Page 16 of Charmingly Obsessed
Their approach is brutally efficient. No preamble, just business. Only the stocky one, the one with a dense black beard and eyes that linger too long, lays it on thick.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice like gravel scraping concrete. “Just sign on the dotted line. We meet thenotary tomorrow, neutral ground, make it all official. Don’t try anything funny. We always do things by the book.” He grins, showing too many teeth. “Wouldn’t want things to get… ugly for such a pretty little thing.”
A hysterical giggle bubbles up inside me. By the book. Right.
These guys are foot soldiers, obvious from their cheap suits and hungry eyes. Pawns working for the real sharks, the ones swimming in the same polluted waters as Kozar.
The man who likely drove Anya to her death. The man I’ll probably never touch. You have to know when to cut your losses. Though maybe you need to win something first.All I’ve done is bury my family.
I flip numbly through the papers. Red tabs mark key pages. Transfer of ownership. My signature required here, here, and here. Surrendering my half of the apartment, Anya’s legacy, everything.
I hand it back to the tall one, forcing myself to ask for clarification on a clause I already understand, stalling for… I don’t know what.
He starts explaining the legalese – how my share transfers to my deceased sister’s debt, how it’s all perfectly legal…
And then the papers are simply gone from his hands. Snatched away.
All three thugs jump, startled. Even I jump.
Mykola Frez stands just inside the doorway he must have slipped through while they were focused on me.
He appeared from nowhere, silent as smoke, radiating an aura of ice-cold, barely contained fury. He’s not a genie; he’s a goddamn apex predator materializing in my cramped hallway.
Frez’s voice is dangerously soft, each word clipped with precision as he asks, “What are these documents?”
His gaze sweeps over the three men, sharp and assessing, before locking onto the stocky, bearded one.
The temperature in the hallway drops ten degrees.
“Apartment business,” Stocky says, trying for nonchalant but failing. “Lady here owes a debt. We came to a… friendly arrangement.”
“That’s true,” I force out, swallowing hard, turning towards Frez, desperate to de-escalate. He doesn’t even glance at me, his entire focus lasered on the intruders. “I mean, I don’t owe anyone, but this is voluntary.”
Frez ignores me. “Who do you work for?” he directs at Stocky.
“And who the hell are you?” the young one pipes up, bravado cracking.
A slow, chilling smile touches Frez’s lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Spent my whole life trying to figure that out,” he says, his tone light, conversational, utterly terrifying. “But I just had a breakthrough. Right now? I’m your problem. Personally.”
The tall one shifts uneasily. “We work for Papa. If that name means anything.”
Frez feigns contemplation. “Papa… Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Must not be important.” He shifts the papers in his hand. “So. How are we settling this?” He speaks with effortless speed and authority.
I stand frozen, terrified that any move I make will ignite the powder keg.
“It’s already handled. No need for trouble. Lady signs tomorrow, we all walk away friends.”
Friends. Right. If Kozar wasn’t pulling the strings, maybe. My plan is simple: sign, disappear, hope three years is long enough for them to forget I exist.
“Oh, there’s going to be trouble,” Frez assures him conversationally, pulling out his phone with his free hand. The casual menace is breathtaking. “But the lady won’t be involved.Give me a contact. Yours. Papa’s. I don’t care. We settle this debt. Today.”
“Uh, no,” Tall Guy drawls, shaking his head. “She signs the apartment over. That’s the deal. We don’t care about the cash.”
Frez’s gaze flicks up, pinning the man like an insect. “We will settle it with cash,” he states, not asks. “Or does Papa have sentimental plans for retirement in this specific two-bedroom walk-up? Money exists. It equals property. Need me to draw you a diagram, or did you grasp the concept?”
“Not up to us,” Stocky mutters, turning back to me, deliberately ignoring Frez. “Your sister didn’t go through Papa directly, did she? Maybe try talking to her contacts about other options…”
“Talk. To. Me,” Frez snaps, the command cracking like a whip. The temperature drops further. “Not her. If you don’t have your boss’s number, get out. Your documents,” he gestures vaguely with the papers, “have been received.”
