Page 58 of Cruel Obsession

The key burns in my pocket as I mop the hallway floor outside Arkady’s east wing.

All these days of rules, boundaries, and forbidden doors. And now the one door I’ve been explicitly told to avoid—the one that’s consumed my thoughts since I first saw it—is just within reach.

Anfisa’s been gone for two days. Her retirement party was small, just her and a few long-time staff members raising glasses in the kitchen. She’d hugged me briefly before leaving, her parting words both warning and prediction: “Be careful with him, Mirabel. And with yourself.”

Now I’m the head housekeeper. The one responsible for maintaining this massive estate to Arkady’s exacting standards. The one who shouldn’t even think about using the key that’s been plaguing my conscience.

I dip the mop into the bucket, watching water swirl around the fibers. Arkady’s been in Vegas for three days. The house feels different without him—quieter, less charged. The staff move with slightly less tension in their shoulders. Even the guards seem more relaxed at their posts.

But the east wing still hums with his presence. His scent lingers in the corridors, and I keep finding myself expecting to see him striding down the hall.

“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, wringing excess water from the mop. “Just do your job.”

I check my phone for the hundredth time today. No messages from Dad, which means he’s doing okay after yesterday’s treatment. No messages from Diane, which meansshe’s still annoyed that I haven’t visited since I started working here. No messages from Arkady, which means he’s still handling whatever “business” took him to Vegas.

My fingers hover over his name in my contacts. We’ve never texted each other, but his number sits there anyway, programmed into my phone “in case of emergency.”

What would I even say?

Hey, boss, just checking if you’ll be home soon because I stole the key to your secret sanctuary, and I’m fighting the urge to use it?

“Seriously, girl?” I shake my head and pocket the phone.

The mop slides across the hardwood in smooth, even strokes. One section. Then another. Mindless work that fails to distract me from the key and what it represents.

What’s in that room that requires such secrecy? What does Arkady do in there that no one else can see?

I pause at the end of the hall, staring at the forbidden door.

This is ridiculous.

He’s probably got cameras everywhere.

But why would he have cameras monitoring a room that only he ever enters?

The bucket squeaks as I push it to the wall.

Five minutes.

Just a quick look.

He’ll never know.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull the key from my pocket and approach the door. My hand shakes slightly as I slide the key into the lock.

It turns smoothly, with barely a whisper of sound.

One last chance to walk away, Mirabel.

I push the door open and step inside… because clearly, I’m insane.

The atmosphere shifts immediately. The air feels different here—denser, somehow. The light is softer, the edges of the room cast in shadow. The space smells intensely of him, but differently than his bedroom or office. Here, the scent is more intimate, less controlled. More human.

I close the door behind me, trying to keep my breathing steady as I take a closer look at the room that I’d only seen briefly the day I saw Anfisa here. Simply furnished, functional but comfortable. Serene.

This space doesn’t match the rest of Ashwater Heights. It feels lived-in. Real. As if this small corner of the mansion is the only place where Arkady exists as a person rather than a force of nature.

I move through the room on silent feet, guilt and curiosity warring in my chest. There’s a kitchenette to one side, a small refrigerator beneath a counter. I open it to find it stocked with ready-to-eat meals. A double bed with crisp cotton sheets that I trail my fingertips over as I walk by. A desk sits against one wall, papers stacked precisely. I don’t touch them. Even I have limits.