Page 112 of The Rival's Obsession
Everything snapped.
Grant shoved me back like I’d burned him. Like kissing me was some bomb he hadn’t expected to touch. The way he flinched—how fast he moved—it was like I’d just destroyed something sacred.
Corrine was already gone, her cries echoing down the hallway.
Grant chased her and I followed him. Just far enough to see the scene unfold at the end of the hall.
He caught up to her near the elevator. She was trembling, wiping at her eyes with one hand while the other jabbed at the call button like the building was on fire.
“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Grant kept saying. Over and over, like he was trying to hypnotize her with denial. “Corrine, please—don’t leave. Just talk to me.”
There was something about the way he said it—this raw desperation, this crack in his voice I’d never heard before—that made something click. I don’t know if they were ever official, but there was something there. Something unspoken. Or maybe just something Grant was terrified of losing.
Then she turned on me.
“You drugged him, didn’t you?” she snapped, eyes glassy and wild. “What did you put in his drink?”
I stood there, stunned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You coerced him.” Her voice shook. “You’ve always had this… obsession. I saw the way you looked at him.”
I waited for Grant to step in. To sayNo, that’s not true. I kissed him back. I wanted it too.
But he said nothing.
Didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at her. Just stood there, frozen, like the weight of it all had crushed his ability to speak.
That silence was the break. That was the moment everything cracked open between us.
So, I left.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. Didn’t wait to see if he’d come after me again. I just walked out of his penthouse with his taste still on my lips and a crater splitting my chest wide open.
The CFO had collapsed in his office from a heart attack. Corrine was the one who found him—said she’d come to drop off quarterly projections and walked in just as he hit the floor. It rattled her.
That’s why she came to Grant’s that night in a panic.
After, she stepped in to help “hold the fort,” and Grant let her. Gave her the title like it was a favor, like it meant nothing. And I was too drunk and too pissed off to contest it. Drowning in a cocktail of anger, bourbon, and whoever I could get my hands on.
I made sure Grant saw it all.
Every Companion I took to the holiday parties. Every lover, every late-night scandal whispered through the halls. Male, female—didn’t matter. It was punishment. For both of us.
Corrine watched, too. Always smiling. Always calculating.
She’s been the wedge between us since the beginning. The only thing that’s changed is her strategy. When guilt didn’t work, she switched to shame. When that failed, she brought up Grant’s mother. Now? She’s all knives and boardroom politics.
But the goal’s the same: drive me out.
And the worst part?
Some days, I don’t know if Grant will ever really stop her.
Eve doesn’t interject. She doesn’t argue. She just watches me, calm and steady, like she’s seen enough of people unraveling to know when not to push too hard.
Then, quietly: “So this had nothing to do with Grant’s mother?”
“No.” My eyes meet hers, and I let the sincerity bleed into my voice. “If you want the truth about that, ask Grant. Or Corrine.”
