DARK OBSESSION

CHAPTER 4: KAELEN VANCE

The forty-six-year-old man stood tall. He wore a charcoal button-up shirt rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms laced with prominent veins and an elegant Patek Philippe watch wrapped around his wrist. The subtle dusting of silver hair at his temples only heightened his mature, dominant, and deeply dangerous presence.

He was the father of my close friend, as well as one of the most influential and feared businessmen in the country. And he... was the darkest fantasy that haunted my loneliest nights.

"You're late, Feyre," Victor's voice echoed. His voice was heavy, calm, yet carried a weight of command that no one could defy.

I froze in place. "Mr... Mr. Vance? What are you doing here?"

Victor’s sharp grey eyes swept over my appearance from head to toe. He took in my slightly disheveled hair, my uneven breathing, my red satin dress slightly rumpled around the thighs, and my bottom lip, which was faintly bruised and reddened from the pressure of Damian's thumb moments ago.

His pupils narrowed. Something intensely cold and dangerous flickered in the mature man's eyes.

"Get in the car," Victor commanded tersely. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone left no room for refusal of any kind.

"I... I can take a cab—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Victor stepped forward. It took only two wide strides for him to close the distance between us. His large, warm hand clamped around my upper arm with a grip so authoritative it effortlessly guided—yet forced—me into the back seat of his luxury car.

The door closed firmly with a muted, soundproof thud.

The atmosphere inside the Rolls-Royce felt suffocatingly thick. The masculine scent of leather and tobacco perfume belonging to Victor filled every corner. The man sat beside me, leaning his broad back against the plush leather seat. He stared straight ahead at his private chauffeur, who was separated from us by a fully raised, soundproof privacy glass.

"Drive," Victor commanded briefly through the intercom.

The car glided smoothly through the thinning Jakarta night traffic. I sat rigid beside him, wringing my fingers in my lap.

"Who touched your lip?" Victor asked suddenly. His voice was flat, yet an immense undertone of intimidation lurked just beneath the surface.

I winced softly. "No one... I just—"

Suddenly, Victor’s right hand reached out. His large, rough, calloused thumb gripped my lower jaw, forcibly turning my face to stare directly into his terrifying grey eyes.

"Don't ever lie to me, Feyre," Victor whispered. His face was only inches from mine. The aura of this forty-six-year-old man was so overwhelmingly dominant that all the bravery I had flaunted before my brother's friends evaporated into thin air.

Victor's thumb pressed into my bottom lip, right over the mark left by Damian. A faint sting mixed with the searing heat of his fingers caused my chest to heave rhythmically.

"I know those young men. Damian, Julian... they are hungry wolves," Victor said, his voice low and vibrating with something profoundly dark. "But you... you intentionally walked into their den in this dress, didn't you?"

"Mr. Vance..." I gasped with difficulty. "You... you have no right—"

"I have the right to anything that catches my attention, Feyre," Victor interrupted coldly. His thumb rubbed deeper against my lip, forcing my mouth slightly open beneath his pressure. The forbidden fantasy I had harbored about this man for years was suddenly turning into a terrifying reality inside the moving car.

"You are my daughter's friend. You are the sister of the late Leo Valerio," Victor continued, his eyes locked onto my wet lips with an intoxicating intensity. "I ought to be a protective figure for you. But every time I look at you... I see nothing but a forbidden temptation begging to be ruined."

I swallowed hard, unable to move. "Then... ruin me," I whispered recklessly. The words slipped out of my mouth unfiltered, fueled by an emotional addiction to the dominance I had been craving all along.

Victor’s eyes glinted sharply. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a subtle smile that was both deeply authoritative and ruthless.

"Not here, little bird," Victor whispered softly, yet carrying a threatening promise. He released his grip on my jaw and pulled a cloth handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his fingers with remarkably elegant movements. "You aren't ready for what I could do to you. But remember tonight... if you play with fire, don't run to me when your body starts to burn."

The following morning.

The sun rose over the Sudirman central business district, casting golden reflections across the magnificent skyscrapers. The Vance Corporation building stood tall as a symbol of the ultimate financial power in this city.

I stood before the mirror in the top-floor restroom of the building, straightening my long-sleeved white silk shirt and a modest black pencil skirt. Gone was the red satin dress. Gone was the heavy makeup. Today, I returned to being Feyre Valerio: the professional, calm, and efficient personal assistant.

However, beneath the collar of my white shirt lay a faint red bruise on my neck—a leftover mark from Xavier’s touch last night. And my lower lip was still slightly swollen.

I took a deep breath, steadying my still-unstable emotions after last night’s encounters with Damian and Victor. My life had turned into a dangerous labyrinth, and I had just stepped deeper into it.

I walked down the polished marble corridor toward the CEO's office suite.

The only son of Victor Vance, and my ultimate boss. At just twenty-eight years old, Kaelen was already known as a cold, brilliant, arrogant stock market billionaire who possessed zero mercy in the corporate world. He was both respected and feared by investors.

I knocked on the thick mahogany door standing grandly at the end of the hallway.

"Come in," Kaelen’s voice called from within, sharp and expressionless.

I turned the handle and stepped inside. Kaelen’s office was vast, encased in floor-to-ceiling glass walls that offered a panoramic view of the entire Jakarta skyline from fifty stories up. Kaelen stood with his back to me, gazing out at the city while holding a cup of black coffee. He wore a impeccably tailored gray suit.

"Good morning, Mr. Kaelen. Here is your meeting schedule for today," I said professionally, approaching his expansive desk holding an iPad.

Kaelen didn't turn around immediately. "Lock the door, Feyre."

The command was spoken in a completely casual tone, yet the meaning behind it instantly altered the atmosphere of the luxurious room by a hundred and eighty degrees.

I turned around calmly, twisting the key in the mahogany door until a firm 'click' echoed, then engaged the automatic electronic lock to ensure no one from the outside could enter—not even with a master access card.

When I turned back around, Kaelen was standing in front of his desk.

However, the arrogant billionaire aura feared by the stock market had vanished completely.