THE CEO'S TWISTED OBSESSION

Chapter 9: The Obsidian Sanctuary

The transition from the glass-and-steel heights of Jakarta to the suffocating silence of the mountains was swift and brutal. I sat in the back of the armored SUV, my wrists still stinging from where Adrian had pinned them hours ago. He hadn't spoken a word since we left the penthouse at three in the morning. He simply sat there, a dark god draped in shadows, staring at the tablet in his hand—monitoring my heart rate as if it were the morning's stock report.

The Obsidian Mansion appeared through the morning mist like a gothic ghost. It was a monolith of dark stone and reinforced glass, perched on a jagged cliffside. There were no neighbors here. No witnesses. Just the wind howling through the pines and the distant roar of the ocean below.

"Out," Adrian commanded as the car came to a halt.

I stepped into the biting mountain air, my silk dress offering no protection. Adrian didn't wait. He grabbed my hand, his grip unyielding, and hauled me toward the massive iron-bound doors. The interior was even more imposing—vaulted ceilings, flickering candlelight, and the scent of old books and cold rain.

He led me straight to the master suite on the top floor. It was a room designed for a king—or a captor. A massive four-poster bed stood in the center, and the far wall was a single pane of glass overlooking the abyss.

"This is your new world, Elara," Adrian said, finally turning to face me. He threw his tablet onto the bed. "Since you decided to use your freedom to plot against me, I’ve decided to revoke it entirely."

"You can't keep me here forever, Adrian!" I snapped, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "Eventually, someone will wonder where I am."

"Let them wonder," he countered, stepping into my personal space until I was forced back against the footboard of the bed. "Your parents think you’re on a private honeymoon. Bella is... occupied. There is no one coming for you."

He reached out, his fingers hooking under the silver choker. He pulled me closer until our chests were touching. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the chill of the room.

"You tried to break the sensor," he whispered, his eyes dark with a hunger that made my knees weak. "You tried to silence the only thing that connects us. Did you think I wouldn't punish you for that?"

"I hate you," I breathed, though my heart rate—monitored by the device he loved so much—began to climb. 110... 115...

"Your heart is a liar, Elara," Adrian murmured. He began to unbutton his shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. "It hates me, but it beats for me. It fears me, but it craves the very thing I’m about to do to you."

He didn't wait for me to protest. He shoved me back onto the bed, the velvet duvet swallowing me whole. Before I could scramble away, he was over me, his weight pinning me down. He didn't use handcuffs this time; he used his hands, his body, his sheer overwhelming presence.

He stripped away my dress with a violent efficiency, leaving me exposed under the dim light of the chandelier. His eyes roamed over my body like an artist surveying a canvas he intended to ruin.

"You’re beautiful when you’re terrified," he whispered, his voice a jagged edge of desire.

He bent his head, his mouth finding the sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder. He didn't kiss me; he claimed me. He bit, he licked, he sucked until the skin was marked with a deep, bruised purple—a brand that would tell anyone who saw it exactly who I belonged to.

I tried to push him away, my hands catching on his muscular shoulders, but the moment my skin touched his, a jolt of electricity shot through me. It was the same treacherous reaction I had felt on the vanity. My body was a traitor, responding to his touch with a primal, aching need that defied my mind.

"Tell me to stop," Adrian challenged, his hand sliding down my torso, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip with agonizing slowness. "Tell me you don't want this, and I’ll walk out that door."

The words died in my throat. I wanted to say it. I wanted to scream it. But as his hand moved lower, finding the core of my heat, a strangled moan escaped my lips instead.

"That’s what I thought," he growled.

The intimacy that followed was a storm of dark passion. Adrian was not a gentle lover; he was a man reclaiming his territory. Every touch was heavy, every kiss was a demand. He moved over me with a feverish intensity, his breath ragged against my ear as he whispered all the things he wanted to do to me, all the ways he was going to keep me broken and beautiful in his obsidian cage.

He flipped me over, pressing my face into the silk pillows. I felt the cold air on my back for only a second before the searing heat of his body returned. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back so I could see our reflection in the massive glass wall.

"Look at yourself, Elara," he hissed. "Look at how your body arches for me. You were made for this. You were made for me."

In the reflection, I saw a girl I didn't recognize. Her eyes were glazed with a mix of fear and pleasure, her skin flushed, her fingers digging into the sheets. And there, glowing on the nightstand, was the monitor.

155 bpm.

The green line was a jagged mountain range of pure, unadulterated arousal.

When he finally took me, it was a collision of souls. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails drawing blood from his back. In that moment, the world outside—the donor heart, the betrayal, the lies—didn't exist. There was only the friction of skin, the salt of sweat, and the crushing weight of a man who loved me with a madness that was starting to consume me too.

As we reached the peak together, I cried out his name, a desperate, broken sound that echoed through the silent mansion. Adrian collapsed against me, his heart thudding against my back in the same frantic rhythm as mine.

For a long time, neither of us moved. The only sound was our synchronized breathing and the wind outside.

Adrian eventually pulled away, but he didn't leave the bed. He reached for the tablet, his eyes scanning the data from the last twenty minutes. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

"A perfect performance, Elara," he said, his voice returning to that cold, distant bariton. He reached out and stroked the silver choker, which was now warm from the heat of my skin. "Your heart is healthy. Strong. And most importantly... it’s mine."

He stood up, completely unashamed of his nakedness, and walked toward the bathroom. At the door, he paused and looked back at me, his gaze freezing the blood in my veins.

"Rest now. Tomorrow, the doctors will arrive to begin the final phase of your preparation. I’ve decided to move the surgery up. I can't risk you trying to kill yourself or run away again."

My heart, which had just been racing with pleasure, now plummeted into a cold abyss.

"Adrian, wait—"

"Sleep, Elara," he cut me off, the door clicking shut behind him.

I lay there in the wreckage of the bed, the scent of him still cloying in my lungs. I looked at the glass wall. The mist had cleared, revealing the sheer drop to the jagged rocks below.

I was in the Obsidian Sanctuary. And unless I found a way to turn Adrian’s obsession into his downfall, I wouldn't be leaving this mountain with my heart still beating in my chest.