Sinful Obsession: Chapter 6

I was still knotted in that storm of confusion and frustration when the house phone began to ring.

The sound jarred against the silence of the estate, sharp and shrill. I didn’t move.

Cassian’s house, Cassian’s phone—surely the call was his.

But then it stopped. And almost immediately, it started again.

I rose slowly, every step hesitant, as though the phone itself might bite me. My hand hovered before I finally lifted the receiver.

Silence. Thick, deliberate. I stayed quiet too. If they wouldn’t speak, neither would I.

Then a voice, low but familiar: “Can I speak to my sister?”

I froze. My sister?

“Who are you?” I asked cautiously.

A beat. Then—sharp recognition cut through the line. “Oh my days! Charlotte—it’s you?”

My breath caught.

“…Yeah.”

“It’s Vincent.”

I gripped the receiver tighter.

Vincent. My brother. I’d seen him briefly at the mafia gathering, but we hadn’t spoken. Not enough for me to know where we stood. Hearing his voice now stirred something faint—like a memory hovering at the edge of the dark.

“Oh my… Vincent,” I whispered.

“I’ve missed you so much, Charlotte.” His tone was gentle, earnest.

“Same here,” I lied. The truth was uglier: I couldn’t remember enough of him to miss him. My chest should have ached, but it didn’t.

“Would you like to meet? Just us. Dinner, anywhere you choose. We have so much to talk about.”

The invitation dangled in the air, dangerous.

I wanted to ask if we’d seen each other in those lost years, if he knew about Elodie, my captor, the divorce Cassian refused to confirm.

But exposing my memory loss was too dangerous.

Luca’s vengeance, Artem’s ambition, Father’s greed—they’d use any crack in my armor. Even Vincent, my little brother, could be a threat.

“Cassian’s security has strict orders not to let me out,” I said, keeping my voice steady, deflecting.

“Come on, Charlotte,” he said, a playful edge creeping in, the same tone he’d used as a kid to coax me into mischief. “We always find a way, you know that. We’re family—family’s everything.”

Family. The word scraped against something raw inside me.

“I’m not ready, Vincent,” I said softly. “I’m not… okay. Not right now.”

Silence stretched. Then his voice dropped, dark with warning: “Cassian will destroy—”

“Let him,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to.

My gut twisted with unease—an instinct whispering that Vincent had already betrayed me once before, though I couldn’t recall how.

“Later, Vincent,” I said firmly, and hung up.

I exhaled, staring at the phone like it might ring again. It should have hurt, hearing my brother’s voice after years. But strangely, there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Dragging myself back toward Cassian’s room, I slowed near the hall and glanced around.

What did he plan for me tonight? The question gnawed, but curiosity pulled me elsewhere. If I could find a clue—anything—about my past, it might unlock the fog.

If Cassian and I had truly lived here as husband and wife, then maybe—just maybe—the walls held fragments of my missing years.

So I searched. Room to room, cabinet to cabinet. Everything was spotless, arranged with obsessive precision, as if no one had lived here at all. Nothing of me. Nothing of us. Nothing of… anyone.

No photos, no letters, no trace of the life I’d lost.

Exhausted, I stepped out of a final room, a sterile office with mahogany shelves, and froze.

Scratched into the wall, in shorthand I somehow recognized, was a single word: RUN.

My breath caught, my heart stuttering.

Run? From what? From whom?

The message felt personal, a warning meant for me, but it could’ve been old, meant for someone else.

Cassian? My captor?

The word burned into my mind, a spark in the fog.

I backed away, my pulse racing, and returned to the bedroom, the warning echoing.

Cassian was gone. Relief and dread tangled in me as I showered, dressed, then slipped beneath the duvet. The silence of the house pressed heavy, as though it too was waiting.

Waiting for Cassian.

Waiting for the punishment he had promised me tonight.

And I lay there, staring into the dark, wondering if I’d survive it.

A sudden lurch pulled me under, and I was no longer in the bedroom but on a boat—no, not a boat, a vessel so large the wooden deck stretched endlessly beneath my feet. Yet it swayed, tilting with the vast black sea that clawed at its sides.

