Page 86 of Cruel Obsession

“It’s not a secret mansion.”

“But it is a mansion?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s big. Yes.”

“With a pool?”

“Two, actually.”

Diane clutches her chest dramatically. “Stop. I can’t handle it. My best friend is living in a house with two pools and shagging the owner. This is better than any gossip about Professor Dickhead.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “What did he do now?”

“Oh, right!” Diane launches into a story about the biochem professor who got caught plagiarizing his own student’s work. I listen, laughing in the right places, grateful for the distraction.

But my mind keeps wandering back to Arkady. To how his hands know exactly where to touch me, how to make me fall apart. To the darkness in him that should scare me more than it does.

“Earth to Mira.” Diane waves a hand in front of my face. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you drift off and get this dreamy look on your face.” She smirks. “Thinking about your mysterious boss-man?”

“No,” I lie.

“Liar.” She tosses a crisp at me. “Look, I get it. New relationship energy is intoxicating. But just… be careful, okay? I know you’re tough, but rich guys can be weird about power dynamics.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. If only she knew exactly how complicated the power dynamics between Arkady and me really are.

“I will,” I promise. “And if it goes south, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“Damn right I will be.” Diane checks her phone. “Shit, I’ve got to head out soon. Meeting with my advisor about my thesis.”

“How’s that going?”

“Don’t ask.” She groans. “But hey, before you go—are we still on for next Friday? Movie night?”

I hesitate. Friday feels impossibly far away when every day with Arkady reshapes my understanding of normal. But I need to hold onto these pieces of my old life, the parts that aren’t tangled up in his world.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

We hug goodbye at the door, and she squeezes me tight. “I’m really glad you’re happy, Mira. Even if you won’t give me all the juicy details.”

“Some things are meant to stay private.”

“Boring, but fair.” She grins. “Text me when you get there safe, yeah?”

“Will do.”

I make my way back down to the street, hands shoved deep in my pockets, the familiar sidewalk cracked and uneven beneath my feet. This neighborhood knows me—the corner store where I’d buy chocolate, the bus stop where I waited every morning for work, the park where Diane and I would jog when we were on another health kick.

Everything looks the same, but I’m not.

A few months ago, my biggest worry was whether I’d remembered to submit my timesheets on time. Now I’m sleeping with a man who keeps guns behind glass and ashes in urns, who kisses me like he’s claiming territory, who pays for my father’scancer treatment in exchange for my… what? My body? My silence? My soul?