Page 11 of Shared Obsession

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Not anymore. Not when it comes to her.”

He studies my face, then nods, resolve settling in. “Alright. I’m with you. But if we’re doing this, we do it smart. We get leverage, we cover our tracks, and we don’t leave loose ends. Gloves, masks, the whole nine yards. You go down, I go down too.”

I nod, throat tight. “First, keep an eye on Derek. If he so much as steps out of line, I want to know. And if it comes to it, I need you to wipe anything that could tie us back.”

Dean just nods again, no questions, no hesitation. We’re in this together, whatever comes next. It’s going to take time, patience, and more control than I want to have—but I know I can’t blow it. So for now, I keep my eyes on Ayla through the monitor, Dean stretched out on the couch beside me, both of us waiting for the next move. Eventually, exhaustion wins. I drift off to sleep, the image of Ayla curled up alone, the last thing I see.

Ayla

I wake up, and Derek is still asleep. Saturday. No work for him today, which means he’ll be home all day—looming, watching, waiting for me to mess up. My stomach knots. I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, careful not to wake him. The floorboards creak, but he doesn’t stir. I tiptoe down the hall, start a pot of coffee, and pull out eggs and bacon. Breakfast in the morning, just how he likes it. Keep him happy. Don’t say anything stupid. Do what he asks.

Old habits kick in, hard and familiar. I move through the kitchen on autopilot, just like I did in my father’s house, doing whatever it took to keep the peace. His voice still echoes in my mind, heavy and cruel: Remember, princess, this is how men are. The sooner you learn, the better off you’ll be. I can’t shake it. Some part of me still believes it’s true. Maybe that’s why I ended up here—repeating every lesson he ever taught me, even the ones that broke me.

I’m making breakfast, music playing low on my phone, when my thoughts wander to Alex—uninvited but impossible to shake. I glance at Derek, still sleeping, then type out a quick text:

Hey.

My heart beats double-time as I hit send. I don’t know what scares me more: the chance he won’t reply, or the risk that he actually will. I’m playing a dangerous game, and I know it.

This wedding isn’t about love. It’s about control—about how easily I let myself fall for the illusion of safety and charm, never even reading the contract before I signed away my life. Derek put papers in front of me right after he proposed, pages and pages of rules, conditions, and expectations. God, how dumb was I? I was so eager to believe he actually loved me, that he would take care of me, that I didn’t even think to ask what I was agreeing to. Now, I’m already breaking the rules by being on birth control, refusing to become the broodmare he wants. He’s made it clear: I’m supposed to give him a son for his legacy. Just like my father used to say You were put on this earth to serve men, princess. The echo of that lesson is in every anxious breath I take, but this time, the shame is all my own. I should have known better. I should have seen it coming.

Maybe that’s why Alex lingers in my mind. A small act of rebellion. A lifeline. Even if it’s hopeless, maybe, just maybe, I can find a sliver of comfort in someone who doesn’t want to own me. Maybe.

Hey Darling, he sends back, how are you?

I just stare at the texts, my fingers frozen. What am I supposed to say—rescue me? But he can’t. No one can. There is no rescuing me. I tried once—I actually ran to the police, sat in a bright, cold office and told them everything. At first, they listened. But as soon as they figured out who my fiancé was, who his father was, everything changed. Suddenly they were all polite smiles and empty reassurances. They called Derek to pick me up and handed me back like I was his property. I couldn’t believe it. I walked out of there in shock, realizing the men in my romance books don’t exist. Nothing’s going to save you, princess. Now open for daddy. My father’s voice burned into my mind, twisting everything. This is my life. Better make fucking peace with it.

My hands shake as I type. Yes, I'm ok, and I hit send, my heart pounding out a silent, desperate lie.

I nearly drop my phone when Derek stalks into the kitchen, his voice sharp and suspicious. “Who are you talking to?”

My heart lurches. “Just Kyra,” I lie smoothly, slipping my phone into the pocket of my pajama pants and forcing myself to turn calmly back to the stove. I don’t talk to her anymore, but Derek doesn’t know that. She begged me to leave, but I refused. I don’t blame her for pulling away. She doesn’t understand. He watches me for a moment, eyes narrowed as if he’s weighing whether to believe me.

Then he sniffs the air, his demeanor shifting. “Breakfast smells good,” he says, tone softening just enough to make my skin crawl. He steps in behind me, too close, his presence looming. Just keep him happy, Ayla, you can do this. I tense as he leans in, his breath hot against my ear.

“I think you’ll be my dessert,” he whispers, voice low and possessive. My stomach knots at the implication, dread curling through me. I force a light laugh, keeping my tone breezy.

“Breakfast first, baby,” I say, praying he’ll back off, pretending everything’s normal when nothing is.

We eat in silence—he drinks his coffee, I drink my tea, the tension between us thick as molasses. When he finishes eating, he sets his cup down with a soft clink that sounds like a verdict. “Come here,” he says, voice flat, and I obey—because what else am I supposed to do? I stand in front of him, numb and resigned, already knowing where this is headed. Derek unbuckles his belt, eyes cold. “Kneel,” he commands. My body moves without thought or will, dropping to my knees. I brace myself, dreading the routine humiliation.

But just as he’s about to pull his cock out, his phone erupts with a shrill alarm. “Fuck,” he snaps, irritation cutting through the room. “That’s my office alarm.” In a rush, he shoves past me, impatient and careless, and I tumble onto my ass on the cold floor. He barely glances at me. “I’ve gotta go check that out. I’ll be back.”

He fastens his pants, grabs his keys, and is out the door within minutes—leaving me sprawled on the floor, a mess of shame and relief. I pick myself up, but my limbs feel heavy, my whole body vibrating with humiliation and a strange, bitter gratitude that he's gone, even if only for a little while. I move to the couch, sinking into the cushions and hugging my knees to my chest. My thoughts are a tangled knot of fear, self-disgust, and aching loneliness. Part of me wants to scream, to tear the house apart, to run into the street and never look back. But another part—the part that sounds like my father—keeps whispering that this is what I deserve, that there’s no escape, no rescue coming for girls like me. The house is too quiet, the silence pressing in on all sides, making me feel like I’m being smothered by my own regret.

Then, a sharp knock rattles the door—loud, insistent, slicing straight through my daze. My heart lurches. The knock comes again, harder this time. I freeze, pulse racing, every nerve on fire. Panic and hope war inside me. I wish I could believe someone might actually come for me.

I stand there for a moment, hand trembling at my side, the weight of the silence pressing in. Each step toward the door feels heavy, like I’m wading through water. I’m not sure who or what I expect to find on the other side. When I finally open it, Alex is the last person I expected.

For a heartbeat, I just stare at him, wide-eyed, my pulse thundering in my ears. His presence is a jolt—hope, fear, and longing all tangled together. “Ayla, let’s go,” he says, his voice urgent and low. He reaches for my hand, eyes searching mine, just waiting for me to move.

For a split second, I imagine it—just running, letting him take me away from all of this. But reality slams back into place. The contract. Derek. The bruises no one sees. The voice in my head that sounds like my father, reminding me I don’t get to be saved.

I pull my hand back, voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t.”

Alexander

"Ayla, come on. We don't have much time before he figures out nothing's wrong and comes back," I urge, my voice low and urgent, desperate to get her out of here.