Page 48 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
It's a desperate plan, but desperation is all I have now. When Victor returns in an hour, I'll smile, I'll play along with his Christmas preparations, I'll pretend to be falling deeper under his spell.
But I am not his. And I never will be a mindless toy.
The Christmas tree lights twinkle in the great room, visible through the office doorway. The beautiful decorations we hung together yesterday now seem macabre, a festive facade covering the darkness beneath. The wrapped presents under the tree—what do they contain? More carefully selected manipulations designed to bind me closer to him?
I force myself to focus on the notepad, on the scientific language that will camouflage my thoughts if Victor happens to look over my shoulder. But my mind keeps returning to the fragments of conversation I overheard, to the cold calculation in Victor's voice as he discussed the dismantling of my life.
"Three years of planning doesn't get compromised because someone has second thoughts."
"By Christmas Eve, she'll be completely mine."
Christmas Eve. The deadline Victor has set for my complete surrender. Three days from now. Three days to find a way out of this nightmare before it's too late.
I hear his footsteps approaching again and quickly flip to a fresh page in the notepad, sketching a molecular diagram as if deep in research considerations. When he appears in the doorway, I look up with what I hope is a convincing smile.
"Productive calls?" I ask, as if I haven't discovered his monstrous manipulation.
"Very." He leans against the doorframe, studying me with those perceptive gray eyes. Does he see the change in me? Can he tell I'm performing now? "I'm finished for the day. Ready to continue our Christmas preparations?"
"Absolutely," I say, standing with a casualness I don't feel. "What's next on the agenda?"
"Gift wrapping," he says, holding out his hand to me. "I thought you might help me finish preparing the packages for under the tree."
I take his hand, fighting the revulsion that threatens to show on my face. His skin is warm against mine, his grip gentle but firm—the hand that threatens his own son, that signs documents dismantling lives with a few strokes of a pen.
"Sounds perfect," I reply, the word bitter on my tongue.
As he leads me downstairs, his thumb tracing circles on my hand in a gesture that yesterday felt intimate but now feels possessive, I focus on maintaining the performance. I need time to plan, I need him to believe nothing has changed.
The Christmas tree lights twinkle in the afternoon sun, casting colored shadows across the hardwood floor. Beneath it, those perfectly wrapped packages seem sinister now—more elements in Victor's elaborate trap.
"I have a few more gifts to prepare," he says, leading me to a table near the tree where wrapping paper, ribbons, and boxes are arranged with military precision. "Some special things I think you'll appreciate."
"You didn't have to get me anything," I say, the social nicety automatic despite my inner turmoil.
His smile is indulgent, almost pitying—the look of a man who knows he holds all the cards. "Oh, but I did. I've been planning this Christmas for quite some time, Kyra. Everything has to be perfect."
Everything has to be perfect. The obsessive control beneath the statement chills me. How many Christmases has he imagined with me? How many scenarios has he played out in his mind during the three years he's been watching, waiting, planning?
"Well, I'm afraid I don't have anything for you," I say, attempting a light tone. "You didn't exactly give me shopping opportunities."
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine despite everything I now know about him. "Your presence is gift enough," he says, and I catch the double meaning—presence and presents—in his wordplay. "Besides, there will be many Christmases for you to make it up to me."
Many Christmases. The casual way he assumes a future together, assumes I'm now a permanent fixture in his life, makes my blood run cold. This isn't a holiday fling to him. This is the culmination of years of planning, the first stage of what he intends to be a permanent possession.
I force a smile, taking the roll of wrapping paper he hands me. "What are we wrapping?"
"Just a few small things," he says, opening a drawer to reveal jewelry boxes in various sizes. "Nothing too extravagant for our first Christmas together."
Our first Christmas together. As if there's no question there will be more. As if my future is already decided.
Which, in his mind, it is.
I focus on the mechanical task of wrapping, letting my hands work while my mind continues planning. The scissors beside me catch my attention—a potential weapon, but a poor one against a man I now know has "buried bodies," as he so casually mentioned. Besides, I have no way off this mountain even if I managed to incapacitate him. No, I need a subtler approach.
"You seem quieter this afternoon," Victor observes, his perceptiveness unsettling. "Everything alright?"
I meet his gaze, forcing warmth into my expression. "Just focused. I want these to be perfect for you."
