Page 77 of Shadowed Obsession

2 Unread Messages From Scar

Scar

You’re telling people about us?

I told Mami about you.

I tried to give you some privacy, until I heard my name…and his.

Jealous, are we?

Scar

No. You can do better is all.

Enjoy your time with Skye. Tell her I said hello, since I’m no longer a secret.

I smile as I read his messages, tilting the phone toward Skye for proof that we indeed have an audience.

“Hi, Scar.” She snorts and waves at the screen. “Girl. You really weren’t lying. I’m gonna need time to process this, but I wish you had a damn picture. I gotta know what he looks like,” she laments.

“You and me both,” I tell her with a sigh.

32/

word of advice

César

1:37 p.m. | 7 days after ‘the sixth incident’

I’m gathering intel for another client who suspects their partner is cheating. The usual, meeting up at a hotel on their lunch break. Another CEO fucking his secretary that convinced his wife to give up her dreams while he pursued his.

I hope she takes him for all he’s fucking got, I think as I snap photos of them exiting The Orlov Hotel looking flushed and disheveled. These cases tend to be cut and dry for the most part, but the emotional aspect? Not so much.

Catching a subject in the act never gets old. While some are more discreet and creative than others, they always leave breadcrumbs behind. I dread sharing those findings with my clients, because no matter how much they think they can handle what I find, the devastation guts them every time.

It’s one thing to suspect infidelity, but having actual proof is something you can’t come back from. Helping my clients find the truth they deserve is worth the trouble, but it also serves as something normal to share withmi abuelawhenever she asks about work.

I stay a few car lengths back as I tail him, veering off when he pulls into the office parking garage.

“Scumbag,” I mutter as I send a text to my client, requesting a meeting to share an update on her cheating husband.

As I await her response, Deirdre’s upcoming date with Xavier crosses my mind, and it bothers me more than it should. I believe she should find someone to date that isn’t me, but she’s too good for him.

Not to mention he’s fucking boring.

Xavier Arnez Coleman Jr. is a twenty-nine-year-old Black man from Atlanta, Georgia, who is a physical therapist that lives alone in a studio apartment and has a three-year-old Shih Tzu named Carl. He has a 660 credit score, drives an electric smart car, and plays basketball with friends every Saturday at a local gym, butalwaysgets dunked on.

Like I said,boring.

His conversation skills are juvenile, leaning on the question game to learn her ins and outs. He only knows what she wants him to, which is basically nothing. How could they have a lasting relationship if she doesn’t feel like she can be herself with him?

My phone pings with a response from my client, informing me she’s available to meet at my office tomorrow morning at ten.

Now that that’s handled, I tap open my camera app to check in on Deirdre. She’s mindlessly snacking on cherries while she reviews an HR training on compliance in her office. I distract her for a moment, because I can’t help it.

You seem bored.

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