DARK OBSESSION

CHAPTER 5: OBSESSION

His light brown eyes met mine not with an intimidating glare, but with a look dripping with anxiety, dependency, and profound submission. His forehead and temples were lightly beaded with sweat.

"You're five minutes late today, Feyre," Kaelen said, his voice trembling slightly.

"There was a bit of traffic on the way, Mr. Vance," I answered calmly, taking a step toward him in a voice I deliberately kept cool and distant.

Kaelen let out a long breath. The hands that usually signed trillion-rupiah deals now moved slowly toward his silk tie. With slightly trembling fingers, Kaelen loosened the knot, letting the expensive fabric fall onto the marble floor.

Then, before his grand desk, behind locked doors on the fiftieth floor of the Vance Corporation building...

The arrogant young billionaire slowly lowered himself, kneeling onto the marble floor at my feet.

Kaelen looked up, gazing at me from below with eyes full of plea. He placed both hands palms-up on his own thighs—a posture of absolute submission.

"I've had a terrible week, Feyre..." Kaelen whispered, his voice raspy with the emotional fragility he kept tightly hidden from the outside world. "The stock market is chaos, my father keeps pressing my decisions, and the media won't stop watching me. I... I need your commands."

I looked down at the powerful man now under my control. This was the biggest secret of this place: Kaelen Vance, the ruthless market wolf, was a psychological submissive deeply dependent on me. Only before me, behind locked doors, could he shed the weight of his power and let someone else take control.

I took a step closer, until the tip of my high heel almost touched Kaelen's knee.

I reached out, threading my fingers into his neatly styled brown hair, caressing it softly before gripping it firmly, forcing his face upward.

"You know our rule when you question my time, Kaelen," I said gently, yet with a cold emphasis that made Kaelen exhale in relief—as if the pain or punishment of my control was the only cure for his tormented soul.

"Forgive me, Mistress..." Kaelen whispered, closing his eyes tightly as he felt my grip on his hair. "Give me your command. Please..."

I smiled faintly. A dark smile that was slowly taking root inside me.

Out there, my brother's five friends acted like predators who wanted to share me. Victor Vance—the father of the man kneeling before me—was a mature ruler intent on destroying me with his dominance.

Yet in this room, the son of that powerful man knelt begging beneath my feet.

I was no longer the fragile girl left behind by Leo. I was the nexus of their darkness and obsessions—the five of them, Victor, and Kaelen. And I... would make sure that I held the reins over all of them before this terrifying game came to an end.

​The hum of the executive private elevator was the only sound accompanying my descent from the fiftieth floor. My scalp still held the faint phantom sensation of Kaelen’s hair, and my pulse hadn't fully settled. In the span of twelve hours, I had walked through the dark, possessive geometry of seven dangerous men.

​I stepped into the lobby, adjusting my white silk collar to ensure Xavier's mark remained hidden. Before I could take three steps toward the glass revolving doors, my phone vibrated violently against my palm.

​An unknown number.

​I pressed the device to my ear. "Feyre Valerio."

​"You look exquisite when you're being obedient, little bird," a low, mature voice purred through the speaker.

​I froze mid-stride near a marble pillar. "Mr. Vance?"

​"Look straight ahead."

​I raised my eyes. Parked right along the VIP curb outside the glass facade was Victor's Rolls-Royce Phantom. The rear window slid down two inches, revealing the sharp profile of Victor Vance, his grey eyes piercing through the tinted glass directly at me.

​"Get in," he commanded softly through the receiver. "Or I come inside and carry you out myself. I doubt your young CEO boss would appreciate seeing his father claim his personal assistant in broad daylight."

​A cold shudder ran down my spine. I ended the call, sucked in a sharp breath, and walked out to the curb.

​The heavy door closed, insulating us instantly from the noise of the financial district. Victor didn't look at me as I sat down. He was examining a leather-bound dossier on his lap.

​"Where are we going?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain even.

​"To a celebration," Victor said smoothly. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over my professional attire before settling on my neck. His eyes darkened slightly, detecting the precise spot beneath my collar where the silk sat a millimeter too high. "Or rather, a execution of your freedom."

​He tossed the dossier onto my lap.

​I opened the folder. Inside were high-resolution photographs of myself, financial statements of my late brother's estate, and a formal decree bearing an ornate crest.

​"Gabriel de la Cruz," Victor read aloud, his voice dropping an octave into an icy register. "The golden boy of the European-Indonesian aristocracy. Polite, philanthropic, impeccably bred. He announced his formal betrothal to you twenty minutes ago at a press conference in Geneva."

​My breath hitched. "What? I’ve never even met him!"

​"Leo owed debts, Feyre. Or so the story goes," Victor said, reaching out. His long, heavy fingers gripped my chin, turning my face toward him. His thumb pressed firmly against the corner of my jaw. "Gabriel bought your brother's old offshore paper. He claims your hand in marriage as the final settlement of the Valerio estate. The media is calling it a fairytale alliance. I call it a declaration of war."

​"I won't agree to it," I spat, my voice rising in panic. "I am not a piece of property to be traded!"

​"You belong to no nobleman, little bird," Victor whispered, his face closing the distance until I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips. His grip on my jaw tightened just enough to assert absolute control. "Not to Gabriel. Not to the wolves in Damian's pack. You are walking into a trap, and if you think those boys can save you from an aristocratic cartel, you are gravely mistaken."

​Before I could answer, the car screeched to a sudden, violent halt.

​The sound of shattering glass and heavy automatic gunfire tore through the quiet cabin. The chauffeur yelled something before a heavy impact slammed into the driver's side door.

​"Down!" Victor barked, his large frame instantly reacting. He shoved my head down toward the floorboards, shielding my body with his broad back.

​The rear doors were ripped open from the outside with crowbars. Smoke flooded the interior—thick, sweet tear gas.

​I coughed violently, my vision blurring into tears. Through the haze, I saw heavy tactical boots and masked figures holding black submachine guns.

​Victor fought like a unleashed beast, his fist shattering the jaw of the first attacker who reached for him, but a heavy blow from the butt of a rifle caught the side of his head. He grunted, stumbling back against the leather seat, blood trickling down his temple.

​"Take the girl! Leave the old man!" a voice shouted in heavily accented English.

​Cold, gloved hands grabbed my shoulders, yanking me roughly out of the luxury vehicle. I kicked, my high heels striking armor plating, but a heavy hand clamped a chemical-soaked rag over my nose and mouth.

​"Victor!" I screamed, my voice muffled against the cloth.

​Through my fading consciousness, I saw Victor struggling to stand, his grey eyes burning with an apocalyptic rage as the attackers pinned him down. Beyond his figure, across the street, a black SUV pulled up.

​Inside the SUV, the window rolled down. Damian Sterling sat in the passenger seat, a sniper rifle resting on the sill. Beside him, Xavier and Julian stood on the pavement, guns drawn, moving toward the fray—their faces contorted in pure, unadulterated fury.

​The Pact, Victor, and Kaelen's world were colliding, and I was the prize being ripped from their hands.

​"Sleep, little princess," a masked voice rasped above me as the world spun into pitch blackness. "The Syndicate has plans for you."