Page 70 of Unapologetic Obsession
Instead of harping on about it, I changed the topic. “How long have you known Caden?” I asked curiously.
Her mouth dropped, unimpressed. “What gives you the right to call him that?”
The sniped words had their intended reaction—confusion. “Sorry?”
“Dr. Maxwell doesn’t allow anyone to call him by his first name. Don’t make that mistake again,” she announced possessively as if she were waiting at the edge of her seat for the day he granted her permission. Until then, everyone else must also call him Dr. Maxwell.
My brows shot up. Today, he insisted I call him Caden and seemed angry I hadn’t taken the initiative myself.
Instead of arguing with her, I restarted my search and landed on a pair of black lacey panties at the reasonable price of one hundred dollars. It was the cheapest thing in her inventory, and I was desperate to wear underwear.
Much to my chagrin, they felt like air when I pulled them on under my robe.
Natasha held up a champagne-colored dress with pearl strands extending from the collar to the waistline. Tiny gold-plated chain links went around the collar. At least this outfit satisfied my curiosity—these dresses were made of literal gold.
“This should work for the Captain’s Welcome Reception,” she mused, struggling to keep her previous ire at a minimum. “Try it on.”
I didn’t argue, desperate to escape the tension for a few minutes. “Sure.” I grabbed the dress and headed for the bathroom to try it on, but she blocked my path.
She tsked, irritated. “Change out here so I can fit it properly.”
I shook my head, having learned my lesson after how the beauty team reacted to my scars. I wouldn’t subject anyone else to that again. “Erm. I’ll change in the bathroom.”
Her eyeballs went to the ceiling. “Without my help, you might break the zipper or tear the fabric. This isn’t off-the-rack, this dress needs to be handled delicately.” Her insinuation was clear—I was inept at handling such expensive fabric unsupervised.
“I’ll be super careful, I promise. I-I don’t like changing in front of other people.”Trust me, I’m saving you from some nasty nightmares.
“Give me a break,” she snapped. “Women like you disgust me. You pretend to be all innocent to bait a rich husband. Drop the shy act. Dr. Maxwell isn’t here for you to impress.”
I clutched the soft fabric of the dress with trembling fingers. My panic was accelerating with her rising aggression, my skin prickling with nervous sweat, and it was over a silly dress that equated to one thousand meals. I much preferred the food. I slid the dress back on the rack. “You know what? I don’t need the dress after all.”
She was ready to hit the roof, utterly displeased by my change of heart. “Oh, so you can tell Dr. MaxwellIam the reason you have nothing to wear at the gala, and then I get into trouble,” she said viciously. “Dr. Maxwell gave me a job, and I’ll handle it like a professional.” She held up the dress again. “Now, strip.”
I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. As her gaze bore into me, my resolve crumbled. I didn’t fight when she strode forward, untied my belt, and pushed the robe off my shoulders.
As soon as the robe dropped, her first impulse was to scream. It was so high-pitched that the guard from the hallway materialized at the door. Scrambling, I grabbed the robe off the floor and threw it around me.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The woman at the door wore an all-black security uniform, and when she pushed farther into the room, I read her name tag—Linda.
I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could disappear.
“What happened?” she prodded, her chin-length blonde hair bouncing as she looked between us.
“What the hell arethose?” Natasha shouted.
I flinched at her words.
“Calm down,” Linda told her patiently.
“Me? You’re askingmeto calm down?” Natasha breathed heavily, angry beyond reason, her voice rising by the second. “Someone marked her body. Have you seen it? Were you in a gang or something?”
Linda cut me a confused glance.
My insides froze at Natasha’s accusations. Even for a K-drama villainess, she had gone overboard with her far-fetched theories. I had no idea when or how I got those scars, but I doubt sporadic marks on my midriff were a gang initiation.
Since I couldn’t rule out a criminal past with certainty, I tried a nonreactive approach, neither admitting nor denying her baseless allegations. Smoothing out my face, I imitated Caden’s signature poker face mask.
Natasha raised her arm, her index finger pointing at me. “We all know he found you on this boat, trying to steal food. You’re a criminal. And if I had to guess, you sell yourself on the streets for money. Do you know what would happen to his reputation if he was linked to someone like you? He took pity onyou, and you’re exploiting him. Why would you jeopardize his career and everything he has built after he saved you?”
