Gabriel's Obsession

In the Depths of Despair

The walls of Amelia's bedroom seemed to close in around her, suffocating in their silence. The dim lighting cast elongated shadows across the room, eerie specters of her own despair. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bruises marring her arm—dark, ugly reminders of Gabriel's rage. She traced them with trembling fingers, each touch sending a shiver through her.

Had she truly believed, once upon a time, that love existed between them? That their marriage, forced though it had been, could have transformed into something meaningful? Those dreams now seemed so distant, as if they had belonged to another woman, a foolish girl who hadn't known the depths of cruelty that love could disguise itself in.

The door creaked open.

The air shifted, thickening with something ominous. She knew without looking who it was. She could feel him.

"Gabriel." His name barely escaped her lips before his towering figure filled the space, radiating cold authority.

He shut the door behind him with deliberate slowness. The sharp click of the lock sliding into place sent a chill skittering down her spine.

"Amelia," he drawled, his voice low, dangerous.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, though fear trembled beneath her resolve. "Gabriel, please... I can't endure this any longer. What have I done to deserve this?"

He smirked, a wicked thing that curled at the corner of his lips. He moved toward her, predatory in his steps, his presence suffocating.

"Deserve?" He chuckled, dark amusement lacing his tone. "You deserve everything I give you, Amelia. You're mine. You'd do well to remember that."

Tears welled in her eyes, burning as they threatened to spill. "But... I thought we were married because you loved me."

Gabriel let out a laugh—hollow, mocking. "Love?" He leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her face. "Love is nothing more than a tool, Amelia. It can be pleasure or it can be pain. In our case..." His fingers trailed up her arm, pressing cruelly against the bruises he had left there earlier. She gasped in pain. "It's both."

Her chest constricted. "Please, Gabriel, I beg you. Let me go. I can't live like this."

His eyes darkened, and before she could react, his hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her up from the bed. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips as he squeezed, his grip bruising.

"You belong to me," he hissed. "I won't let you go. You're mine. And if you ever think of leaving..." He leaned in until their noses almost touched, his voice lowering into something chilling. "I will find you. And I will drag you back by your hair if I have to."

A sob choked its way up her throat. "What did I do to make you hate me so much? Why are you doing this?"

His grip tightened painfully, and she whimpered. "Hate you?" He tilted his head, as if considering it. "Oh, my sweet Amelia, this isn't hate." He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear as he whispered, "This is control."

She flinched at his words.

"You will do whatever I say," he continued, his voice devoid of mercy. "And if you ever think otherwise, I'll remind you just how helpless you truly are."

A knock at the door startled them both. The interruption was unexpected, a crack in Gabriel's suffocating control over the moment.

The door opened without invitation. Mother Grace stepped inside.

"Gabriel, what is the meaning of this?" The firm disapproval in her voice was something Amelia had never heard before.

Gabriel's expression flickered with irritation, but he quickly masked it. He straightened, releasing Amelia's wrist so suddenly that she stumbled back.