Page 158 of The Sweetest Obsession

He must see what’s really on my mind, the worry and pain etched on my face.

“That won’t be your ma. She’s not looking to go anywhere,” Grant promises fervently, as if he has any control over that. “And you’re not there anymore. Youaren’t. I get why you left, Philia. I do. But you don’t have to go back to that dark place.”

What else is there?

What else can I do, when I’ve been the Grim Reaper’s errand girl for my entire career?

“I don’t know, Grant. I don’t—”

Anything I wanted to say vanishes as Mason Law’s eyes snap open.

He pulls up as sharply as the strings tethered to my heart.

Even with the doctors and nurses grabbing at him, he sits up like a toy skeleton popping out of a trick coffin, a human jump scare with his throat working around the tube. He reaches out in a trembling, accusing spear.

Pointing right at me.

Oh, God.

His eyes lock on and I freeze.

Heart palpitations shudder through me in a wild rushing mess.

He gags, and Grant peels away from me, striding into the room, his massive bulk radiating pure authority.

“Get that damn thing out of his mouth,” Grant barks. “Let him talk.”

One of the doctors looks up, his face tight. “Captain, he—”

“He might be a goddamned murder victim,” Grant clips. “Whatever he’s got to say, this might be the only chance to find out who the fuck did this to him.Let him talk.”

The doctor gives him an uncertain look, even as the nurses grab Law by the shoulders and wrestle him down.

He’s still staring at me, fighting them with surprising strength.

I duck into the room quickly, stepping closer to the bed.

“Mr. Law?” I say. “Are you all right?”

His eyes roll wildly.

He lets out a choked sound as the doctor eases the tube out of his throat. Law coughs, his entire body convulsing so violently I just want to hold him, my heart wrenching when it looks like he’s about to snap in half.

But as he subsides, his head falls to the side toward me.

More foamy red spit bubbles past his lips as he lets out a wheezing breath. “You y-you’re not... s-safe,” he croaks. “H-have to go. T-take her... take h-her andgo.D-don’t don’t... let him h-have her.”

“Who?” I demand, pushing closer to the bed, my heart climbing up my throat. “Ros? My sister? Is Aleksander hurting her?”

He turns paler when he hears 'Aleksander,' his skin bleaching white, but when his lips work open and shut, nothing comes out but strange gurgles.

“Did he do this to you?” Grant asks urgently, looming over the bed. “Do you work for the Arrendells, Mr. Law?”

Law’s head rolls toward Grant.

Law looks up at him with a weariness in his eyes, something I’ve seen far too many times—the glazed exhaustion of someone so sick of fighting their own broken body that they’re ready to give up.

“V-valet,” Law whispers. “F-for for nearly forty years...”

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