Page 82 of Cruel Obsession

I look away, the lie ready on my lips. “It’s a housekeeping position, Dad. Good pay, long hours.”

“With a non-disclosure agreement so strict you can’t even tell your old man the details?” His tone is light, but the question hooks under my ribs.

I give a shrug, trying to look casual. “It’s really no big deal.”

“I may be sick, Mira, but I’m not blind.” He narrows his eyes on me. “You’re tense. Distracted. Too pale. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

I pull in a slow breath. “Dad, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, voice gentle but firm. “I don’t need to know what you’re mixed up in. I just need to know you’re safe.”

Am I safe? The question echoes in my mind. I have a feeling that Arkady would kill anyone who threatened me, but who would protect me from him if he ever decided I was a liability?

“I’m safe,” I say eventually. “It’s just that I work for a high-profile household and they prefer to keep their life private.”

Dad studies me, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, he sighs. “I hate that you’re doing this for me, Mira. Whatever it is.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Dad,” I say firmly. “Besides, I know you’d do the same for me.”

“In a heartbeat,” he agrees, then changes tack with deliberate brightness. “How about I show you what I’ve been working on?”

The afternoon unfolds in more comfortable territory. Dad shows me his latest woodworking project—a jewelry box with inlaid mother-of-pearl that reminds me uncomfortably of the luxury of Arkady’s world. I help him hang new curtains in the bedroom, my muscles aching pleasantly from the simple task. We order pizza and watch an old Western he loves.

As the sun sets, Dad mutes the TV during a commercial break. His expression has shifted, grown more serious.

“Do you ever think about Debra?” he asks quietly.

The question catches me off guard. We don’t talk about my sister often. The wound is too raw, even after six years.

“Every day,” I admit, my voice smaller than I intend.

Dad nods, looking at the window but seeing something far beyond it. “I had a dream about her last week. She was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear her.”

A chill touches the back of my neck. “I dream about her too.”

“What do you think happened to her, Mira?” His voice cracks on my name.

The question has haunted me for years. The police investigation stalled after months with no leads, no body, nothing. Just another college sophomore who vanished without a trace.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But lately I’ve been thinking…” I hesitate, not wanting to give him false hope. “What if someone took her? What if she’s still out there somewhere?”

Dad’s eyes grow wet. “I used to think I’d know if she was… gone. That I’d feel it somehow.” He wipes roughly at his cheek. “But I don’t know anything anymore.”

I move to sit beside him, our shoulders touching. “I miss her,” I whisper.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

We sit in silence as darkness falls completely outside, the weight of absence heavy between us. For the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about Arkady. This moment belongs to Dad, to Debra’s memory. Not to the man who’s claimed every other part of me and more.

The evening winds down slowly, our conversation turning to lighter topics as we both recover from the emotional toll of discussing my lost twin sister. When Dad’s eyelids begin to droop, I insist he go to bed.

“Stay the night,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Your room’s always ready.”

The thought of sleeping in my childhood bed, away from Arkady’s watchful eye, is tempting.

“I’ll stay,” I decide, kissing Dad’s cheek. “Get some rest.”

After he retires, I move through the quiet house, turning off lights and locking doors.