Page 27 of Obsession

“Where’re you going?” Vaughn stares at me. “My life is fucking falling apart, and you’re just leaving?”

“Take-out menus are in the left-hand drawer, and there’s ice cream in the freezer,” I say over my shoulder. “Come to the club later and get drunk.”

That I can do for him.

“I don’t want to get drunk!” Vaughn complains. “I want to talk about this. I need your advice.”

“Next, you’ll want to braid each other’s hair and watch the latest season of Real Housewives,” I retort as I walk towards the bedroom to get changed. “Not happening.”

“That’s a legendary franchise!” Vaughn scoffs indignantly, but I’ve already closed the door.

As I take a shower, I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I’ve got the Marco thing to handle, the Isaiah issue to address, not to mention a million other things to do. Taking out my new manager to shop for clothes is ridiculous, almost as absurd as Vaughn not rescinding that prenup of his. I should’ve just given her a credit card and told her to buy something appropriate for herself.

Why am I personally overseeing her shopping? What is it about Megan Taylor that makes me do things that are completely outside of my norm? And why are random images of her trying on figure-flattering clothes flashing in my head and making my dick swell?

I’ve got to stop this. Dwelling too much on why I have these thoughts is only encouraging me to have more. As I button up a new light blue Armani shirt, I look at my reflection in the mirror.

This life, this luxury, came at a heavy price. I lost everything to be pushed to the edge of stealing a container that was filled with expensive medical equipment. I made my first paycheck with that.

That one dark evening when I made a calculated decision, desperate for a change, and for revenge, it altered my life. All those people in the neighborhood who used to look down on that scraggly boy with arms so thin that they looked like they could break at a touch, now fear me.

I put on a contrasting silk tie, my eyes seeing the image of that defiant boy in front of me. I bled, I cheated, I stole. I did everything to drag myself out of that life of despair and to get revenge on the men who stripped me of my only happiness. And now, I’m sitting on the throne, looking down at all those miserable assholes who used to beat me whenever they saw me.

I still have the scars on my back. Literal scars. I’ve always had the option of getting them surgically removed, but I choose not to. They’re a reminder of my roots in case I ever get too comfortable. This empire was built on the blood of the people who took my family from me, and I don’t ever want to forget that.

Shrugging on my suit jacket, I take one last final look at myself in the mirror before leaving.

Remember who you are, Middleton.

No distractions allowed.

Or this could all go away like poof.

Chapter 10

You Can’t Be Here

HUNTER

Megan doesn’t show up for our planned shopping excursion, making me completely toss out the whole ‘no distraction’ talk I just had with myself. I’m annoyed. I’m not used to people, especially my employees, not listening to me.

It’s…odd.

Maybe she thinks I’ll give up because I view this shopping trip as something inconsequential but clearly Megan doesn’t know me. When I decide on something, it’s going to happen one way or the other, even if it’s something I have no fucking business doing.

“Go to State Arts College,” I tell Parker. “It seems we’ll have to pick up Miss Taylor ourselves.”

The freeway is always busy but Parker has a knack of finding a path through even the worst of traffic jams. Defensive driving is one of his superpowers. By the time we reach the university, the students are piling out.

“Park across the road,” I instruct, watching the gate.

I can see a few envious glances towards the sleek BMW we’re in, but I don’t focus on the students. My eyes narrow in on one single figure with a head full of lush curls who is approaching the gate.

My head tilts when I notice the limp. Megan isn’t walkingbut dragging a leg behind her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Parker asks, also seeing what I’m seeing. “You want me to check?”

I don’t answer him as I exit the car, striding towards her as if I’m on autopilot, my trench coat flapping behind me as I walk in brisk movements.

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