Page 101 of Shattered Obsession

The night air is a slap of cold against my face as I step out. I crouch, brushing fingertips over the dirt. A shoe print. A dragged semicircle. Thalia’s.

My chest aches.

“She fought,” I whisper, pride and terror tearing at me equally.

I straighten, jaw clenching.

He thinks he’s the hunter.

But he is prey.

-Damian-

She looks so small, almost fragile, huddled in this cold, unforgiving basement, chained and trembling beneath the harsh glare of the single lightbulb.

Perfect.

I slowly drag a chair across the concrete floor, relishing the way it screeches and makes her flinch. The knife rests casually in my hand, not yet pressed against her skin. No, I thrive in the wait. Fear flourishes best when it’s allowed to simmer.

“You’ve been playing house with him, haven’t you?” I murmur, leaning closer, my breath mingling with the soft scent of her hair, a faint trace of shampoo that reminds me of the life I once had claim to. “Pretending you’re safe. Pretending he can keep you warm, keep you clean, keep you his.” A sharp, hollow laugh escapes my lips as I set the knife flat against my thigh, an unwelcome reminder of my power. “But we both know you’re mine. You’ve always belonged to me. He’s just a placeholder, a decoy while you wait for me to reclaim what’s rightfully mine.”

She turns her face away, a flicker of defiance igniting within her, but I grip her chin, my fingers digging deep enough that her jaw could crack under the pressure. “Don’t look away from me, Thalia. You should be grateful for this moment. Most men wouldn’t waste their time trying to teach you a lesson; they’d simply cast you aside. But me? I’m generous. I’ll make sure you remember this.” I gesture toward the rattling chains binding her wrists. “This isn’t punishment, sweetheart. It’s a gift.”

-Thalia-

He circles me like a serpent, eyes sharp with manic certainty. “Do you know what I love about you?” Damian asks.

His tone is conversational. Gentle. As if we’re sitting in a café rather than a basement with a handcuff around my wrist. He drags his fingers along the wall, collecting dust, then flicks it away like it disgusts him.

“You break beautifully.” He waits for a reaction, head tilting, studying me with clinical interest.

“I don’t break,” I rasp.

His smile grows slow and patient. “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t understand. Breaking isn’t always loud.”

He kneels, brushing hair out of my face with two fingers. Careful. Tender. It makes my skin crawl.

“Breaking,” he whispers, “is learning to obey without being asked.”

I don’t move. I don’t blink.

His eyes darken with satisfaction.

“There it is.”

He saw something I didn’t mean to show, and the realization burns like acid.

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice low, reverent. “The world doesn’t see you. Not the real you. They see softness. Sweetness. A little bird beating herself against the bars.” He leans closer, breath hot on my neck. “But I saw the fire. I fed it.”

His fingers trail along my cheek with sick affection.

“I’m the only one who ever understood what you could become.”

His delusion is a universe he created and crowned himself king of.

I will burn it to the ground. He leans back, fascinated by the panic that flares in my eyes, that intoxicating blend of rage and despair that renders me utterly beautiful. “Xander thinks he’s coming to save you,” he chuckles darkly, the sound void of warmth. “Let him try. Let him walk through that door and discover just how futile his efforts truly are.”

Damian paces, muttering under his breath now, words incoherent, fragmented.