Dominated (Obsessed II)

17.

Bianca Dawson
Here we go

I ran the brush through my hair, each stroke deliberate, each pull of the bristles against my scalp grounding me. The mirror reflected a version of myself I barely recognized anymore. The girl who once smiled easily, who laughed freely, had been replaced by someone colder, someone sharper. My eyes, framed by the soft waves I had painstakingly brushed into place, stared back at me with a glint that even I couldn't quite define. Sinister, maybe. Determined.

I was going to see him. Jude.

No one understood what we had or what could still have. They didn't need to. It wasn't for them to dissect or judge or poke holes in. It was ours. Mine. His. And the thought of being near him again, of hearing his voice and seeing his smile, was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

That smile. God, I missed it. The way it could light up a room, the way it had once lit up my entire world. The memory of it was a lifeline I had clung to during the darkest nights, when the cold walls of my confinement closed in on me, and my own thoughts became my prison. His smile would revive me. It had to. I hadn't felt anything real since my brother and father locked me away, stripping me of everything I thought I was. But Jude, he would bring me back to life.

I kept brushing my hair, the rhythmic motion calming the storm brewing in my chest. An image of him filled my mind, vivid and clear, as if he were standing right in front of me. Would his eyes still hold that spark when he saw me? Or had time and distance dimmed it? The thought clawed at my resolve, but I pushed it aside. No, I couldn't let doubt creep in. Not now.

But then another thought surfaced, uninvited and unwelcome: what if he had moved on? The idea hit me like a physical blow, and my hand froze mid-stroke. I hadn't allowed myself to consider that possibility. I had been so consumed by my own longing, by the fire that burned for him, that I had never stopped to think... what if his heart no longer burned for me? What if he...

No. I shook my head, forcing the thought out of my mind. If Jude had moved on, I would leave him alone. I wouldn't interfere. His happiness was more important to me than my own. It always had been. I had already caused him enough pain, enough damage. But the thought of him being happy without me was a knife I wasn't sure I could bear. Still, if that was the case, I'd make peace with it. Somehow.

The brush resumed its path through my hair, slower now, my movements almost mechanical. The door opened behind me, and I caught his reflection in the mirror before I turned to face him. Dominik. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets in a casual stance that didn't match the tension etched into his features.

"The jet is ready," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

I nodded, setting the brush down on the vanity with a quiet clink. His gaze hovered on me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was heavy, charged with emotions neither of us wanted to address.

"Thank you," I said, my tone even.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he stepped further into the room. "Bianca," he started, but then stopped, as if he wasn't sure how to say what he needed to. His voice softened, tinged with a pain I knew he wasn't trying to hide. "Don't do this."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "I have to."

Dominik was sweet. He was kind. He had been there for me when I thought no one else would be. But he wasn't Jude. He would never be Jude.

He let out a slow breath, his jaw clenching. "I can't stop you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don't get hurt."

I stood, crossing the room to him. For a moment, I thought he might step back, but he held his ground. Reaching up, I rested my hand lightly on his face, my fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. "Dominik," I said softly, my voice steady. "I'll be fine."