Page 166 of Unholy Obsession

Holy fuck,Bane isrich.

I mean, Iknewit. I knew it in the way you know the ocean is deep or that the sun is hot. But there’s a difference betweenknowingandstanding in the middle of a goddamn castlewhile some starched-up butler with an accent straight out of a period drama asks if I’d like my tea with honey or lemon.

Castle.Castle.With turrets. With a hedge maze. With anactual suit of armorin the hallway that I swear shifts slightlyevery time I walk past it. The whole place smells like old books, old money, and the kind of secrets that don’t stay buried, no matter how many silk curtains and imported Persian rugs you drape over them.

And somehow, in the midst of all this gothic nonsense, I’m supposed to be here to “figure things out” with Bane’s father’s estate. Which—newsflash—Ishouldn’t even be part of. I did my research. We don’t live in California. And Texas doesn’t do that whole ‘Congrats, you married a man and now you own half his empire!’ bullshit.

So when I bring this up at dinner, where I sit across from Bane at that absurdly long table like we’re starring in a high-budget enemies-to-lovers adaptation, he justsmiles.

That slow, deliberate,I already know how this endskind of smile.

Then he says something about our joint bank account.

And I frown. “You mean the joint account we made so we could, like, split the cost of ramen and toilet paper?”

He nods. Casually.Toocasually. Like he isn’t about to say the most batshit thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Why would you put anything in there?” I ask because someone needs to inject some logic into the conversation.

He just gives methat look. The kind of look that makes my goddamn bones itch with need, along with every sinew and nerve ending, too. I didn’t know I could still feelthatitch through the medical gray.

“Because we’re man and wife,” he says, voice smooth as sin. “And what’s mine is yours.”

I choke on the amazing soup—the first of several courses, by the way, all prepared by the Michelin-star chef who apparently lives here.

Bane doesn’t even blink. Just waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll see that you get a fair settlement.”

A fair?—

I swear to God, my brain is short-circuiting. My hands tremble with the effort it takes to not launch my soup spoon at his stupid, smug,infuriatingly perfectface.

“I told you from the beginning I don’t want your money,” I snap.

And he?—

He chuckles.

This man—this infuriating, impossible bastard—just chuckles to himself like I’m a child and just said somethingadorable. Then he scrolls through his phone, completely unbothered, while I’m seconds away from flipping the entire table over.

“Tomorrow, Rotterdam and the rest of the family will show up,” he continues, voice cool. Commanding. “You should try to sleep off the jet lag tonight.”

Oh. Oh, should I? Should I justsleep? Like I’m not trapped in a stone mansion that probably has secret passageways? Like I’m not currently lying in a bed that could fit four of me, staring up at a chandelier worth more than my entire life, while somewhere down the hall, he’s probably sleeping like a king who just conquered the last piece of land he had left to claim?

So no. No, I can’t sleep.

Instead, I’m here, scribbling in this stupid journal, trying to make sense of any of this, trying to wrap my head around how I went from splitting bills with Bane in his tiny little parish house to being an actual pawn in some old money inheritance nonsense.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

I felt something when he said it. When he smiled like that. When he mentioned a settlement like I was already his to take care of.

So no, I can’t sleep.

Kira says I’m supposed to write down my big feelings when I have them, but I don’t know what the fuck I’mfeelingright now. I need a canvas the size of Dallas and even then I don’t think I couldpaintout what I’m feeling. Especially when Bane comes around and scrambles up everything just when I thought I was settling into a nice numb gray I was starting to embrace.

She says if I need help, I should look up theFeelings Wheel.

Feelings are stupid.

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