Found Obsession

Chapter 88: Opening up to Wyatt

Wyatt sat cross-legged in the basement, his fingers flying over the controller as he immersed himself in his video game. Being the family's least favorite child had its perks—if being invisible could be called that. It meant he could avoid most of the family drama, except for the occasional bullying from his older brothers and sisters.

His room was, quite literally, the basement.

It was spacious but cold, with the air of abandonment that came with being the forgotten part of the house. He had made it his own, though. The once-empty space was now filled with all the trappings of his "cool job"—a job he still found laughable most days.

Wyatt snorted to himself, his eyes glued to the screen. Who even came up with this stupid job? Being an elite operative protecting the interests of the rich and keeping meddling detectives away from their affairs wasn't exactly something he had dreamed about. But the paycheck? That part was hard to argue with.

He glanced around at his room between levels, taking in the new furniture, high-end gaming setup, and sleek gadgets he had managed to buy with his earnings. It was a far cry from the basement he had grown up in. And best of all, it was his.

He had noticed the jealousy in his siblings' eyes whenever they came to annoy him, but like always, he ignored it. They could stew in their envy. Wyatt had learned long ago that paying attention to their opinions only gave them more power over him.

"Whatever," he muttered under his breath as the next level loaded, leaning back into his beanbag chair. Life wasn't perfect, but down here in his attic sanctuary, with his games and his gadgets, it was good enough.

For now.

Wyatt had his headphones snug over his ears, blasting music as his fingers flew across the controller, his movements precise and rapid. The glowing screen reflected in his eyes as he pressed the buttons with practiced ease, navigating through the chaotic game.

But his mind wasn't fully in it. His thoughts drifted to his teammates, a wave of irritation washing over him.

He had heard the gossip about Arina and all the hassle surrounding Crystal. The talk of recent murders had been even harder to avoid. The details were hazy, but just thinking about the drama made him shake his head. That was exactly why he preferred staying down here, in his sanctuary, far removed from their mess. He had washed his hands of it all, shrugging off any responsibility with a simple "I don't know anything."

"Bastards had all the fun without calling me," he muttered, mowing down a string of enemies on the screen with calculated shots.

The thought gnawed at him. It wasn't just the exclusion—it was the principle of it.

Wasn't I supposed to be informed about what's going on? he thought bitterly. He shot another enemy, his annoyance making his movements sharper. They didn't even call me. Not a single update. Nothing.

It was infuriating. He was supposed to be part of the team.. Just the rich brat on the sidelines, invisible to everyone.

His grip on the controller tightened as he gritted his teeth. The game was supposed to be his escape, his way of tuning out the noise. But now, even that wasn't enough to drown out his frustration.

Why was he even thinking about them? The thought annoyed him.

Roselyn Hansley, with her bitchy attitude and constant insistence on showing him manners, immediately came to mind. It infuriated him how she had the nerve to put him in his place without threatening or hitting him—just words, sharp and precise. Somehow, that made it worse. Now missing, he thought. Mother on the run.