Page 62 of Sinful Obsession
I drove, exhaustion pulling at me, my vision fading.
The boat lurched through the storm, waves slapping the hull, my body swaying as I fought to stay conscious.
Ethan’s words—You’re strong, you’ve got this—kept me grounded, but doubt crept in.
Through the fog, I saw a figure on the shore, waiting.
My heart pounded, a sickening sense of wrongness washing over me. This didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like a trap.
Ethan was my friend, the boy I’d protected from bullies years ago. He wouldn’t betray me... would he?
Why did I feel safer with Cassian, the man who’d caged me, than here? I shook my head, muttering, “Ethan’s good. He’s good,”as if saying it would make it true.
The boat reached the shore, and Ethan was there, his face pale but relieved.
He rushed to me, helping me out, his arms steady as my swollen legs gave out. “Oh my God, Charlotte,” he said, lifting me in a fireman’s carry and hurrying to a waiting chopper.
He set me gently in the passenger seat, buckling me in. “You’re safe now. Back where you belong.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice weak, but his words gnawed at me. “What do you mean,back where you belong?”
He didn’t answer, already in the pilot’s seat, the chopper’s blades whirring to life.
I glanced at the tracker bracelet on my wrist, its weight a reminder of Cassian.
I should’ve asked Ethan to remove it, but the chopper was airborne, and exhaustion dulled my thoughts.
As we lifted off, bound for Chicago, a cold dread settled in my chest. I’d escaped Cassian, but something told me I’d traded one cage for another.
A few hours passed, and the chopper’s sudden descent jolted me forward, the rhythmic hum of the blades slowing as we dropped toward... what? I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, fogging it with my breath, and my heart skipped a beat.
A vast, endless sea stretched below us, its waves glinting like knives under the fading light. Confusion clawed at my chest.
Chicago was landlocked—rivers, yes, but no seas. Were we landing on water? My pulse raced, a frantic drumbeat echoing the dread that had been simmering since I boarded this chopper.
I couldn’t shout to Ethan over the roar of the engine, his silhouette rigid in the pilot’s seat, but the unease I’d felt all along surged.
The chopper touched down with a gentle thud, and I scrambled to the other window, my swollen legs protesting.
More sea, dark and unyielding, surrounded us.
No city lights, no skyline—just a boat bobbing nearby, its hull gleaming ominously.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it would crack my ribs.
This wasn’t Chicago. This wasn’t escape.
I stumbled toward the cockpit, my damp clothes clinging to my skin, the tracker bracelet on my wrist a cold, heavy reminder of Cassian.
Ethan turned as I reached him, his face calm, unreadable, a mask that chilled me more than the rain ever could. “Ethan, what’s going on?” My voice trembled, fear bleeding through every word.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone flat, as if my panic was nothing.
I gestured wildly at the window. “This doesn’t look like Chicago! We’re in the middle of a fucking sea!”
He leaned back, his eyes steady, devoid of warmth. “We’re on a boat, Charlotte. You were here for two years. With me.”
The words hit like a gunshot, shattering my reality.
