His Obsessive Claims, Her Twisted Submission

THE GHOST RETURNS

"You are here because touch makes you disappear." His voice pulled her gaze away from the name and to his face.

She parted her lips, not being able to tell if it was a question meant for her to answer, or a statement that covered every reason she came to him.

"I..." His almost inaudible voice cut her off as he got his long, thick cover notebook and pen.

"Name: Mrs. Sapphire DeVille. Problem: Touch—"

Tristan paused his writing, turning his face to her.

"It's Sapphire Smith," she corrected, her eyes glancing at his name tag again.

He twirled the pen, once. "Your therapist told me about your marital status and the family you got married into. I don't want to believe that she lied to me?"

"She didn't lie to you," Sapphire confirmed. "It's my personal affair. As my soon-to-be psychologist, you shouldn't interfere."

He removed his eyes from her, onto the paper. One long s***h, he canceled the DeVille surname and wrote Smith: "You need my help concerning your s****l needs. Why you feel dead when someone touches you? Isn't that part of your personal affair?" His eyes went back to her, soul draining.

Sapphire's eyebrow came together in a tight knot. Her softened eyes slowly turned into a serious glare. "If you are going to pry into my private life, then I should leave. It's my mistake coming here." She rose to her feet.

"Doubling the years you've lived being numb, it'll feel good knowing you're a few percent away from making the years sixteen," his cold voice went straight to her system, knocking air out of her lungs at how it sounded like a pure, plain, painful truth.

"The door isn't locked. Leave if you wish, otherwise, sit."

She sat.

Not as one who was forced, rather as one who was compelled to, not by his voice nor gaze—his aura that made her feel so small and helpless even though she didn't want to admit that helpless part.

He added aversion next to the touch. "In detail, how exactly do you feel when a guy touches you?"

Sapphire inhaled, allowing his question to settle deeply before replying. "It feels weird—strange, in a bad way. I try to relax. I keep reminding myself that it's all part of being in love, and romantic relationship stuff, but I just can't bring myself to stay there. It's like they're trying to kill me while in reality, it's something that should be normal."

Tristan didn't reply. He purposely let the silence sit in the room like he was processing what she told him. Then, he penned down something which he knew she wouldn't be able to see.

He closed the book with the pen in between. "Come back tomorrow. Same time."

Sapphire blinked. "Just like that?"

He pushed the chair back, and slowly, he rose to his feet. His height towered over the office, creating an immense shadow in the room. His towering frame blocked the light from reaching her. The room became darker, and she could only feel the strong presence he radiated.

Taking slow steps that seemed like the world would stop working while waiting for him to pass, he came close to her, and stood behind her.

"Yes," his eyes stayed on her slightly shaking body. "Your case is an intense one." His index finger brushed the back of her neck, trailing lightly down the line of her upper spine.

Her shoulder instantly locked. Her breathing hitched.

Tristan's eyes stayed on her for a beat longer.

"It needs extra measures."

Quickly, she stood up from the chair, and ran close to the door, while her shaky breath filled the once silent room.

"I'll come tomorrow as instructed. I'm leaving now." She hurried away before he could say anything, as if he was going to say further.

The door opened, and little light entered the place, but the door closed before the light could see the way through. His eyes did every talking he needed to as he walked to the other side of the table and opened the notebook to her case.

Treatment: Extra measures.

Just when he was about to close the book, his eyes landed on the canceled DeVille name, then, her maiden name. The stare was for a second. One brief second, he closed the book.

His phone screen light shone with a text notification.

He didn't need to see the person who texted before knowing whom it was. The head of the family, Marco DeVille.

Gramps Marco: Dinner tonight by 7. Come say hi to the family.

--

Sapphire didn't stop, look back nor wave at the reception lady before leaving the building as if she had seen her own ghost inside.

Sliding through the main gate, she exhaled so long and relieving that she had thought throughout the session, she was holding her breath absentmindedly.

"What was that?" She got her breathing rate back, recalling the way his eyes looked familiar, and the surname he shared with the richest family in Vegas.

"Could he be a relative?" She shook her head. "They never mentioned having a distant relative."

She texted her driver, asking him to come and get her. Immediately the text went through, Alyssa's name flashed on the screen.

She took three consecutive breaths, making sure to sound normal. Alyssa loves playing the detective, and wouldn't pretend not to notice even if she caught a bit of strain in her voice.

"Congrats babe!! Just switched on my phone now and the first thing I saw was the news! I'm happy for ya b***h! Girl, you're hot right now!"

"Hold on, what news?" Sapphire's brow narrowed in confusion.

"Don't f*****g pretend Mrs. DeVille! The news about your husband and father!"

Sapphire went silent.

" You'll be swimming in money now! I can already imagine you touring around the world in customized jets! Branded cars, and gosh, I'll—"

"Those are your fantasies, not mine, Lys."

"So what? If I can't get them, I'm gonna live them through you. Wilson is the best as f**k. Dude's making sure his better half doesn't have to see the sun. You have no idea how this deal is gonna benefit his company...hey, Sapph, you there? Why so quiet?"

