Page 42 of Sinful Obsession
“Let’s see if you can swim through death itself.” With one merciless heave, he dragged me to the edge and flung me into the water.
The scream tore through me before the sea did.
My body plunged into liquid ice. The cold wasn’t just sharp—it was cruel, biting, wrapping around me like claws. My lungs convulsed, sucking in salt and panic.
I flailed, thrashed, my arms fighting water I could never master. Swimming had never been mine to claim—especially not like this. Not naked, not drowning in a graveyard sea.
Then—hands. Not the sea’s hands. A hand gripping mine. Tight. Still dragging.
“No! Please! Let go!” I screamed, choking on water, choking on fear.
“Charlotte—hey—it’s me. It’s me.”
The voice tore through the nightmare like a blade. Cassian’s voice.
The sea blurred into shadows, the icy waves thinned to sheets, and I found myself on a bed, thrashing against covers instead of water. My chest heaved as if it still held the ocean.
Cassian’s hand clamped at my upper arm, in the exact same place the masked man had seized me. My skin burned beneath his touch, the nightmare refusing to let go.
I yanked my arm free as though his fingers could pull me back under. Curling into myself, I pressed my knees up and wrapped both arms around my body. The air in the room was warm, but I still felt drenched, frozen, vulnerable.
“What was your nightmare?” Cassian asked. His tone was cold, stripped of comfort, as if even my fear belonged to him to dissect.
I didn’t look at him. “None of your business.” My voice came small, brittle, but the words were defiant.
My throat ached from screaming in the dream, my body still shivering with the aftertaste of drowning.
I wondered if that wasn’t just a dream. If maybe it was a memory. One of the missing years bleeding through.
Cassian’s silence sharpened the room. Then, his mouth curved—not in sympathy, but in something darker. “Wrong answer.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” he said.
He stepped closer, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the edge, his scent flooding my senses, overwhelming the lingering chill of the nightmare. “You screamed like you were dying. Tell me what you saw.”
I shook my head, my resolve hardening despite the fear.
“It was just a dream,” I said, my voice steady. “A boat, a sea, some man. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” he said, his tone sharper now, his hand reaching for my wrist, his grip firm but not bruising.
“You’re mine, Charlotte, and I need to know what’s in your head. Was it him—your captor?” His eyes darkened, a mix of anger and something deeper, almost protective, flickering in their depths.
I pulled my wrist free, my skin tingling where he’d touched me, that conflicting pull stirring again.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking.
“This is the truth, Charlotte,” Cassian said at last, his gaze heavy on me. There was pity in it, but also something darker—like he wanted to both ruin me and hold me together at the same time. “We were married—truly, deeply. But I was cruel to you. I said things that cut deeper than knives, acted in ways that broke you, until you couldn’t take it anymore and left.”
The words struck like a blade.
I stared at him, my breath catching.
I waited for him to stop, but he didn’t.
“I searched for you,” he continued, his voice heavy, his eyes never leaving mine. “I paid off informants, bribed cops, spoke to men I’d sworn never to cross—cartel lords, even presidents of nations. I tore the world apart looking for you, but you were a ghost.”
I leaned forward despite myself, breath caught in my throat.
