The obsession begins

LUCIEN

I stirred in sleep — rare for me. It's not easy for me to sleep. I've insomnia and a habit of late night working since I was fifteen. Above all of these the thing which is odd than all is I slept after an one night stand. Which is clearly not my thing.

The suite was drenched in half-light. Golden dawn bleeding through heavy curtains, cutting across the silk sheets.

My hand moved automatically, searching for warmth beside me. It was an unconscious movment.

Empty.

My eyes snapped open.

I sat up at once, breathing tight, scanning the bed. Cold. Undisturbed.

I grabbed my phone. "F*ck. Seven?!!" I cursed.

The room was quiet, but not empty of her.

Her scent still hung in the air. Floral. Dangerous. Like her.

I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back roughly, cursing under my breath. I don't freaking stay after I finish I just left. No string attached. That's the rule I've been following since I was a teen.

But the fact that I not only stayed but slept also last night is not a good thing. And also not to forget I was left this time which is not the right thing. I left my one night standees not the other way around.

I got up, dressing quickly. My wallet was in the pocket of my trousers. I checked.

Cash was gone.

"Of f*cking course." I laughed.

A smirk tugged at my lips despite the rage simmering in my chest.

“Well played, bold of her.” I muttered into the silence.

I should have been furious.

Instead, I was wired. Awake. Burning.

She hadn’t just taken my money.

She’d taken control.

I walked into the bathroom. Turned the cold tap to its limit and stepped under the water.

It crashed against me, freezing, punishing.

Didn’t matter.

I wanted to scrub her touch off me. The way she had grabbed me. Kissed me like she was claiming territory. Like I was hers.

No one did that to me.

No one dared.

I closed my eyes.

But I still saw her.

The mocking tilt of her mouth. Those sharp, storm-gray eyes. I let the water run until I couldn’t feel my skin. After all the things that happened something inside me is craving for her scent, her feeling. That mixed scent of lavender, peaches and danger is crawling under my skin, assaulting all the last night memories in my head. A part of-though the tiniest one- me want to revive that scent near me again. And she didn't forget any of her things- I don't know why I was urging to search for her things, any thing- hoping she might forget to take along with her. But doesn't matter how hard I could scan the rooms, she didn't left anything except the memories of her. She took every thing. Which is oddly frustrating.

When I stepped out, I was shivering — and angrier than before.

Later.

My penthouse was too clean. Too quiet.

I caught my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Towel slung around the hip. Hair damp. Jaw tight. Eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

For a second, I imagined her behind me — smirking, daring me to admit how thoroughly she’d gotten under my skin.

I slammed my fist onto the counter hard enough to make the marble rattle.

Fu*k. "No. Snap out of it. You bastard. She's just another girl. Not the first and definitely not the last on the earth."

My phone buzzed.

“S-sir,” my assistant’s voice crackled, nervous. “Your meeting is scheduled for 10 a.m.”

“I’ll be there,” I said, voice flat. No greeting. No warmth. No mercy.

I ended the call.

The Moretti estate was immaculate. Warm lights. Marble floors polished to a mirror finish.

I barely registered the croissants, the espresso, the perfect plating.

I sat at the breakfast table, motionless.

My mother, Camilla, hovered. Ever the hostess.

“Lucien, love, eat something,” she urged softly. “I had the chef prepare everything your favorite today.”

I didn’t respond. I just picked at the plate with my fork. A sleek car pulled into the driveway. Seconds later the door slammed open. A tall, and leaner than me punk walked in with is signature cocky grin.

Adrian Shaw.

Always loud. Always too casual.

“Morning, fam!” he said cheerfully. “Only five seconds late, I swear.”

“You’re late,” I muttered, eyes still on my plate.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. I’m not your girlfriend.”

I finally looked up, deadpan.

He raised both hands. “Alright, alright. Relax.”

Mrs. Moretti-my mother-smiled at him, smoothing the tension like oil on water.

“How’s your family, sweetheart? That hotel idea of yours sounds exciting.”

