Page 18 of Charmingly Obsessed
Honestly? I’d trade the job, the money, all of it, for more of those kisses. God, I’m pathetic.
“Alright. I will do as you say,” I whisper finally.
We stand frozen, facing each other across the narrow hallway. It feels like miles, an unbridgeable chasm. And yet… with that single word, the chasm seems to shrink, the air thickening, charged with unspoken things.
Frez swallows hard, his gaze flickering briefly towards my bedroom door, then snapping back to my face. He looks at me like he’s memorizing me, like he’s starving and I’m the only sustenance in sight.
I have no idea what’s swirling in those chaotic blue depths, but I want him to keep looking. Just like that. Forever.
“Say it again,” he rasps.
“W-what?”
“The last thing you said.”
“I will do as you say,” I repeat, softer this time.
He’s vibrating with suppressed energy now, coiled like a spring. Ready to launch his plan. When Frez gets like this, obsessed with a new project, he’s a force of nature, dragging everyone into his orbit.
He scrubs his nose carelessly, almost angrily, with the sleeve of his expensive blazer, but his eyes never leave my face. He looks like he’s about to pounce.
“There’s a draft,” he says suddenly, his gaze shifting past me towards the bedroom again. “Strong one. Is your window open?”
My face flames, then goes ice cold. The air rushes from my lungs. He takes a step towards the bedroom door.
“No!” The word rips from my throat, sharp with panic.
He glances back at me, confused by my reaction, then pushes the bedroom door open wider and steps inside.
And the world tilts.
8
Chapter 8 Diana
The damp chill hits me first, carrying the scent of rain and something else…
Then the image floods my mind – the heavy curtain billowing, the antique wardrobe, the rope… Anya.
“I’ll close the window,” Frez says casually from inside the dim room, his back to the wardrobe. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what horror hangs just feet away, swaying gently in the draft he just commented on. He’s about to turn around.
He cannot see that.
Adrenaline dumps into my system. I launch myself forward, stumbling past the threshold into the murky light, propelled by pure terror. My hands scramble for the massive wardrobe, needing to block his view, needing to hide…
Frez turns. His eyes follow my frantic movement. He looks towards the top of the wardrobe, towards the thick metal hook where Anya…
Where…
Nothing.
There’s nothing there. Just the hook. Empty. Stark against the dark wood.
The rope is gone.
“No! W-what? Where is it? It’s gone!” My mind races, frantic. Did I imagine it? No. It was there. I saw it.
I scramble onto the rickety wooden stool beside the wardrobe, hands scrabbling blindly at the top edge, patting the smooth, cold metal hook. Nothing. It was here. Swaying. When they carried her out in that bag… the rope was still here.
