Page 109 of Cruel Obsession

I step into his space, trembling but past caring about consequences. “Yes. You can tell me what happened to my sister.” I’m shattered open, raw with a desperate need for answers after six years of nothing. If he kills me for asking, at least I’ll die knowing I tried.

“What?” He stares down at me, his expression unreadable.

“Debra McLeod. My twin sister. What did you do to her?”

“You must be drunk or high, woman,” he says, but something in his eyes shifts—recognition, maybe. A flicker ofsomething unidentifiable before it’s buried again beneath cold professionalism.

“She disappeared, and I believe you’re the last person who saw her.” I push harder, my voice rising. “Where’s my sister?”

His eyes flash—definitely not my imagination this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please tell me where she is!” I’m nearly shouting now, dignity abandoned. “Please!”

A shadow crosses his face, some emotion I can’t name. He studies me with unnerving intensity, measuring me.

“I vaguely remember a girl who looked very much like you,” he finally says, frowning. “But that was years ago.”

The admission breaks something in me. I grab his sleeve, clutching the expensive fabric like it’s my last lifeline to Debra.

“Please, tell me she’s alive,” I beg, voice cracking.

He straightens his massive frame, gently but firmly removing my hand from his arm. For a split second, I could swear his expression softens with genuine sympathy.

“Let’s pretend we never had this conversation.” Then he’s walking away, boots heavy as he heads down the corridor. I watch, feeling more helpless than I have in years. I lean against the wall, dropping my face into my hands. The closest I’ve come to any kind of information about my sister’s disappearance, and it’s snatched from me. If that monster doesn’t want to talk to me, there’s no way I’ll be able to persuade him.

“What’s wrong?”

I flinch at the voice behind me—Arkady. I quickly wipe my face, but it’s useless. I know my eyes are red, my nose running. But still, the scent of him has my traitorous body responding. My nerves light up even as my mind screams danger.

“Nothing,” I say, not wanting to reveal my suspicions—that one of his associates has something to do with my sister’s disappearance. And maybe Arkady does too. “I… I… Sorry,” I stumble over words, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation.

He turns me toward him, one hand on my shoulder. His thumb brushes my collarbone, a casual intimacy that sends an unwanted shiver through me. How can I still want his touch when he might be—when he could have—?

“You’re crying.” His voice has that velvet-wrapped-steel quality that both soothes and terrifies me. I search his eyes for any hint of deception, any flicker that would confirm my worst fears. Instead, I find only concern, which confuses me even more.

“Just…” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” I say yet again. “I’m just emotional about my father. It’s nothing.”

Arkady studies my face, thumb still moving in small circles against my skin. It’s distracting, maddening how my body leans toward him even as my mind recoils. He doesn’t believe me—I can see it plainly—but instead of pushing, he glances around the corridor.

“Where is Stefan? Have you seen him?”

Stefan. So that’s his name.

“No,” I lie. “I haven’t seen anyone.”

Arkady holds my gaze a moment longer, doubt etched in the slight furrow between his brows. His hand rises to my face, wiping away a tear I missed. I hate how my body remembers the weight of him above me, how safe I felt in his arms when we—.

Stop it, Mirabel!

He says nothing more before walking away, but the look he gives me promises this conversation isn’t over.

As soon as his footsteps fade, I release a shaky breath and press my palms against my eyes. What am I going to do withthis? How can I sleep under the same roof as a man who might have hurt my sister? How can I carry Arkady’s child when he—?

That’s enough, Mirabel.

Don’t jump to conclusions.

What if I’m wrong? What if what I saw in the forest that day is more complicated than I thought? Six years is a long time, and memory is unreliable. The doubt creeps in, unwelcome but persistent. Maybe Stefan was there for other reasons. Maybe there’s more to this story than I understand.