Page 70 of Sinful Obsession
“Why are you this harsh on me?” I asked, my voice cracking, tears blurring my vision. “I did nothing wrong.”
“You’re carrying another man’s child,” he snarled, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and pain, his bruised hand flexing as if he wanted to punch the wall again.
“So?” I shot back, standing taller despite the fear churning in my gut. “We’re not even married, Cassian. How is that a problem? I was kidnapped, held captive for years. And I don’t know why the fuck you’re not believing me—I remember everything now, every agonizing moment of those three years, and Ethan never touched me like that.”
“He touched you when you were unconscious,” Cassian said, his voice dripping with certainty, his face twisting into a mask of disgust.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm about to break. I backed away instinctively, my heart pounding, fear prickling my skin.
“No, he didn’t,” I insisted, my voice steady but my hands trembling at my sides.
“And how would you know?” he demanded, his eyes locking onto mine, devouring me with that intense, possessive stare.
He paused, his breath ragged, then his voice dropped lower, laced with a dangerous edge. “What are you going to do about the baby?”
The question hit like a slap, and I placed a protective hand on my belly, feeling the subtle curve beneath my shirt. “What nonsense are you insinuating? I won’t abort my child, Cassian. I don’t care if you believe it’s yours or not—I’ll raise this baby alone.”
He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes, like my words were a pathetic joke. “And how will you breastfeed the child, huh? With that flat chest of yours?”
The words stung, dredging up old insecurities, memories of his past taunts about my body.
I hadn’t even thought about it—the practicalities, the challenges. But I wouldn’t let him see my doubt. “There are artificial means,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. “Formula, pumps—whatever it takes. And I heard you were diagnosed with cancer too. Is that why you’re so angry? Because you think you’re dying?”
Cassian’s laugh was bitter, echoing off the walls as he shook his head. “I’m perfectly okay. It was a misdiagnosis—some incompetent doctor mixed up my scans with another patient’s. A routine check turned into a nightmare because of their error. I’m not dying, Charlotte. Not anytime soon.”
“So you’re not going anywhere, huh?” I said, relief mixing with the chaos in my chest, though it did nothing to ease the tension.
“No, I’m not dying,” he replied, his gaze dropping to my belly, his expression hardening again. “I won’t force you to abort yourchild. But as long as you carry this... this Ethan’s child... you can’t live in my house.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted?” I retorted, though my voice wavered. “Freedom from you?”
“Freedom from me, you’ll get,” he said, his tone mocking. “But how about freedom from Luca, Artem, and your father? They’re still out there, circling like vultures.”
“Why don’t you let me handle that?” I snapped, defiance flaring despite the fear gnawing at me.
“Leave then,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time, raw emotion cracking through his armor. “Get out of my estate. I’ll forget I ever loved you, no matter how excruciating it is. Forget how you’re burned into my soul, how you’re all I’ve thought about since that first night you kissed me in the club, desperate and fierce, like you were mine before I even knew your name. How I couldn’t sleep in your absence, nights turning into hell without you. I’d fight the world for you, Charlotte—bury myself six feet under if it meant keeping you alive. But I have limits. You can’t carry another man’s child and live in my house, in my head. No. No, Charlotte.”
His words hit like a tidal wave, his voice trembling with the weight of his obsession, his love twisted into something painful and beautiful.
Tears streamed down my face, my chest aching. “Thanks for loving me,” I whispered, my voice small. “But no, I’ll never abort my child.”
I turned and walked inside, my legs heavy, each step feeling like a finality.
In the bedroom—our bedroom, once, memories of his touch lingering like ghosts on the silk sheets.
I pulled out a suitcase from the closet, my hands shaking as I packed the few things I had: jeans, tops, the DNA sample still tucked in a pocket, a handful of underwear.
Would he really send me away?
Where would I go?
I had no money of my own, no safety net. How would I take care of my child? Feed them, clothe them, protect them from the wolves circling my life—Luca with his calculated charm, Artem with his Russian brutality, my father with his endless schemes?
Ethan, the only twisted ally I’d had, was gone, his body cold on that deck.
The thought sent fresh tears down my cheeks, fear coiling in my gut like a serpent.
I was alone, truly alone, with a baby depending on me.
