Page 40 of Sinful Obsession
I was still knotted in that storm of confusion and frustration when the house phone began to ring.
The sound jarred against the silence of the estate, sharp and shrill. I didn’t move.
Cassian’s house, Cassian’s phone—surely the call was his.
But then it stopped. And almost immediately, it started again.
I rose slowly, every step hesitant, as though the phone itself might bite me. My hand hovered before I finally lifted the receiver.
Silence. Thick, deliberate. I stayed quiet too. If they wouldn’t speak, neither would I.
Then a voice, low but familiar: “Can I speak to my sister?”
I froze.My sister?
“Who are you?” I asked cautiously.
A beat. Then—sharp recognition cut through the line. “Oh my days! Charlotte—it’s you?”
My breath caught.
“...Yeah.”
“It’s Vincent.”
I gripped the receiver tighter.
Vincent. My brother. I’d seen him briefly at the mafia gathering, but we hadn’t spoken. Not enough for me to know where we stood. Hearing his voice now stirred something faint—like a memory hovering at the edge of the dark.
“Oh my... Vincent,” I whispered.
“I’ve missed you so much, Charlotte.” His tone was gentle, earnest.
“Same here,” I lied. The truth was uglier: I couldn’t remember enough of him to miss him. My chest should have ached, but it didn’t.
“Would you like to meet? Just us. Dinner, anywhere you choose. We have so much to talk about.”
The invitation dangled in the air, dangerous.
I wanted to ask if we’d seen each other in those lost years, if he knew about Elodie, my captor, the divorce Cassian refused to confirm.
But exposing my memory loss was too dangerous.
Luca’s vengeance, Artem’s ambition, Father’s greed—they’d use any crack in my armor. Even Vincent, my little brother, could be a threat.
“Cassian’s security has strict orders not to let me out,” I said, keeping my voice steady, deflecting.
“Come on, Charlotte,” he said, a playful edge creeping in, the same tone he’d used as a kid to coax me into mischief. “We always find a way, you know that. We’re family—family’s everything.”
Family. The word scraped against something raw inside me.
“I’m not ready, Vincent,” I said softly. “I’m not... okay. Not right now.”
Silence stretched. Then his voice dropped, dark with warning: “Cassian will destroy—”
“Let him,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to.
My gut twisted with unease—an instinct whispering that Vincent had already betrayed me once before, though I couldn’t recall how.
