Page 26 of His Darkest Obsession
Just like him.
Sighing, I look up the window frame and catch sight of a red light blinking in the upper corner. From where I am, I can’t tell if it’s a camera.
That doesn’t stop me from flipping my middle finger at it.
I look out the window again, and my heart squeezes at the thought of Amara. She’s staying with her friend after school for today, yes. But what about tomorrow? Sooner or later, she’s going to need to go home.
And when she does, she’ll be in danger, and I’m here playing house with Anatoly.
I can’t believe I agreed to marry him. Then again, it’s not like he gave me much of a choice. And even if I did find a way out, the guards roaming the grounds below will just capture me and bring me back.
Then, I remember that they’re not supposed to look at me, and I laugh a little at the thought. If they can’t even look at me without Anatoly flying into a fit, what are the odds that they’ll be allowed totouchme to bring me back?
It’s a foolish thought, I know. But that thought plants an idea in my head: the idea that maybe, just maybe, I can still get out.
Before he takes me to get fitted for a wedding dress tomorrow.
Before he has a chance to truly make me his wife.
And everything else that comes with it.
Standing up to my feet, I scan the room. Slowly, my eyes are drawn to a large bookshelf that stands innocently in the corner. It calls to me, like it has the answers to my problems. When I walk over, I’m surprised by the collection of books that Anatoly has here. It’s an eclectic collection, that’s for sure. There are Russian classics like Tolstoy, yes, but I’m also shocked to find several dog-eared copies of contemporary romances.
I laugh again, this time at the thought of Anatoly sitting in a chair, and licking his finger as he flips through the pages of a Nora Roberts book. But somehow, it’s not entirely a terrible image.
Reaching up, I start to pull a book out, and that’s when I notice the large brass bookend.
It’s heavier than it looks, and it feels solid and sturdy in my hands when I wrestle it off the shelf. I look at the glass of the window, and wonder if it’s bulletproof too.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
A woman’s voice—clear and sharp like summer hailstones on terracotta tiles—reaches my ears.
I look back in surprise and see a woman around my age with shoulder-length black hair staring at me. There’s a sarcastically amused reaction on her face. She’s pretty in an understated kind of way that emphasized her natural beauty. There’s hardly any makeup on her face apart from a simple eyeliner. And she’s tall, taller than me at least.
She stands there with her arms akimbo and putting most of her weight on one leg. But something about her tells me that if she wants to, she can move just as fast as Anatoly.
She’s not someone to be fucked with.
And that’s before I see the gun strapped to her side.
Her blue eyes take a singular look at the heavy bookend in my hands, and she gives her head a slow shake.
“The glass is bulletproof, silly girl. And the window is wired to an alarm.” She juts her chin at the blinking red light at the upper corner of the window. “And if it goes off, half a dozen guards will be here before you have a chance to climb out.”
She saunters closer, but I stand my ground and tighten my fingers around the heavy bookend.
“And I know that Tolya might’ve told them not to touch you. But they’ll make an exception if you try to run. And they’re so much meaner than me.”
Tolya?I think.I thought his name was Anatoly.
There’s something that bothers me about how relaxed she seems when talking about him, especially when everyone else in the mansion seems to be wound up tighter than a coiled spring whenever he’s around. I get the feeling that if Anatoly were to stand in front of her, her posture would still be this relaxed and casual.
And unexpectedly, a rush of jealousy—bitter and sharp—licks through me at the thought.
“Who are you?” I ask warily.
“Call me Svetlana,” she replies. “I’ll be your personal guard at Tolya’s request.”
