obsessively mine

CH#3 HIM

I woke up in a dimly lit, unfamiliar room. My head pounded, and I blinked against the throbbing pain, trying to focus. The shadows around me shifted, and a figure emerged from the haze. Slowly, a woman's face came into view—calm, controlled, yet distant.

Before I could find my voice, she spoke first, her tone soft but unyielding. "You're awake. Stay calm. You're safe here."

I stared at her, my heart racing, my mind still spinning with confusion. "Where am I? What is this place? Why did you bring me here?" My voice cracked, frustration and panic creeping in.

Her expression hardened, and she replied dismissively, "It doesn't matter where we are or why you're here."

I clenched my fists, the restraint on my wrists biting into my skin. "Why are you doing this?" I demanded, anger sparking in my voice.

Her eyes met mine, cool and unwavering. "Because I love you." The words cut through the air, sharp and unexpected, like a slap to the face.

I froze, disbelief clouding my thoughts. Narrowing my eyes, I spat, "What the hell are you talking about? Are you insane? You know I'm—"

"Engaged to your killer." She interrupted, her voice steady, but her eyes held a cold, calculated edge.

"Killer?" I repeated, my mind unable to keep up with the absurdity. "What are you talking about? Who?"

She barely flinched, her tone casual as if the answer was obvious. "The woman you're supposed to marry. Serena. She's planning to kill you."

For a moment, the room seemed to tilt. I stared at her, the weight of her accusation hanging heavy in the air. "Serena? Kill me? Why would she do that? Our marriage might be business, but murder? How could you possibly know that?"

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away briefly before speaking, her voice softening, almost vulnerable. "I overheard them. Serena and her accomplice. They're planning to kill you after the wedding. They talked about shooting you or poisoning you."

I laughed—harsh, bitter, disbelieving. "You overheard them? Eavesdropping, are we? If you knew this, why didn't you come to me first? Why all the theatrics?"

She met my gaze again, something fierce behind her eyes. "Would you have believed me? You would've laughed it off, called me jealous or desperate." Her voice dropped lower, tension thickening between us. "You never would've trusted me."

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. She wasn't wrong. I would've dismissed it as madness or spite, an attempt to sabotage my wedding. But still, she should've told me. At least I could've been cautious.

"Stacey," I began, my voice more measured, more composed. "Let me go. We can talk. I'll listen now." I tested the restraints again, my wrists aching beneath the pressure.

She scoffed, though something flickered in her eyes—hesitation, doubt. She stepped closer, fingers brushing against the bonds that held me. "You think I'm an idiot? The second you're free, you'll bolt."

I didn't deny it. But then, to my surprise, she began to unfasten the restraints, her fingers working swiftly, deliberately. "But I'm still letting you go," she muttered, as though convincing herself more than me.

As she leaned in to finish untying me, our eyes met, and for the first time, I saw something raw beneath her composed exterior—something desperate. A silent plea for me to believe her. To understand.

The restraints came loose, and she stepped back. I expected her to linger, to explain herself further, to try to convince me one last time. But instead, she melted into the shadows, disappearing without another word.

I was left in the silence of the dim room, her words echoing in my head. And for the first time, I felt a chill, realizing that maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth.