Obsession

The steady hum of the car filled the silence as we drove through the dimly lit streets. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, droplets sliding down the tinted windows, blurring the neon city lights outside. The air inside was thick—too thick—weighed down by unspoken tension.

Victor sat stiffly in the front passenger seat, eyes trained forward, while Evelyn was beside me, her posture rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She was too tense. I could feel the weight of her glances—stealing nervous looks at Leo, at me. 

She had refused my help after we came out but the rain had started at the right moment leaving her no way out but to agree for a ride. 

Leo lay stretched across my lap, his small body curled slightly, his breathing slow and steady, still lost in sleep. He was warm—so warm—his cheek resting against my thigh, the faintest hint of his breath seeping through the fabric of my pants. 

I shifted slightly, adjusting my grip on him. My hand moved on its own, slipping beneath his jacket, my palm pressing against his waist. His skin was soft, impossibly smooth beneath my fingers, too delicate, too easy to mold. I traced a slow path along his side, feeling the curve of his ribs, the subtle rise and fall of each breath.

His warmth seeped into me, his presence filling every inch of the space between us.

The car was dark, the only light coming from the occasional flicker of streetlamps outside. Shadows stretched across the leather seats, swallowing everything in murky stillness.

Leo had clung to me when she tried to take him, his small fingers grasping onto my shirt, refusing to let go. And so, she had no choice but to let him sleep in my lap.

I could still feel the warmth of his body seeping through my clothes, the steady rise and fall of his breath against me. His weight was light—too light—but the way he curled into me, trusting even in sleep, made something inside me twist violently.

I turned my gaze to the woman beside me. Evelyn.

She sat rigid, hands fidgeting in her lap, knuckles pale in the dim light. My eyes drifted lower—to the glove compartment.

What if I killed her?

The thought slithered into my mind so naturally, so easily, that I almost smiled.

It would be simple. A quick, clean cut. I had done worse for far less.

Then I could keep him.

The idea wrapped itself around me, seductive, intoxicating. I entertained it shamelessly, almost leaning in its favor.

I knew this wasn't normal.

I had always been obsessive—once I fixated on something, I had to have it. It was how I turned Voss Corporation into the empire it was today, by working relentlessly, devouring everything in my path until there was nothing left to take.

But after I had achieved everything, I became stagnant. Detached. Uninterested.

Yet tonight—after years of feeling nothing—I felt it again.

Hunger.

No, worse. Desperation.

I needed this boy.

And if killing her meant keeping him, then so be it.

I could lock him away, bind him where no one would find him. Mine. Forever.

The thought sent a shiver through me. My fingers twitched against Leo's waist, gripping him a fraction tighter, my breathing uneven—

The car screeched to a sudden stop.

"We're here, sir," Victor said, turning to look at me.

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Evelyn's throat, from the blade I had already envisioned against it.

Outside, a large residential building loomed, tall and gray beneath the dim streetlights. Their home.

Evelyn exhaled shakily, then reached forward, her hand rifling through Leo's hair.

"Son, wake up. We're home."

She stirred him gently, her voice soft, maternal.

Leo shifted, making a quiet noise of protest before his lashes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented.

I should let go now. I reluctantly let his wait go as she sat up. his hands rubbing his dark eyes. 

"Thank you."

The words were soft—barely more than a whisper—but they might as well have been a gunshot.

Evelyn froze, her fingers still clutching the laces of his shoe, her breath catching in her throat. Disbelief. Shock. It was written all over her face.

Because he had spoken.

For the first time.

But I barely registered her reaction.

Because that voice—his voice—had just sent a violent, all-consuming shudder through me.

I hadn't expected it. Hadn't prepared for it.

It was gentle, quiet… delicate.

Almost fragile.

It wrapped around me, seeped into me like a drug, and sent something molten spiraling down my spine and curling deep in my gut.

I had already been obsessed before. But this? This changed everything.

I had wanted him, craved him, fixated on him—but now, now I needed him on a level I couldn't comprehend.

I sucked in a sharp breath, gripping my thigh to steady myself, to ground myself as a rush of heat, of hunger, of something far worse crashed into me all at once.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I wanted to hear it again.

"Leo…" Evelyn's voice trembled, eyes wide, staring at him as if she had just witnessed something impossible. "You… you spoke?"

Leo blinked drowsily, rubbing his eye with the back of his small hand as he leaned instinctively against my side. His warmth sank through my clothes, only intensifying the fever burning beneath my skin.

I wanted to touch him. Wanted to feel that delicate throat move under my palm as he spoke again.

I wanted—

"Say it again," I demanded, my voice rougher than I intended.

Evelyn snapped her head toward me, eyes narrowing. "Sir, he's just woken up, and—"

"Say it again, Leo."

Leo tilted his head, lips parting slightly as if he was contemplating whether to obey. His lashes fluttered, dark and soft against his skin.

Then—

"Thank you, sir."

Fuck.

My grip on my thigh tightened so much that my nails nearly pierced the fabric.

It was so soft, so sweet. The way the words formed in his mouth, the way he directed them at me—it was enough to send a pulse of raw arousal shooting through my veins.

I forced my breathing to steady. Forced myself to stay composed.

Evelyn was still frozen, staring at him like she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Like she was realizing something she never expected.

"Leo, do you… do you know what you just did?" she asked shakily.

Leo only blinked, tilting his head before pressing his face further against my side, as if seeking warmth. As if seeking me.

My entire body tensed at the contact.

This was it. The breaking point.

I wasn't just obsessed anymore.

I was ruined.

I could not remember how I let them leave. As they exited the car, Evelyn, still caught in her shock and surprise, thanked me many times before hurrying away. Leo, however, lingered for a moment—just long enough to turn back and wave at me.

I watched them go, but my eyes never strayed from him. From Leo.

He looked like sin incarnate, a temptation so pure yet so utterly corrupt in its existence. A sin I wanted to commit, to indulge in, to ruin.

The way his tight dress pants fit him—obscenely well, hugging his delicate frame, molding to the soft curves that no boy should have, yet he did. The fabric clung to his slender thighs, emphasizing the subtle gap between them, teasing at the soft flesh hidden beneath. My gaze trailed lower, to the gentle taper of his calves, the small ankles that looked so easy to wrap a hand around—so easy to press down, to pin, to keep still.

His hips… fuck. They shouldn't have been like that. Shouldn't have held such a subtle, almost feminine curve that made my mouth dry, my pulse pound, my fingers twitch with the urge to grab, to feel, to take. He walked with an effortless grace, each step sending a slow, hypnotic sway through his body, his lower back arching just slightly, as if meant to be held. Meant to be touched.

His shirt—too thin, too fitted—was tucked neatly into his waistband, cinching at his tiny waist, drawing my attention to just how small he was. Delicate. Breakable. A body built to be handled, to be possessed.

And those hands—fuck, those hands—so dainty, so frail-looking, the kind that belonged on someone meant for adoration, for worship, yet all I could think about was how they would look curled in my grip, trembling as they clung to me. His fingers, slender and pale, twitched slightly as he waved—a small, thoughtless motion—but it sent something dark and primal curling in my stomach.

Then there was his face—soft, pretty, devastating. Those large, dark eyes framed by thick lashes, wide and innocent yet hiding something beneath, something he himself might not even understand. His lips, plump and pink, parted just slightly as he exhaled, the barest hint of moisture catching the streetlight. Kissable. Biteable. Meant to be swollen, meant to be—

I exhaled sharply, fingers digging into my thigh so hard that I nearly ripped through the fabric of my pants.

He was walking away.

Leaving.

He shouldn't be leaving.

He shouldn't be walking away from me.

A sick sort of hunger clawed at my insides, worse than before. I had let him go—for now—but I knew, with absolute certainty, that this wasn't over.

Because no matter where he went, no matter how far, he was already mine.

And soon enough, I'd make sure he understood that.