DARK OBSESSION

CHAPTER 3: THE ARISTOCRATIC TRAP

The sharp scent of tobacco blended with sandalwood invaded my senses immediately. That wasn't Julian’s scent. The voice whispering against my neck—so deep, raspy, and dangerous—belonged to Damian Sterling. The man who, for the past two years, stood as the coldest, most untouchable figure, and the strictest observer of The Pact among the five of them.

My heart felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The silence in the dark corridor—lit only by the faint, flickering glow from the end of the VIP section—made our every breath sound deafeningly loud.

"Damian..." My voice caught in my throat, half a whisper, half a whimper. "What... what are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Damian chuckled softly. A humorless laugh that sent a cold wave of chills down my spine. His large thumb was still pressing roughly against my bottom lip, forcing my mouth slightly open. "I should be the one asking you, Feyre. What are you doing tonight?"

"Let me go!" I tried to twist my wrists, but his grip pinning them above my head only tightened. The cold metal of his luxury watch pressed against the skin of my wrists, creating a contrasting sensation that made my breathing even more erratic.

"You came to our place in this filthy dress," Damian whispered right along my jawline. His lips brushed lightly against the skin of my neck every time he spoke, triggering an electric jolt that burned through every nerve in my body. "You provoked Julian. You looked at Xavier as if challenging him to tear off your dress. And now you say 'let me go'?"

"I don't belong to anyone!" I snapped, trying to summon whatever courage I had left despite my knees feeling weak. Damian's knee, wedged firmly between my thighs, intentionally nudged upward, pressing against the slick fabric of my red satin dress.

"You're wrong," another voice echoed from the shadows to our left.

Smooth footsteps treaded upon the wooden floor. Xavier emerged from the darkness. The dim light from the far end of the corridor illuminated half of his flawlessly sculpted face. In his left hand, he still held a glass of whiskey. He stepped closer without haste, like a collector admiring a forbidden piece of art.

"That treaty..." Xavier raised his hand, his long, cool fingers touching my bare shoulder, slowly tracing the thin strap of my dress. "The rule Leo made over his own grave... that rule was made to protect us from our own obsessions, Feyre. Not to protect you from us."

"Xavier..." I whispered, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. His cold hand against my burning skin created an excruciatingly masochistic sensation.

"For two years, we held back," Julian chimed in as he stepped forward from behind Xavier. The dragon-tattooed man leaned against the brick wall right beside Damian's head. His dark eyes reflected the dim light, ravenous and wild. "We let you grow up. We made sure no other man in this city dared look at you for more than two seconds. We cleared your surroundings like loyal guard dogs."

Julian leaned down, inhaling the scent of my body near the curve of my neck. "But tonight, you crossed that line yourself, Feyre. You destroyed that boundary with your red dress."

"The Pact's rule... if one of you touches me, the others will kill him!" I yelled softly, trying to remind them of the blood oath they had always revered.

Damian lowered his head, bringing his face close until the distance between us was mere millimeters. His sharp eyes locked directly into mine.

"That rule applies if one of us acts in secret," Damian whispered in a voice so cold, yet dripping with a terrifying passion. "But what if all five of us... have agreed to share you?"

Those words hit me like an explosion. To share me.

A sensation of pure horror mixed with a wildly forbidden thrill suddenly exploded deep in my chest. The dark side within me—the side that had felt lonely, ignored, and desperate for ruin over the past two years—was dramatically ignited. They were no longer bound by my brother's memory. That rule was dead.

Before I could process the implications of Damian's words, the loud, elegant clatter of hard-soled dress shoes echoed down the main hallway, shattering the heavy tension between us.

"Damian! Xavier! Mr. Vance has arrived at the lower VIP lounge. He's requesting an emergency meeting regarding the Vance Corp stock acquisition," Aaron's voice echoed from a distance, followed by the sound of a wooden door knock.

Damian's grip on my wrists didn't slacken immediately. He stared at me for a few more seconds, his thumb delivering one final, firm press against my bottom lip before he finally let go.

His knee stepped back, giving me room to breathe. My body nearly slid down the brick wall had Xavier not caught my waist with his sturdy hand.

"Our little show must be put on hold, ma chérie," Xavier whispered softly in my ear, planting a brief but lingering kiss against my neck before releasing me completely.

Damian straightened his black suit jacket with a terrifyingly calm motion, as if he had just concluded a routine business transaction. He looked at me as I smoothed down my red dress with trembling hands.

"Leave through the back door, Feyre," Damian said coldly, shifting back into the untouchable mafia boss mode. "Your ride is waiting. And remember... never wear this dress again unless you're ready to face the consequences."

I stepped out through the back door of The Black Cellar, my breath still ragged. The damp, cold night air of Jakarta brushed against my burning skin. My heart was pounding so hard my ears rang.

Damian’s touch, Xavier’s entrapment, and Julian’s hungry gaze were still vividly etched into my skin. I hated myself because, beneath the pure fear, a part of me felt immensely satisfied. I was no longer viewed as "Leo's little sister." I was viewed as a dangerously desired woman.

My hurried steps in five-centimeter high heels came to a abrupt halt in the club's private rear parking area.

Parked there was a jet-black Rolls-Royce Phantom with dark, pitch-black tinted windows. Its engine hummed smoothly and quietly, puffing thin wisps of exhaust into the night air.

The rear door of the car swung open automatically.

A man stepped out from the calm interior of the vehicle. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated an aura of authority so massive that the surrounding air seemed to freeze instantly.