OBSESSION

Bound by Shadows

The rain hadn't stopped all night.
It wasn't gentle—it was the kind that drowned the city in a low, constant roar, the kind that blurred streetlights into halos.
Aria stood under the club's awning, the hem of her coat damp, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She had told herself she wouldn't wait. She had told herself she would walk away.

But she was still here.

The door opened behind her, spilling a line of warm light onto the wet pavement. She didn't have to turn around to know it was him.

"You're late," Lucien said, his voice low and smooth, like a sin whispered in the dark.

"I wasn't waiting for you," she replied.

"Liar."

He stepped past her, close enough that she caught the faint scent of smoke and something sharper—danger. She told herself she didn't notice. She told herself she wasn't leaning into it.

"Come inside," he said.

"I'm leaving."

"You're not."

There was no arrogance in his tone, no raised voice. Just certainty, the kind that made her stomach knot. She hated that part of her wanted to see what he would do if she stayed.

Aria followed him inside.
The club was empty now—chairs up on tables, the bar wiped clean. Only the low hum of the lights remained. Lucien led her toward a back door she had never seen open before.

"What is this?" she asked.

He didn't answer.
The lock clicked, and he pulled the door wide. The room beyond was nothing like the rest of the club—no music, no dim chaos. It was quiet, lined with tall shelves filled with folders, photographs, and ledgers. A large desk sat in the middle, lit by a single lamp.

Lucien closed the door behind them.

"You've been asking questions," he said, circling to the other side of the desk. "About me. About this place."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were."

Her jaw tightened. "And if I was?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then opened a drawer.
When he set the folder on the desk, her chest tightened. It was her—photos, reports, things she didn't even know anyone had seen.

Her hands curled into fists. "You've been following me?"

"Watching," he corrected. "There's a difference."

"That's—" She stopped. Her pulse was loud in her ears. "That's not normal."

"No," he agreed, his eyes locking on hers. "Neither am I."

She should have been afraid. She should have walked out, slammed the door behind her, never come back. But instead she stayed rooted, her breath shallow.

"What do you want from me, Lucien?"

His lips curved—slow, deliberate. "You."

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Her throat felt tight. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough."
He rounded the desk, moving closer until there was barely space between them. "And the rest... I'll learn."

She stepped back instinctively, but her hip met the edge of the desk. He leaned in, his hand braced beside her.

"You can walk out now," he said quietly. "I won't stop you. But if you stay..." His gaze swept over her, heat and warning all in one. "You won't belong to yourself anymore."

Her pulse stuttered. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"No," he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. "It's supposed to be the truth."

Silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Outside, the rain kept falling, but inside, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the space between his mouth and hers.

She didn't move. Neither did he.

And in that stillness, she realized—walking away had never really been an option.