The night air burned my skin with its cold bite, and I realized, with a bolt of shame, that I was naked. My arms wrapped around myself in a desperate shield—one hand clutched over my scarred chest, the other pressed hard against my groin. But it did nothing against the open air. Against him.

A masked man leaned against the boat’s railing, his silhouette dark against the starless sky, his eyes—hidden behind a black cloth—boring into me with cold amusement.

The boat rocked, waves crashing against its hull, the sound a deafening roar that drowned my thoughts.

“No one will save you here, Charlotte,” he said finally, his voice casual, almost bored, as if my terror was routine. He gestured lazily at the horizon, where the sea stretched into a void that had no end. “Look around. This is nowhere. Even if you scream, the waves will swallow you first.”

I couldn’t stop trembling.

My teeth clattered, my words came out broken, stuttering, barely forming a plea. I didn’t even know what I was begging for—release? Mercy? An explanation? Why me?

The masked man tilted his head. “I’m sure you don’t know me.” His boots echoed as he walked toward me. Each step felt like a countdown.

My body froze, locked in place, refusing to run though every instinct screamed.

“But you will,” he finished. His gloved hand shot out, clamping around my arm. The grip burned, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“No—” My voice cracked.

“Let’s see if you can swim through death itself.” With one merciless heave, he dragged me to the edge and flung me into the water.

The scream tore through me before the sea did.

My body plunged into liquid ice. The cold wasn’t just sharp—it was cruel, biting, wrapping around me like claws. My lungs convulsed, sucking in salt and panic.

I flailed, thrashed, my arms fighting water I could never master. Swimming had never been mine to claim—especially not like this. Not naked, not drowning in a graveyard sea.

Then—hands. Not the sea’s hands. A hand gripping mine. Tight. Still dragging.

“No! Please! Let go!” I screamed, choking on water, choking on fear.

“Charlotte—hey—it’s me. It’s me.”

The voice tore through the nightmare like a blade. Cassian’s voice.

The sea blurred into shadows, the icy waves thinned to sheets, and I found myself on a bed, thrashing against covers instead of water. My chest heaved as if it still held the ocean.

Cassian’s hand clamped at my upper arm, in the exact same place the masked man had seized me. My skin burned beneath his touch, the nightmare refusing to let go.

I yanked my arm free as though his fingers could pull me back under. Curling into myself, I pressed my knees up and wrapped both arms around my body. The air in the room was warm, but I still felt drenched, frozen, vulnerable.

“What was your nightmare?” Cassian asked. His tone was cold, stripped of comfort, as if even my fear belonged to him to dissect.

I didn’t look at him. “None of your business.” My voice came small, brittle, but the words were defiant.

My throat ached from screaming in the dream, my body still shivering with the aftertaste of drowning.

I wondered if that wasn’t just a dream. If maybe it was a memory. One of the missing years bleeding through.

Cassian’s silence sharpened the room. Then, his mouth curved—not in sympathy, but in something darker. “Wrong answer.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” he said.

He stepped closer, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the edge, his scent flooding my senses, overwhelming the lingering chill of the nightmare. “You screamed like you were dying. Tell me what you saw.”

I shook my head, my resolve hardening despite the fear.

“It was just a dream,” I said, my voice steady. “A boat, a sea, some man. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said, his tone sharper now, his hand reaching for my wrist, his grip firm but not bruising.

“You’re mine, Charlotte, and I need to know what’s in your head. Was it him—your captor?” His eyes darkened, a mix of anger and something deeper, almost protective, flickering in their depths.

I pulled my wrist free, my skin tingling where he’d touched me, that conflicting pull stirring again.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking.

“This is the truth, Charlotte,” Cassian said at last, his gaze heavy on me. There was pity in it, but also something darker—like he wanted to both ruin me and hold me together at the same time. “We were married—truly, deeply. But I was cruel to you. I said things that cut deeper than knives, acted in ways that broke you, until you couldn’t take it anymore and left.”

The words struck like a blade.

I stared at him, my breath catching.

