Page 36 of His Obsession

The room seemed to tilt around her, the walls pressing in as if to crush her with the importance of her discovery. Her hands trembled as she scrolled through more articles and more photos, each one a nail in the coffin of the world she thought she knew.

Callum’s name appeared frequently in the more recent articles, his reputation a mix of shadowy myth and brutal fact. But what struck her most was the mention of Councilman Bradford—Callum’s adversary, her father’s one-time political ally, and, as she now realized, a man with his own score to settle.

The crusade Bradford had waged against the O’Neill Syndicate wasn’t about justice or morality. It was revenge.

Her fingers stilled on the keyboard, the bitter taste in her mouth intensifying as she pieced together the threads. Decades ago, the Fitzwilliam family and the Bradfords had been close—business partners, political allies. But something had happened, something catastrophic enough to shatter that alliance and leave scars deep enough for revenge to fester for a generation.

Her father had worked for the O’Neill Syndicate. Bradford’s vendetta wasn’t just against Callum; it was against her family. Against her. She was a pawn to be used against not only the O’Neill Syndicate, but her father and the foundation itself.

The thought made her heart constrict, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She pushed the laptop back, rising from the desk and pacing the length of the room. Her bare feet padded softly against the Persian rug, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if that could stave off the cold realization creeping over her.

All her life, she’d believed in the illusion of the Fitzwilliam family’s integrity. Their wealth, their influence, their carefully curated reputation—it had all been a lie. A lie built on blood money and criminal alliances. And now, here she was, drawn to a man who represented everything her family had tried to hide, and everything she’d been taught to despise.

Her attraction to Callum wasn’t just about him—it was about the world he represented. A world that, apparently, had always been her birthright.

The door creaked open behind her, and Isolde spun around, her pulse spiking. Callum stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his dark eyes narrowing as they swept over her. He was still wearing the same tailored shirt and slacks from earlier, though his sleeves were rolled up, exposing the corded strength of his forearms.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion.

Isolde hesitated, her gaze darting to the laptop on the desk. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. The antique clock chimed softly in the background, marking the hour like a ticking bomb.

“Research,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Callum’s eyes flicked to the laptop, then back to her. “What kind of research?”

She folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin defiantly. “The kind you won’t tell me about.”

His jaw tightened, and he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click. “Isolde,” he said warningly, “don’t test me.”

Her temper flared, rising to meet the storm brewing in his gaze. “Why not? You’ve done nothing but test me since the moment we met. You want me to trust you, Callum? Then stop lying to me. Stop hiding things from me.”

“I’m not hiding things,” he said, though the apprehension in his voice betrayed him.

Isolde gave an unladylike snort as she took a step closer, her frustration boiling over. “Then why does every answer you give me feel like half the truth? Why do I have to dig through old archives to find out that my father worked for the O’Neill Syndicate?”

Callum froze, his expression darkening in an instant. The silence that followed was laden with unspoken truths and dangerous possibilities.

“What did you find?” he asked, his voice quiet but lethal.

She gestured toward the laptop, her movements sharp and angry. “Everything. The articles, the photos—proof that my father was involved with your organization before I was even born. Proof that Bradford’s crusade against you isn’t about justice; it’s about revenge.”

Callum’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze cutting like a blade. He took another step toward her, his presence filling the room. “You shouldn’t have been looking into this.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Because it’s dangerous? Because it might make me realize that my entire life has been a lie?”

“Because it puts another target on your back,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice through her anger. “The more you know, the more dangerous this becomes—for both of us.”

She shook her head, her throat tightening. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to pull me into your world.”

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You stumbled into it all by yourself. I’m the one who keeps trying to keep you safe. Do you not get that there’s no going back? You can’t unknow what you already know.”

The finality in his words sent a chill down her spine, but it wasn’t fear that made her breath hitch. It was the raw intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to this storm. Just when she thought she might have gotten to him, Callum’s lips tightened, and he spun on his heel and headed out the door, throwing over his shoulder, “Stay in the house and do as you’re told.”

She could hear the sound of him barking orders to his men but couldn’t make out the words.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered as she turned back to her laptop.

CALLUM

---