Page 5 of His Obsession

“This isn’t a good time,” she said firmly, clutching her handbag as if it were a shield. “If you want to discuss foundation matters, you can call my office?—”

“Foundation matters,” he interrupted smoothly, stepping into her path, “can wait. This is about you and me.”

Her breath hitched, the faintest tremor in her hand betraying her composure. “There is no ‘you and me,’ Mr. Kavanagh. I don’t know what you think?—”

“You don’t know what I think,” he said softly, his voice a low growl that cut through her protests. “But you will.”

Before she could respond, his hand closed around her wrist—not harshly, but with an unyielding grip that brooked no argument. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.

“Don’t make a scene, love. You’ll only draw attention, and that’s the last thing either of us wants right now.”

She stiffened but didn’t scream. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating from her as he guided her toward the car, his hand never loosening its hold.

“Callum, you can’t kidnap me in broad daylight,” she hissed under her breath, her voice laced with both fear and anger.

“It’s an abduction,” he corrected, his tone maddeningly calm as he opened the car door and gestured for her to get in. “But let’s not split hairs.”

She hesitated, her jaw tightening, but the calculating gleam in her eyes told him she was weighing her options. Finally, she slid into the passenger seat, her movements stiff with resistance.

“Good girl,” he murmured, shutting the door behind her before slipping into the driver’s seat.

The drive was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Callum could feel her gaze burning into him, her eyes sharp and unyielding even as she sat rigid in her seat.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, breaking the silence.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, his focus on the road ahead.

Her fingers curled into fists in her lap, her frustration was hard to miss. “This is insane. You can’t just?—”

“I can,” he said, cutting her off with a dark edge to his voice. “And I will. You’re lucky I’m giving you this option, Isolde. The alternative isn’t nearly as pleasant.” He had no plans to kill her, but she didn’t need to know that.

She swallowed hard, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glared out the window.

The car wound its way up a secluded road, the city lights fading into the distance as they climbed into the hills. When they finally arrived, the imposing façade of the Hellfire Club loomed ahead, its black marble exterior gleaming under the glow of dim red lights. The valet approached without a word, his gaze averted as Callum handed over the keys and rounded the car to open Isolde’s door.

Her eyes widened as she took in the building, realization dawning. “This is?—”

“The Hellfire Club,” he finished for her, his tone nonchalant. “Dublin’s most exclusive members-only establishment. I’d say you’re in for an unforgettable evening.”

She didn’t move, her expression a mix of indignation and apprehension. “I’m not going in there.”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft but firm as steel. “Unless you’d prefer to stay outside and explain to the next person who comes along why you’re standing here with me.”

Her defiance faltered, and she glanced around, her cheeks flushing. Finally, she stepped out of the car, her movements hesitant but deliberate.

Inside, the air was heavy with sensual energy, the low hum of conversation mingling with the faint strains of music. The club’s decor was a blend of dark opulence and restrained decadence—polished leather furniture, low lighting, and an undeniable undercurrent of danger.

Callum guided her through the main floor, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. She bristled at his touch, but she didn’t pull away.

“Why are we here?” she demanded, her voice low and tight.

“To talk,” he said, leading her to a private alcove. “And to make sure you understand exactly what’s at stake.”

As they sat across from each other, the flickering candlelight cast shadows over his face, emphasizing the hard lines of his jaw and the predatory glint in his eyes.

“You need to understand something, Isolde,” he said, his voice a low growl. “What you saw last night puts you in a position you’re not prepared for. You’ve stepped into a world where silence isn’t just golden—it’s survival.”

She met his gaze, her chin lifting in defiance. “And bringing me here is supposed to convince me of that?”

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