Page 46 of Sinful Obsession
Another pause, then Vincent finally said, “Fine. I’ll tell him to contact you by four tomorrow.” And the line went dead.
I lowered the receiver, my hands trembling.
The second I set it down, my stomach lurched. Panic shot through me, and I ran to the bathroom, falling to my knees at the toilet before vomiting.
The sour taste burned my throat. I gripped the sink, washed my face with cold water, and stared at my pale reflection. My chest heaved, my heart racing.
Why is this happening?
The nausea, the dizziness, the early morning sickness—it’s been plaguing me for days.
My mind recoils from the thought, but it creeps in anyway: Am I pregnant?
No. It’s impossible.
The idea of carrying a child in this nightmare, of being violated without memory or consent, is too horrific to entertain.
My hands shake as I grip the edge of the sink, willing the thought away.
It’s just stress, I tell myself. It has to be. But the doubt lingers, a poison seeping into my veins.
If it’s true, I need to know—fast. I can’t let this define me, not here, not now. But where in this godforsaken prison would I even find a pregnancy test?
I stumble back to the living room, my legs unsteady, and collapse onto the plush couch.
Fear, exhaustion, and anxiety coil tightly in my chest, each breath a struggle to keep panic at bay.
I flick on the television, desperate for distraction, and settle on Nickelodeon. The bright colors and cheerful voices of cartoons feel like a mockery of my reality, but I let them wash over me, numbing the edges of my dread.
Time slipped away until the sharp ringing of the house phone snapped me back. I glanced at the clock on the table—two hours had passed without me noticing.
My heart pounded as I lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey, Charlotte.”
The voice wasn’t Vincent’s.
I froze. “...Who is this?”
“It’s Ethan.”
“Ethan?” My heart skipped. His voice was strange yet familiar, like an echo from a dream I couldn’t place.
Have I heard it recently? I push the thought aside, focusing on the moment. “Is it really you?”
“Yeah. I’m so glad you’re safe, Charlotte,” he said, his tone raw with emotion. “When I heard you went missing again, I tore through every contact, every lead I had. It drove me mad that Cassian failed to protect you—twice. What’s the point of all his power and wealth if the one person who matters most to him keeps slipping through his fingers?”
His words hit a nerve, echoing my own doubts about Cassian, the man who’s supposed to be my protector but feels more like a specter haunting my life. “Ethan, I need to see you,” I say, my voice raw with urgency. “You’re the only one I trust right now.”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone is heavy. “Cassian’s made it clear I’m not welcome in New York. He says I’ll be dead on sight if I show up.”
Anger flares in my chest. “I don’t trust Cassian either,” I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “So much has happened in the last three years, Ethan. Things I can’t even begin to explain. Please, find a way for us to meet.”
Silence stretched, and I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. Unlike with Vincent, I didn’t feel resistance with Ethan. His voice didn’t repel me—it drew me in, like I already knew him.
Finally, he spoke. “Maybe I can smuggle you a burner phone. We could do video calls, stay in contact. But coming in person...” He trailed off. “It’s too dangerous.”
I bit down on my lip, torn between desperation and the small thread of comfort his words offered. At least Ethan was real. At least I wasn’t entirely alone.
