Page 97 of Shattered Obsession

Calling.

Begging.

And me not answering.

Guilt wraps around my throat like a noose.

I failed her once. Never again. Not while I’m breathing.

The engine of my truck roars to life, a beast hungry for action as I peel out from the shop, tires screaming protest against asphalt. Each mile feels like an eternity, amplifying my growing dread. That monster could be with her, and every reckless second drags her further from my grasp.

I hit the steering wheel, my throat burning from the relentless cry of her name tearing from my lips like a primal instinct. “Hold on, Thalia. Just hold on for me, baby.”

Because I will find her. I will tear the fabric of this world apart if I must. I’ll burn it to ash, spill blood until I’m lost in it. Whatever it takes, no matter the price. I wasn’t there when she needed me most, but I’ll be there now. And God help Damian if he’s laid a finger on her, because he might as well be marked for death, unaware of the storm that’s already on his doorstep.

The apartment door stands flung open, a glaring invitation to dread. My heart races as I storm inside, adrenaline coursing through me.

“Thalia!” My voice ricochets off the walls, desperation tinged with panic.

The lights still glow, casting an eerie brightness that highlights the chaos within. Her shoes are carelessly strewn by the door, as if she had stepped in a hurry, and the faint lingering scent of her perfume envelops me, a bittersweet reminder of her presence that tears at my insides. I can feel my hand trembling as I lean against the wall, a potent mix of rage and fear clawing at my throat, tightening with every passing second. She was just here, and now she’s vanished.

I force myself to move, stepping further into the apartment and into the abyss of uncertainty. My heart thunders as I search each room, flinging couch cushions aside with reckless abandon, tossing her favorite blanket to the floor. The bedroom is empty, an unsettling void that sends chills racing down my spine. The bathroom door stands wide open, its silence deafening, mocking my frantic search.

“Thalia!” I shout again, my voice splintering against the walls, filled with unmistakable anguish.

In a flash, memories, or nightmares, invade my mind. I can hear her scream, muffled and distant. There’s his laughter, low and sinister, echoing through my thoughts like a poison. I picture her body being dragged, helpless against the floor, and I grip the doorframe, bile rising in my throat as the horror washes over me. The line between what I remember and what I fear blurs, twisting into a dark reality I cannot escape.

“No…” My voice breaks, a shaky whisper full of despair.

I jerk open her dresser, the drawers creaking like they hold secrets. Her clothes are still there, neatly folded, and her purse rests untouched, a cruel reminder of normalcy. The phone charger is still plugged in, a tether to her life before it unraveled. Panic tightens like a noose around my chest. She didn’t leave on her own. She’s gone. He has her.

The fury bursts forth with a ferocity so overwhelming that I don’t realize I’ve slammed my fist into the wall until pain lances through my knuckles, blood blooming against the pale paint. My vision narrows, shadows closing in as my heart pounds like a war drum in my ears.

“Damian,” I growl, his name like poison on my tongue, seething with hatred. “You’re dead.”

Images flood my mind again, her voice pleading, “Please, don’t,” and his chilling whispered replies, slick as a serpent. The memories grip me, and I stumble back, gripping my hair tightly, a desperate attempt to ground myself against the surge of rage rising within. My knees threaten to buckle, but I fight the instinct, forcing myself to stand tall. I can’t stop. I won’t stop.

With renewed determination, I tear through the apartment one last time, my heart racing as I desperately search for any sign, any clue, anything he might have left behind. The bastard wants me rattled. He wants me to feel panic creeping in, and he’s succeeded. But I’ll make him regret every moment of this.

As I step back into the night, the cool air slams against me, my chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, fists throbbing with pain, eyes ablaze with determination.

“I’m coming for you,” I snarl into the darkness, hoping somehow he can hear me.

The world narrows to one objective.

Find her.

Save her.

Kill him.

Because I will find Thalia, no matter the cost.

I gun the engine, tearing down the street. People talk about rage as something explosive, but this isn’t explosive—this is surgical.

Cold and focused.

I’m not angry; I’m determined.