Page 19 of Shadowed Obsession

7:42 a.m. | 5 hours after ‘the incident’

My eyes blink open to the sun illuminating the space. It’s a bright reminder that I haven’t been closing my curtains before bed. I suppose my plan to lure him in was successful, unless I dreamed up the events of last night. Which would be a great explanation for the man who broke into my house and looked at me like he belonged here.

It’s possible that in that state of unreality, an opportunity presented itself that would’ve allowed me to prove my worth as a Klarke. One might’ve considered it divine intervention. Except that for people like us, God oscillates between screening our calls or declining them. Sure, we’ve earned that treatment fair and square, but foolish me holds out for miracles every once in a while. Even the damned gotta believe in something.

Except last night wasn’t a dream. I gotexactlywhat I asked for, and they came bearing gifts. Not exactly what I’d expected from my secret admirer, but at least he was raised right. A man should never enter a woman’s home empty-handed, so it was a kind gesture.

But even pigs are well-fed before being led to slaughter.

For weeks, I psyched myself up to finally face him, and it wasnothinglike I’d imagined. I was ready, like I promised, but all of that practice left me ill-prepared for the audacious target whose presence both frightened and aroused me. While I didn’t finish the job, I’d kept my word to an extent, surprising myself by pulling the trigger.

But then my stomach sank when I noticed he was wounded.

This heart of goldwillget me killed on day, but until then, fuck it, we ball.

That encounter left me sitting on the stairs thinking of all the times my dad compared me to Regina. Growing up, she always fought my battles for me, and he couldn’t stand it, telling me to have thicker skin, to be less sensitive and defend myself more. He’s done it so many times that it’s second nature at this point, and only adds to my resentment toward her. I understand his comments aren’t her fault, but the blood on her handsis.

Why can’t he accept that I’m not like Gina? I could never find joy in senseless killing, and if that means he won’t let me take on more with Divin, then so be it. I’d like to be allowed to choose my own path while still feeling like a member of this family I didn’t choose to be a part of.

Whiskey and cognac distilling is another lane paved by the Klarke name, though I feel valued at this company in a way I’ve never been at home. My voice is heard, my ideas are appreciated, and they gave me a chance to gain their trust. I did have the advantage of signing their paychecks, but I still bust my ass to be the best boss I can be. In turn, the amount of faith these strangers have in me is baffling when I consider how little faith my family has in my abilities.

I stretch my arms above my head and kick off the covers, sliding my house shoes on as I glance around the room. My eyes catch on thepilónI brought upstairs after he left. I examinedit for a hidden camera and came up short, but I couldn’t stop staring at it whenever I wasn’t peeking out the window.

After a few frantic texts went unanswered, I unsent them and waited around for some indication he’d be okay. I can’t explain why, but I suppose I needed to know if I was even capable of hurting someone. At least if I was accused of murder again, this time I would be guilty. Even if it were self-defense, it’d be another mess my family would get stuck cleaning up. And my father would never let me forget it.

This is by far the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in. The idiot survived, and a rush of relief washed over me once I noticed him, quieting my anxious thoughts enough to finally get some sleep.

The more we interact, Scar slowly chips away at my guard, and I hate it. He isn’t themostinsufferable man, but his audacity aggravates the fuck out of me. Then again, so doeseveryman, including my father. The small part of me that doesn’t fear Scar can appreciate how he helps around the house, fills my tank and replaces my groceries. Selflessness goes a long way with me.

It might be why I let him live last night.

The man is a stalker, I have to remind myself. Stalking is not something sane people do. Unfortunately for me, I attract crazy. It’s not shocking that another one has found something he liked in me. With past partners, there’s always been some dark secret they’re hiding that ends up being an absolute dealbreaker. It’s possible that Scar’s obsessive personalityishis dark secret. Either way, something is fucking off with him.

For starters, I shot him and he came back. Any other man would’ve had my place surrounded with red and blue lights, caution tape outlining the scene of the crime as I leave my house in a body bag. I shot him, and he still sent a text, wishing me goodnight. It’s safe to say the dark romance novels I’ve beenreading have fucked with my logical thinking.Either that or the bar is in hell.

It’s definitely in hell.

A stalker who sends consistent morning and nightly texts. That’s the bare minimum I’d expect when being courted. I shouldn’t be impressed, but if he were fictional, I’d let him take me to dinner. He appears to have a job, since he doesn’t lurk around my placeallthe time. Which is good, because I’m not a cheap date. A horn honking outside distracts me, followed by my phone lighting up with an incoming call from Scar.

I can’t help my sigh as I lift my phone to accept the call. “Why are you calling me?”

“To see if you’d answer. Good morning, Doe,” he says with a deep chuckle. “I didn’t want you to be late for work. Grabbed your coffee order and donuts for breakfast.”

“You cannot be serious,” I deadpan.

“I’mveryserious. Devil’s food cake, your favorite,” he sings, and I stifle a laugh at his lighthearted silliness in spite of the fact that he’s nursing a gunshot wound that I inflicted.

I nearly ask how he knows that, but of course, he does. Mindlessly, I pace around my room, debating on whether to take this exchange further, when a question rushes out of my mouth.

“What do you do that gives you so much free time to bother me?”

“Is this your way of asking about my career?”

“Oh, he’s got himself acareer,” I say in a mocking tone.

“Funny. I wouldn’t expect a nepo baby to know what that word means.”

My jaw drops at his response, and I’m not even mad.He got me with that one.

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