THE CEO'S TWISTED OBSESSION

Chapter 8: The Sound of Silence

The silence in the master suite was a living thing, heavy and suffocating. Outside, the city of Jakarta was a blur of neon lights, but inside this glass cage, time had stopped. Beside me, Adrian’s breathing was deep and rhythmic. His arm was draped across my waist, a heavy shackle of muscle and heat that anchored me to the silk sheets.

I lay perfectly still, my eyes fixed on the nightstand. There, Adrian’s phone glowed dimly.

72 bpm.

My heart was steady, thanks to the breathing exercises I had practiced all evening. I had to be a ghost. I had to be a shadow.

Slowly, agonizingly, I began to slide out from under his arm. Every inch felt like a mile. When my feet finally touched the cold marble floor, I didn't breathe until I was sure he hadn't stirred. I crept toward the vanity, my hands trembling as I reached for the velvet lining of my jewelry box.

My fingers brushed against it—the industrial glass-cutter Julian had hidden. It was small, cold, and sharp. My ticket out of this nightmare.

I stood before the mirror, the tool poised at the seal of the silver choker. I just needed one precise cut to disable the sensor.

"Going somewhere, Elara?"

The voice was a low, predatory growl that sliced through the darkness. My heart missed a beat, then exploded into a frantic rhythm. I whirled around, hiding the cutter behind my back, my breath hitching in my throat.

Adrian was sitting up, the duvet pooling at his waist. In the shadows, his eyes were two pits of liquid obsidian, reflecting a terrifying mix of disappointment and rage. He didn't look at me; he looked at his phone.

125 bpm.

"Your heart is screaming, darling," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky register. He stood, his bare chest heaving slightly as he walked toward me. "It’s telling me everything your lips are trying to hide."

"I... I was just—"

"Lying?" He was in front of me now, his scent of sandalwood and cold gin overwhelming my senses. He reached out, his hand wrapping around my throat, not to choke, but to claim. His thumb brushed over the black diamond. "You didn't take the pill, did you?"

Before I could answer, he snatched my hand from behind my back. The glass-cutter fell, clattering loudly against the floor.

The air in the room turned sub-zero. Adrian stared at the tool, then back at me. A dark, twisted chuckle escaped his throat. "Julian. I’ll deal with that traitor later. But you..."

He grabbed my waist and lifted me, slamming me back against the vanity. Perfume bottles rattled and fell, shattering on the floor, the scent of crushed jasmine filling the air. He forced himself between my thighs, pinning my wrists to the marble surface.

"You want to be free of me so badly that you’d risk breaking the very thing keeping you safe?" his voice was a harsh whisper against my lips.

"I'm not an object, Adrian! I'm not a heart in a jar!" I cried out, my defiance flaring even as my body trembled under his weight.

"In this room, you are exactly what I say you are," he hissed. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark—a brand.

I gasped, a traitorous surge of heat blooming in the pit of my stomach. It was a sick, twisted reaction to his dominance, a spark of fire in the middle of a storm. Adrian felt it. He felt the way my pulse hammered against his palm, the way my body arched toward his despite my mind screaming for me to run.

"Look at the screen, Elara," he commanded, forcing my head toward the nightstand.

145 bpm.

"You hate me, yet your body is begging for me," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. It wasn't an act of love; it was an act of war. He kissed me until I tasted blood, until the only thing I could feel was the crushing weight of his obsession.

His hands moved with a feverish, desperate intensity, stripping away my robe until there was nothing left between us but the cold marble and the heat of his skin. The intimacy was brutal, a chaotic dance of power and surrender. Every time I tried to push him away, he pulled me closer, his grip bruising, his whispers promising that I would never, ever leave this cage.

As the peaks on the monitor reached a fever pitch, I realized the terrifying truth. He didn't just want my heart for his mother. He wanted to break it, to mold it, until it beat only for him.

When it was over, he didn't let me go. He held me there, pinned to the vanity in the wreckage of my failed escape.

"The choker stays on," he whispered into my hair, his voice ragged. "And tomorrow, we move to the Obsidian Mansion. Since you can't be trusted in the city, I’ll lock you away where even the sun won't find you."

I closed my eyes, the green line on the phone finally beginning to slow. I had lost. And as Adrian carried me back to the bed, I knew my heart was no longer my own. It was a prisoner of the man who loved me like a catastrophe.