Page 50 of Endless Obsession

“Let’s go when we’re done eating, actually,” Zoe says enthusiastically. “I’m closed on Sundays, so it’ll be like you’re getting your own private shopping experience.” She grins. “I have some new dresses that just came in that you’ll look incredible in.”

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about going shopping for an evening gown on a full stomach of eggs Benedict and mimosas, but Zoe is so enthusiastic that I can’t tell her no. “Okay,” I agree, finishing the last of my eggs and slipping my wallet out. I can tell that Sarah and Jaz are eager to go and play dress-up, too, and Sarah looks so relieved to have a “date” to the gala that I don’t want to do a single thing that might burst her bubble.

And truthfully, this morning is exactly what I needed. The uncomfortable feeling left by Nate’s texts has dissipated, and I’m back to feeling excited about the next time I see Ivan. Excited about my future.

It also occurs to me that if I were still with Nate, there still wouldn’t have been anything stopping me from going to the gala with Sarah. No date that I would have had to cancel or disappointment from him that we wouldn’t get to spend time together on a Friday night. I can hear what his response would have been in my head: Oh good, now you won’t be lonely while I’m working late. I’m glad you have something to do. Enjoy yourself.

On the surface, it seems like a good thing. For a long time, I really believed that it was, that I had a good, well-adjusted partner who didn’t care if I was out having fun without him because it meant his hard work wasn’t impeding my life. But now, I’m realizing that I was just always a second priority. I was never as important as his job. He wasn’t passionate about it, but he still put it before me.

He put a lot of things before me, apparently. Including other women.

We all pile into an Uber to go to Velvet Luxe, tipsy on mimosas and giggling the whole way. Zoe unlocks the door with a raised eyebrow and an air of secretive mystery that makes it feel like we’re doing something we’re not supposed to—even though it’s her boutique. Sarah and Jaz flop onto the jewel-toned velvet couches in front of the three-way mirror, and Sarah lets out a sigh.

“I was going to wear something I already had in my closet, but now I’m starting to think I should get something new. You have so many gorgeous things here, Zoe.”

Zoe beams. “I just got the new fall line in. I’m so excited. And Charlotte, I have the perfect thing for you. Hold on, and I’ll go grab it for the back. Maybe I’ll pull a couple things for you too, Sarah,” she adds with a wink, just before disappearing into the back of the store.

“I love how perfect all of this is for her,” I murmur as we watch her go. “She’s been so passionate about it since college. And it’s all worked out.”

I want to feel that passionate about something. I’ve always enjoyed tech and working with computers; there’s something about it and the changes that it’s continuously making in our world that I find compelling, but I don’t spend my days voraciously reading about the latest innovations or talking to my friends about it in my off time. Zoe lives and breathes fashion, and Jaz lives and breathes adventure. Sarah isn’t particularly passionate about her work, but she loves the influence that it gives her to work on projects for nonprofits like the one throwing the gala Friday night. And I—I just kind of float, from day to day, in a life that has never felt particularly unique or interesting.

What if it’s not something that I want to be passionate about, but someone? That seems like it goes against everything I’m supposed to want as an independent woman, that I shouldn’t crave a person that I can lose myself in, and who will lose himself in me. But I think of what Ivan said at dinner the other night—that once I realize that he’s the one who can give me everything I want, what we have will be forever—and it sends a shiver down my spine that feels good. It feels anticipatory, like what should frighten me is instead unlocking a craving that I didn’t even know I had.

“Here we go!” Zoe emerges from the back of the store, holding an armful of gowns. “Charlotte, this is perfect for you.” She hangs one dress in front of one of the velvet-curtained dressing rooms, and the other three in front of another. “Sarah, try these on.” She directs us with all the authority and confidence of a military general, and Sarah and I jump to obey just as quickly. This is Zoe’s domain, and all of us listen to her when it comes to our fashion choices.

For something like this, anyway. Zoe has long bemoaned the fact that I haven’t changed up my day-to-day wardrobe in half a decade.

