obsessively mine

CH#8 HIM

"Hello, sir."

A voice called out from behind me, smooth yet laced with authority. I turned to see a middle-aged man in his fifties, impeccably dressed in a tailored three-piece suit that looked as if it had been pressed just moments before.

"Hello, I'm Vince Chevalier. And you are?" I greeted, extending my hand.

"Alfred Thomas, at your service, Mr. Chevalier," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I trust your stay will be most comfortable."

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas. Could you please show me to my room?" I asked, expecting the usual hospitality.

Alfred's smile widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable behind his expression. "I won't show you. You'll choose for yourself," he said, his tone coolly indifferent. "You may select whichever room suits you in this hallway. I'll bring up your luggage."

Surprised by his unexpected response, I raised an eyebrow. "Me? Choose for myself?"

"Yes, sir," he confirmed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "But I'm here if you require assistance."

"Uh... no, I think I can manage," I replied, more curious than concerned now.

I walked down the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floor. Each door I opened revealed a room more unique and opulent than the last, each filled with characters as if hiding stories of their own. After exploring several, one particular room caught my attention—a space that seemed almost too perfect as if it had been waiting for me.

"This one... please bring my luggage here," I called out, still lingering in the doorway.

"An excellent choice," Alfred responded, appearing almost instantly with my bags as if he had anticipated my decision. He placed them inside the room with precision. "Please take a moment to freshen up while I prepare dinner. If you need anything at all, I'm just a call away, sir," he added with a slight bow before retreating, leaving me alone.

I sank into a plush single-person sofa, the room's luxurious details nearly overwhelming. Yet, a persistent thought gnawed at me—What more are you hiding? Before I could dwell further, a sharp knock at the door pulled me from my reverie.

"Yes?" I called out.

Alfred entered, his posture as immaculate as ever. "Sir, dinner is ready. Please, follow me," he announced, his voice devoid of warmth but not entirely unfriendly.

I rose from the sofa, my curiosity piqued further. As we walked, I asked, "Where's Stacey? I haven't seen her since she went upstairs to make a call."

"Miss Owner—" Alfred began, but I cut him off.

"Miss Owner?"

"I mean Miss Stacey... she's attending to some business matters. She will join you shortly," he replied, his eyes momentarily flickering with an emotion I couldn't place. He then gestured toward a grand dining room.

"This way, sir," he said, his voice steady.

The dining room was a scene straight out of a decadent feast, with a long table draped in fine linens, and candles casting a warm glow over an array of exquisite dishes. I took a seat, feeling both pampered and unnerved. As Alfred began to serve me, the calm was shattered by the sound of the front door slamming open.

"STACEY! Where are you? We're in trouble, and I—" A woman's voice, sharp and panicked, cut through the air. She stopped abruptly upon seeing me, her eyes narrowing. She was tall, with a statuesque figure that seemed to command attention wherever she went. Her dark auburn hair was styled in loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders, a hint of silver strands adding a sophisticated edge to her look. Her emerald-green eyes were sharp, lined with a touch of kohl that accentuated their intensity, and they flickered with a mix of curiosity and calculation as she studied me. She wore a deep burgundy dress that clung to her curves, cinched at the waist with a belt that highlighted her hourglass figure. The dress was elegant yet bold, much like the woman herself, and her high heels clicked authoritatively with every step.

"Well, hello, handsome... you look unfamiliar. Who might you be?" she asked her smirk not quite masking the tension in her voice.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Vince... Vince Chevalier, a friend of Stacey's. And you are?" I replied, standing up to greet her.

"I'm Stacey's aunt, Bella. But you can call me Be," she said, her demeanor shifting to something more calculated as she extended her hand. Her hand was adorned with a delicate, gold bracelet that jingled softly as she moved, a small but potent reminder of her refined tastes. I shook it, noting the firm grip beneath her polished exterior—a grip that suggested strength and control beneath the glamour.

"So, you're Stacey's aunt... she never mentioned you," I said, my curiosity deepening.

Bella chuckled, but before she could respond, Stacey burst into the room, her face flushed and eyes darting between us.

"Be, when did you arrive?" Stacey asked, her voice tinged with urgency.

"I've been here for a little while, sweetheart," Bella replied smoothly, though there was an undercurrent of something more beneath her words.

"Please come upstairs with me. I need to discuss something with you," Stacey said, not waiting for a reply as she grabbed Bella's arm.

"Alright, well... I was here to discuss something, too," Bella said, her tone layered with implications. She glanced back at me as Stacey tugged her towards the stairs. "Mr. Vince, I'll see you in a bit."

I nodded, watching them disappear up the stairs, the unsettling tension in the air thickening with every passing second.