood?”
I nodded.
