Page 41 of Cruel Obsession

“I won’t be alone. There’s staff.”

“Right. Staff who won’t hear you scream when he decides to—”

“Diane!”

“Sorry.” She crosses to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Just remember, you can always come home. Anytime. For any reason.”

I hug her back, my throat closing. “I know.”

“And if you do end up fucking your hot boss, I want every single dirty detail.”

I laugh wetly against her shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s my best quality.” She pulls back, studies my face like she’s memorizing it. “You’re really doing this.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “I really am.”

A sleek black car arrives precisely at two. The driver—built like he eats smaller men for breakfast—loads my suitcases without a word. His silence has weight, like he’s saving his voice for emergencies.

Diane hugs me one last time on the sidewalk, whispering fiercely: “Check in every day or I swear to God I’ll call every police station between here and Ashwater.”

Then I’m in the backseat, watching my old life shrink through tinted windows as we merge onto the highway heading north.

Two hours to Ashwater Heights. To Arkady Laurov. To whatever waits beyond those massive iron gates.

Two hours to second-guess every choice that led me here.

The car swallows mile after mile on the highway. I try not to think about Erica’s warning, about Diane’s jokes that didn’t sound like jokes. Try not to remember the intensity in Arkady’s eyes when he leaned close and murmured, “You have no idea what you’ve signed up for, Mirabel McLeod.”

Because the truth is, I don’t.

I only know that I’m walking willingly into the jaws of something that could devour me whole.

And some dark, reckless part of me is already anticipating the bite.

Chapter Twelve

Mirabel

My ribs tighten with each mile the car devours, lungs shrinking as if my body knows I’m heading toward something that might consume me whole. The familiar streets of my life fade into suburbs, then countryside, and finally into dense forest. Trees loom overhead, branches weaving together like fingers lacing.

Five thousand a month. Dad’s treatment. That’s all that matters. Not the way my skin prickles with warning. Not the hollow space forming beneath my breastbone.

I tap an uneven rhythm against my thigh, counting the turns in the winding road to keep myself from fleeing at the next opportunity. One, two, three…

“First time to Ashwater?” The driver’s voice slices through my thoughts—the first words he’s spoken since loading my pathetically small collection of belongings into the trunk.

“No. I came once for the interview. I didn’t see much of it, though.”

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “It’s something,” he says, a strange undercurrent in his tone. “Special place.”

“Sounds… interesting,” I say, not sure what to make of that. I turn back to the window as the forest thickens, trees pressing closer like curious spectators. My phone chimes.

Diane: Did you arrive yet? Text me when you’re safe, or I’ll assume you’ve been murdered.

I smile despite myself and type back:Still on the road. Will let you know when I get there. No murders yet.

The signal bars on my screen flicker once, twice, then vanish completely. No reception. The last tether to my normal life, severed by wilderness and distance. Perfect.