Page 41 of Reckless Obsession

It doesn’t sound amused.

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze.

“Answer the question, Maksim.”

“I don’t owe you an answer.”

“No,” Alex replies evenly, his tone controlled in that infuriating way of his. “But you do owe Mom one.”

My fingers slowly tighten around the mug. The ceramic is warm against my palm, grounding yet irritating.

Beside me, Lucas shifts on the stool. I can feel his eyes flicking between us, nervous and watchful, like someone watching a fire grow too close to the curtains.

“Since when,” I say slowly, finally lifting my gaze to Alex, “did you become everyone’s spokesperson?”

Alex doesn’t react to the edge in my voice. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me with that calm, analytical gaze that always makes my skin itch.

“Why have you missed four therapy sessions?”

The words are delivered so casually that they almost don’t register at first.

But then they settle, and something inside my chest tightens.

“Don’t do that,” I snap.

Alex’s brow furrows faintly. “Do what?”

“Act like you care about me,” I say, my anger rising faster now, hotter than I expected. “We both know you don’t.”

For a moment, something like surprise flickers across his face.

But it disappears almost immediately, his expression smoothing back into that composed mask he wears so well.

“Mom is worried about you,” he says calmly. “She said you stormed out of dinner three days ago and haven’t been back home since.”

“I’m an adult,” I shoot back. “I can do whatever I want with my life.”

“Jumping from one club to another and causing havoc everywhere you go isn’t being an adult, it’s reckless.” Alex says, his voice hardening slightly. “And I know you’re going through something because you’re spiraling—”

“Fuck you, I’m not going through anything.” I bite, the words coming out louder than I meant them to.

There’s a restless energy building under my skin, like my entire body is vibrating. My thoughts keep racing ahead of themselves, crashing into each other faster than I can control.

I hate this feeling.

And I hate that he can see it.

“Stop talking about me as if I’m broken,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “Like I’m some problem you need to fix.”

Alex doesn’t hesitate.

“You do need fixing.”

The words land flat and certain like a diagnosis. For a split second, the room feels too bright, too loud. Heat rushes up the back of my neck, and something cracks open in my chest.

“God, you’re such an ass!”

Before I can stop myself, my hand closes around the mug. For a fraction of a second, I register Lucas shifting beside me, his movement hesitant.