The dress that she chose for me is gorgeous hanging up, and when I slip into it, I have to admit that her choice was flawless. It’s a deep burnt orange silk, with fluttery straps and a boned bodice with stiff cups that push up my breasts to their best advantage. The gathered skirt flares out, with a slit that goes up to my upper thigh, and there’s a lighter-colored, feathery leaf print all over the entire dress.

It’s stunning with my dark hair and light green eyes, and I feel like an autumn princess. I feel beautiful. And I suddenly wish that Ivan was going to see me in it on Friday night.

When I step out, there’s a gasp from Jaz, and Zoe has a satisfied look on her face. “I knew it would be perfect,” she says, spinning her finger to indicate that I should do a twirl. “You’re stunning.”

“Oh, my god. It’s perfect,” Sarah echoes, stepping out of her own dressing room a second later in a dusty blue satin dress with a scooped neckline, thin straps, and two high slits that make her look like a much sexier Cinderella with her blonde hair and icy blue eyes. “We’re going to be the prettiest belles at the ball.” She grabs my hand, spinning us both around, and the smile on her face makes spending my Friday night at a stuffy charity dinner entirely worth it. “We’ll take them. And Charlotte, I’ll buy yours, since you’re agreeing to be my date.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I start to argue, but she shakes her head firmly.

“It’s the least I can do.”

After a little more chatter, and Zoe putting the dresses in garment bags for us after Sarah pays, I head home. I opt to walk, because the day is crisp and chilly, with the sun filtering through the trees in that specific way that it only seems to do at the beginning of fall, and it feels good.

My life is better without Nate. I believe that more and more with every day that passes. I just need to figure out what comes next.

Or maybe I don’t. I shove my hands down into the pockets of my coat, wondering if maybe I don’t need to figure everything out just yet, or for a while…or maybe not at all. Maybe what my life would benefit from is me just letting things happen, for a little while.

After all, I’ve been doing that for the last week or so, and it’s been good. Better than things have been in a while, really.

A feeling prickles up my spine, and I twist around, suddenly getting the sensation that someone is watching me, or following me, maybe. But there’s no one there, and I do my best to shrug it off as I pick up my pace a little, reasoning that I’m probably just jumpy because of the texts Nate sent me this morning. Now that I don’t have my friends with me to distract me, I can’t help thinking about them again, and his hot-and-cold attitude sends a shiver of discomfort through me. Not to mention the way he called me a slut—which doesn’t exactly fit with his excuses that he never asked me to do the things he wanted in bed because he respected me too much.

I push the thoughts aside, imagining instead that it’s the man I was talking to online, Venom. That he tracked down my information, and he’s the one following me. I picture a fit man in dark clothes—maybe like the clothes that the man on the patio at Amuse-Bouche this morning was wearing—with a mask over his face, slinking through the shadows as he trails me home.

I picture him slipping into the service entrance to my building, following me into the elevator just before the doors close. I picture gloved hands like the man at Masquerade’s sliding around my throat, his thumb pressing into the hollow of my jaw, holding me back against the wall of the elevator as I watch what’s happening to me in the other mirrors on either side.

Another shudder runs down my spine, but this time, it’s excitement. I feel it pool in my stomach, hot and thick, clenching between my thighs. It’s all impossible, of course—there’s no way that Venom could have tracked me down. Websites like that are in that shadowy corner of the Internet for a reason, where everything is encrypted, and identities can be hidden. But that’s precisely why it’s so erotic, because it is so impossible. An impossible fantasy that makes my mouth go dry while my panties are suddenly wet, clinging to my skin as I speed up my pace this time because I want to get home.

I want to be alone with my fantasy.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m upstairs in my room, fumbling to open the drawer next to the bed as I lay back against the pillows. I barely get the zipper of my jeans down before I push the small bullet vibrator into my panties, holding it against my clit as I let my head fall back, hips arching up to meet the sweet pleasure of the vibration against my most sensitive spot.

---