Page 47 of Sinful Obsession
“Okay, Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I clutched the phone, “there’s something you need to know. I... I’ve lost my memory of the last three years. From the moment my grandfather pushed me to marry into the Moretti family in 2024, up until late last year when I entered that damned contest, House of Devils—it’s all gone. I don’t remember marrying Cassian. I don’t remember anything. But I believe you can tell me the truth. You sound like the only person I can trust right now.”
A heavy silence stretched across the line, and I could almost feel Ethan’s shock through the receiver. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Yeah,” I replied. “The doctor said there’s a fifty percent chance I might recover my memories... or I might not. It’s driving me insane, Ethan. I’m trapped in a life I don’t even recognize.”
“Jeez, Charlotte,” he muttered, his voice softening. “Listen, Cassian might have this line tapped. Stop using this phone. I’ll smuggle you a burner phone so we can talk securely. Let’s hope he’s not already listening to our calls.”
My heart sank at the thought of Cassian’s reach extending even to my private conversations. “Okay,” I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Vincent wants to see me. Do you think I should go?”
“Hell no,” Ethan said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You can’t trust Vincent—or your father, for that matter. Honestly, I’d rather you stay with Cassian than get tangled up with your family again.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, confirming the unease I’d felt about Vincent’s sudden interest in me.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, hesitating before adding, “Um... can you send a pregnancy test with the burner phone?”
There was a pause, and I could almost see Ethan’s brow furrowing. “You think you’re pregnant?”
“I’ve been having symptoms,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “Nausea, dizziness, morning sickness. I’m terrified, Ethan. I need to know.”
“Don’t worry, Charlotte,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll have both the phone and the test tube smuggled to you within twenty-four hours.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, a lump rising in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
As I ended the call, a wave of relief mixed with dread washed over me.
Ethan’s warning about Vincent echoed my own suspicions—Vincent’s sudden eagerness to “rescue” me felt like a trap, a chess move in a game I didn’t understand.
But what was his endgame? And why did the thought of trusting anyone, even Ethan, leave a knot of unease in my chest?
Hours later, I sat alone at the polished dining table, picking at a plate of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, the rich sauce fragrant with garlic and parmesan.
The food was exquisite, but each bite felt like ash in my mouth.
My thoughts churned.
The clink of my fork against the plate was the only sound in the cavernous room, until soft, deliberate footsteps broke the silence behind me.
I knew it was Cassian.
His presence was unmistakable, a storm cloud rolling into the room.
I didn’t turn around, focusing instead on twirling a strand of pasta around my fork, as if ignoring him could make him disappear.
He moved to the opposite end of the table and sat, his chair scraping faintly against the hardwood floor.
I felt his gaze, intense, like a spotlight pinning me in place.
I tried to keep my movements steady, to pretend his scrutiny wasn’t peeling back every layer of my carefully constructed calm. But the weight of his stare was unbearable, a silent demand for acknowledgment.
Finally, I looked up, meeting his piercing eyes.
“Welcome back,” I said, my voice clipped but polite.
“How’s your hand?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the bandage wrapped around my finger. His tone was neutral, but there was something in his eyes—concern.
“Better,” I replied, glancing at the bandage.
The pain had dulled, thanks to the injection the doctor had given me.