“All good,” he said, flashing his grin. “Thinking about the south of France for the first one.”

“How wonderful. You know, our Judith just finished her hotel management degree. Perhaps she could intern with you?”

Adrian choked on his coffee. I shot him a warning glare. Mrs. Moretti asked him with concern, "Oh, Adrian? child! are you okay?"

Through my peripheral I saw Judith blushed furiously. She was also glaring him. She might have sense my eyes on her as she meekly lowers her gaze to her food. Anger flickering across her face.

Adrian wiped his mouth. “S-Sure, Aunt Camilla. We’ll see.”

I stood abruptly.

“Adrian. We’re leaving. I’m already behind schedule.”

He protested, mouth full.

“You’ve had enough.”

I was already walking out.

Behind us, I heard Shivi mutter: “Pig.”

Adrian groaned. “Fantastic. Just fantastic.”

The drive was silent. Adrian is the one broke first. He always did.

"Could you not drag me out mid-bite everytime?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, as I say. "You were eating like a prisoner on his last day."

To which he gives me a dramatic glare as he said. "Still better than starving with you. How could you just do that to me everytime. Invite me in the morning and don't even let me finish the breakfast! It's unfair and rude. last time I checked. You should be sent to a jail for being so awful host."

"Last time I checked, you were a man! Shut this dramatic bitch drama. You punk!"

He wet his lips before saying, switching the conversation. “Seriously though. Why do you live alone? You’ve got family. Two brothers. Sister. Yet you act like they’re ghosts.”

I didn’t answer.

“You show up once a week, just to keep up appearances. No one really knows what’s in your head.”

“I don’t like what I don’t like,” I said flatly.

“That’s the same bullshit you’ve used for ten years.”

I didn’t bother responding.

I parked in my spot. Got out. Slammed the door without looking back. Adrian sighed and followed.

The boardroom at Moretti Global fell silent the moment I walked in. Celon was presenting.

Investors watched carefully. I took my seat at the head.

Everything seemed fine — until Robinson, our primary investor, leaned back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” he said carefully. “But this proposal was already presented to me earlier today. By Adelia Textiles.”

My blood ran cold.

“Excuse me?” My voice was unfimiliarly calm. Too calm.

Robinson cleared his throat. “Word for word, I’m afraid.”

My eyes didn’t move. But my fingers tightened on the armrest until the leather creaked.

After they left, Celon just stood there, frozen.

I didn’t look at him. I was thinking about her. The missing pen drive. The smile.

The way she’d crushed her cigarette under her heel and said: “I don’t care.”

“She took it,” I muttered.

That damn girl.

I stood up so fast my chair toppled over.

Stormed out of the boardroom, ignoring everyone’s stares.

My office door slammed behind me. The anger had nowhere to go. I ripped my coat off. Threw it.

Kicked the desk so hard it splintered.

Breathing ragged. I let out a guttural, furious sound. Then sank into my chair.

Opening a drawer I pulled out a blank sketchpad.

My fingers moved before my mind could catch up. I sketched her.

That mouth. Those eyes. The smirk that had torn through my carefully built walls.

The lines blurred under my grip. But I didn’t stop.

There was a knock.

“S-Sir?” Celon's voice trembled.

“What?” I bark.

“The next meeting—”

“Cancel everything.”

Silence. That's exactly what I need besides the urge of strangling that girl. Wrapping my fingers around her neck and choking her.

“…Yes, sir.”

I didn’t move for a minute. Just stared at the drawing. Her face. That look. She’d stolen from me.

My work.

My trust.

My control.

But she’d given me something too.

Obsession.

I pressed the intercom button.

“Celon. In my office. Now.”

Seconds later the door of my office opened cautiously. I shoved the sketchpad across the table.

“Find her.” I felt my voice lethally calm to which he physically shivered, a little.

Celon swallowed. “....Who is she?”

“I don’t know.” My voice was ice. “But I will.”

To Be Continued.

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