Veiled in Rivalry | The Dark Tale of Passion and Power| [18+]

Chapter 11: Inferno of Obsession

"In the throes of obsession, madness becomes the only sanctuary."

— Viktor Giovanni

Two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks of relentless torment. These semester breaks are supposed to be a reprieve, but for me, it's hell. A void where time stretches endlessly, and every second without her frays my sanity. I haven't seen Lara in days, and it's driving me straight into madness.

I sit slumped in my cold leather chair, my office dim, barely lit by a flickering desk lamp. The bottle of vodka in front of me is empty—drained in one go. My throat is still on fire, the burn a temporary comfort, distracting me from the storm inside me. But the burn's cruel, reminding me I'm still alive, still chained to this unbearable craving for her.

Lara.

She's everywhere. Every thought. Every breath. Every second without her is agony, a festering wound that refuses to heal. Her absence gnaws at me, poisoning everything, making it impossible to think straight.

The walls of my office feel like they're closing in, shadows creeping along the edges as the alcohol works its way through my veins. I swear I can feel her ghost here with me—like she's haunting me. I can almost hear her laugh, smell her perfume. Every memory I have of her cuts through me like a knife, tearing apart whatever's left of my self-control.

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. I need something, anything to pull me back to reality. But reality? Reality is cruel. It taunts me with what I want, holding it just out of reach. The world outside moves on, oblivious to the chaos consuming me.

The silence in here is suffocating. The ticking of the clock feels like a countdown—each second dragging me deeper into obsession. I shut my eyes, but it doesn't help. She's there. She's always there. Her laughter, her scent, her touch—they all torment me, pulling me further into this twisted abyss.

I push myself up from the chair, staggering toward the window. The night outside is dark and oppressive, like it's reflecting the chaos inside me. I press my forehead against the cold glass, hoping the chill will clear my head, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

Frustration tightens in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. Without thinking, I slam my head against the glass. It shatters with a violent crack, splintering outward. Blood streams down my face, warm and steady, but I don't flinch. I just stand there, staring out into the dark, broken shards scattered at my feet. The pain doesn't matter. Not compared to the storm already tearing me apart from the inside.

Lara Volkov.

Her name. It's both a curse and a prayer, whispered in the darkest corners of my mind. Lara. It haunts me, searing itself into my thoughts like a brand. She's a wildfire, tearing through everything in her path, leaving nothing but ash and ruin in her wake. And yet, I'm drawn to her—helpless, like a moth to a flame. I know she'll destroy me, consume everything I am, but I can't stop. She's my salvation and my damnation, all in one.

The vodka bottle slips from my hand and shatters on the floor. The sound echoes in the room, sharp and final. My decision is made. I'm going to have her. No matter what it costs, no matter how far I have to go, I'll have her. This obsession, this madness—it only ends when she's mine.

I stand there, staring out at the void for what feels like hours. A broken king in a crumbling castle. Waiting for something to change. But peace? Peace is a lie. It's a dream I can't afford.

"I will win," I whisper to the darkness. "The queen will be mine. I'll fight for her. I'll win her. No matter the cost."

The words hang in the air, a vow carved out of my soul. "She'll belong to me—completely, utterly. Nothing will stop me."