I waited for him to stop, but he didn’t.

“I searched for you,” he continued, his voice heavy, his eyes never leaving mine. “I paid off informants, bribed cops, spoke to men I’d sworn never to cross—cartel lords, even presidents of nations. I tore the world apart looking for you, but you were a ghost.”

I leaned forward despite myself, breath caught in my throat.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I was broken, Charlotte. Destroyed. I hated myself for the pain I’d caused you—every word, every act. I stood on rooftops at night, staring at the city, wondering if I’d find you dead or if I’d end myself first.” His voice cracked, a rare fracture in his control, and my chest tightened.

“Then, a year later, I got a lead,” he said, stopping to face me, his blue eyes haunted. “A friend of yours—Ethan—had you in his house. When I found him, you were there, alive but… changed.”

“Ethan?” I asked, my voice trembling, the name a spark in the fog. “Who is he?”

A shadow crossed his face. “He was your friend, someone you trusted. He’s gone now, back to his family in Chicago. I made sure of it.” His tone held a possessive edge.

I nodded, my mind racing, already plotting ways to find this Ethan.

If he’d sheltered me, he might be one of the few I could trust—unlike Luca, Artem, my father, or even Vincent, my younger brother, whose call had stirred a vague sense of betrayal.

“So… how was I kidnapped?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian’s eyes darkened, his hands clenching into fists. “After you left me, your father and my brother, Luca, moved against you. They had you kidnapped, locked in a psych ward. They pumped you full of drugs—sedatives, hallucinogens—until you were seeing shadows that weren’t there, hearing voices that didn’t exist. They broke you, Charlotte, to keep you from me, from your legacy.”

My breath caught, my vision blurring as I pressed a hand to my stomach, hiding the tremor.

A psych ward?

Drugged?

“And Ethan?” I asked, my voice shaking. “How did he find me?”

“He tracked you down before I could,” Cassian said, his voice bitter. “He pulled you out, hid you in his house. When I found you, you were… damaged. From what I’d done to you in our marriage, from what they did in that ward. I tried to win you back, Charlotte. I did everything—flowers, apologies, promises to change—but you were too far gone. You asked for a divorce, said it was the only way to heal. I granted it, hoping we could start fresh.”

“But you wanted more. You demanded to leave New York, to start over in a new city. You were self-harming—cutting, starving yourself. I was terrified I’d wake up to find you’d taken your life. I tried to keep you, begged you to stay, but your mind was set. You said a fresh start would save you.”

“So you let me go?” I asked, my voice barely audible, my chest tight with the weight of his story.

“I did,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

He pulled a chair forward, its legs scraping the floor, and sat facing me, his blue eyes raw. “But not entirely. The day you left, I got on a plane. Tracked you. Followed you to the city you moved to.”

“I watched you from the shadows—cameras in your apartment, bugs in your phone, a telescope from the building across the street. I hacked your emails, trailed you to coffee shops, stood outside your window at night, watching you sleep.”

His voice was low, confessional, but the creepiness of his obsession sent a chill down my spine. “For two months, I lived in your shadow, Charlotte. You were… alive again. Making friends—women, never men, keeping your promise to me. You were healing, and I was happy, even from a distance.

A shiver tore through me. “You stalked me.”

He didn’t flinch. “I protected you. I counted down the months until you swore you’d come back to me.” His voice broke for the first time. “But then I got the call. My sister was kidnapped. And she’s all I have left, my only family.

“Elodie…” I whispered.

“Yes. I went back to New York to tear the city apart for her. I shouldn’t have left you. Because the very day I stopped watching, you vanished. Kidnapped.”

My heart hammered. “I was taken that same day?” I asked, my breath catching, the nightmare’s masked man flashing in my mind.

Cassian’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”

“Whoever it was, they were close. Close enough to take you from under my nose. I’ve gutted my enemies one by one, but I’ll find the one who dared touch you. I swear it.”

His words pressed on me like a vice. I tried to form pictures, flashes, anything to bridge the empty black years in my mind. But nothing came.