Sapphire laughed. "What do you want me to say? I was listening to you. It feels so nice hearing you this happy for me."

"Com'on babe, if I'm not happy, who else's gonna be? I know you're not happy about your dad's absence from your wedding, but a win is still a win after all."

"You're right. Even when the win costs your own happiness," she muttered absentmindedly.

"Sapph, you okay?" Alyssa's voice brought her back. "Is something wrong? Talk to me."

"You worry too much. I'm fine. Hey, where are you now? Meeting with a client?"

"I just finished. Wanna hang out and celebrate later today?"

"Sure I—" she stopped herself before she could agree. If she agrees so easily and goes to see her, she'd be suspicious as hell. Most newly married couples usually spend lots of time with their spouses. "I'd really love to go, but yunno my status has changed. I have to prepare dinner for my husband."

"Right," Alyssa drawled, and Sapphire had to chuckle slowly at the expression she'd have. "Keep forgetting that. My bad."

"Sapph, I have to go now. Meeting with a client in ten minutes' time."

"Go and make that money."

"Trust your girl on that."

Sapphire laughed, ending the call. Her car had arrived a few minutes ago. Holding the car door handle, she opened the door, and at that same time, she felt cold shivers trail down her skin. It wasn't an ordinary reaction, but one she had felt twice. The first one at the wedding, and the second one—

Her head went up to the last floor of the building, and she saw the person. The psychologist with incredibly deep blue eyes that was far from ordinary. It was new, one of its kind, almost supernatural.

The stare got so uncomfortable that she had to get into the car, and told the driver to drive her back home.

----

[7 PM, DEVILLE'S EMPIRE]

The staff kept the final set of dishes with the utmost care and quietness. With Rosa around, they all knew the consequences of making the plates, and glasses clink too loudly on the table.

Heels and shoes clicked softly on the marbled stairs, getting all the staff's attention. Rosa and Theodore appeared, arms linked together. Together, they both radiated power and authority capable of making the city bow to them. Theodore had a neutral expression while the way Rosa's shoulders were held up high. It could be mistaken for an important business dinner or event, not a family dinner.

The staff shifted away from the table, and stood in a straight line. They dared not say a word. Not a sigh, cough, inhale and not even greetings. All they needed from the staff was to bow their heads as if their creators were coming.

Getting to the table, Rosa's eyes, painted with dark mascara, trailed down the table.

A glint of satisfaction appeared in her eyes when she spotted her favorite food—

Theodore waited for her to sit first before taking a chair beside her.

"You all leave now," Rosa commanded. "The aroma is enough. No stench needed."

In the same way they lined up, they left in that same way. Composed and organized. They knew better than to scramble away.

Immediately, the maids cleared away from the dining area, the door opened after confirming it was Wilson.

"Mom, Dad," he walked to them, and gave Rosa a side hug.

"I'm proud of you."

"Dad..."

"Sit down, son."

Wilson sat opposite Theodore fixing his bow. "Any idea why this dinner was fixed?"

"Tristan's return. He's coming to this family after sixteen years." Marco appeared from the side of the room looking young and strict in his suit and stick.

He scanned the family, noticing the two absent people. "Wilson, where is your sister?"

"I have the business to take care of, not a grown-ass lady's keeper."

The door burst open. "I'm here!"

Tracy took two staggered steps, almost tripping on her heels if not for the table.

Rosa fanned the air. "Tracy...did you go clubbing...by this time? And drunk?"

"Com'on momma, clubbing doesn't have a specific time." She tried to stand but fell again. This time, she sat on the floor. Her hair sprawled over her face. "It's only a sip."

"This is insolent!" Theodore cast her a cold glare. "I thought you only get wasted whenever you win?"

"That's the thing Dad. I won big today. You wanna know?" She dragged herself up, and somehow she managed to stand without falling. "Tristan is coming home! After sixteen damn years!"

"This behavior...is only because of Tristan?" Wilson asked, shocked.

Tracy coughed. "You know nothing, Wils—"

"Go and freshen up, Tracy," Old Marco said coldly, having had enough of her drunken display.

"I was gonna go anyway." She took a few shaky steps. "You don't have to tell me."

She'd have fallen if not for the handrail. The family's eyes followed her until they couldn't see her again.

"Ignore her. She's very happy concerning Tristan's return."

"Mom," Wilson called. "Don't justify her actions."

"I wasn't justifying," Rosa defended.

Wilson faced Old Marco. "Why isn't Tristan here? It's been more than thirty minutes. I don't think he's important enough to make us wait for this long."

"If I'm not important enough, you wouldn't have bothered coming," another voice replied. Not Tracy, or Rosa. It's a man's voice, but the voice didn't come from the dining table, it came from the front door.

With a swift, Wilson turned, followed by Theodore, Rosa and then Marco.

There he stood, with those recognizable blue eyes that didn't need to announce who, before they know it was really him.

The eldest son of the DeVille family—Tristan DeVille.