His story—our story—remained just that: words. And I was left staring at him, desperate for memory, while he looked at me like he already owned every piece of me I’d lost.

I looked down at the faint burn of the ring still etched into my fingers, my voice trembling. “Was my dream a memory?” I asked, my voice trembling, the nightmare’s chill lingering in my bones. “The boat, the masked man—was that part of the years I lost?”

“Could be.” His answer was flat.

His gaze pinned me like he was dissecting me. “Your captor wasn’t your father. Wasn’t Luca. He’s a ghost. A man clever enough to make the world believe you were dead, while he kept you hidden for three years… then dumped you in your grandfather’s house like you were nothing more than discarded evidence. I still don’t understand his motive.”

My breath caught, my mind clicking into place.

No wonder I’d woken up in Grandfather’s cabin, disoriented, with no memory of how I’d arrived.

The realization hit like a blade. “What if… what if it wasn’t an accident? What if my memory loss was calculated? Like he stole those years from me on purpose?”

Cassian’s jaw flexed, sharp enough to cut glass. “it’s clear.” He said, his voice flat but laced with suppressed rage. “He erased your past, Charlotte. Deliberately.”

My stomach dropped. “Why? What does he want with me?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was a blade. “But when I find him, I’ll make him pay for every second of pain he caused you.”

I stared at him, confusion battling anger. “You’ll make him pay?” I asked, my voice sharp. “You hate me—you think I killed Elodie. Why would you care about my pain? And how do you know he hurt me?”

Cassian’s gaze burned into mine. “He sent me footage,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Videos of you—tortured, broken, screaming. I’ll kill him, Charlotte, not because I’ve forgiven you, but because he dared touch what’s mine. He used Elodie’s kidnapping to distract me, then took you. I’ll find him, and I’ll end him—slowly.” He swore under his breath, his words a vow etched in venom.

My throat went dry. “Show me. The footage. I want to see it.”

His stare didn’t waver. “No. They’re too vile.”

“But it already happened.” My voice cracked. “What difference does it make if I see? Did he—” I swallowed hard. “Did he rape me?”

Silence.

His eyes locked on mine. Expressionless. That was my answer—silence louder than words.

Finally, his voice cut through the air, merciless. “The doctor we met earlier will help you recover your memories,” he said finally, his voice evasive.

“He will guide you—therapy, tests, whatever it takes. But I can’t tell you more about your past, not now. If you want answers, you’ll get them. But not from me.”

A wave of panic surged.

“Why not?” I demanded, my voice breaking, fear and frustration boiling over.

“And how long, Cassian? How long do you plan to keep me your prisoner?”

His lips curved into something almost cruel. “Until I drag that ghost into the ground. Six feet under. Until then, you’ll stay under my roof—because if I let you out of my sight, he will take you again.”

I shook my head. “No. He’s done with me. No one could save me before, and then he just… let me go. If he wanted me, he’d have kept me. What makes you think he’ll still come?”

Cassian leaned forward, his voice like steel. “Men like him don’t let go. They play games. And you—” his gaze pinned me, “you’re still on the board.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“And even if you’re right about him, what about Luca? Your father? Artem?” His voice cut through my defiance. “They’re circling, Charlotte. Luca wants revenge for his eye—I stabbed him because of you. And he’s always been obsessed with you. He wants you as his wife before December so your grandfather’s gold and vaults transfer to him.

“Your father wants control of you, so he can claim your share for himself.

“And Artem? He’s desperate to make himself the head of the five New York families. That position would give him leverage against me. All he has to do is use you as my weakness, and I’d be forced to pull out of the race.

“You are the key to every one of them. You’re not safe anywhere—not in the House of Devils, not on your own. Only with me.”

His verdict fell like a gavel.

“So you’ll remain here. Under my roof. Under my watch, until every threat is neutralized,” he said. “You’ll serve your punishment for Elodie’s death, but tonight…” His gaze lingered, softer for a fleeting second. “Tonight, I’ll let it pass because of your nightmare.”

At last he stood, dragging his chair back toward his desk, his back to me.

His voice dropped like a blade. “Don’t mistake mercy for forgiveness.”