The Obsession

A Restless Night

Chapter Eight – A Restless Night

The suite’s air still clung to her skin long after she left, thick with wine, danger, and the ghost of his voice.

Isabella sat curled on her bed hours later, the city’s hum filtering through the balcony doors. She hadn’t turned on the lights. She couldn’t. The shadows were easier to hide in.

Every word Matteo had spoken replayed in her head, circling like vultures.

You are everything. Choices are illusions. Every path you take will lead you back to me.

Her body ached with tension, a strange mixture of fear and longing. She pressed her palms to her face, hating herself for the way her pulse quickened at the memory of his gaze. She should feel disgust. Anger. She should call the police, tell Daniel, do something.

Instead, she whispered into the darkness, “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

The night stretched on, sleepless and unrelenting. When dawn finally broke, Isabella rose with heavy eyes, pulled her hair into a careless knot, and forced herself to face the day.

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Daniel was already in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone as he half-heartedly stirred sugar into his coffee. He didn’t look up when she entered, didn’t notice the circles under her eyes, didn’t ask why she hadn’t come to bed.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice brittle.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Once, mornings with Daniel had been filled with laughter, kisses, promises of forever. Now, they were nothing more than two strangers sharing a space.

He glanced up briefly, frowning. “You’re quiet.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” Isabella said.

Daniel’s brow arched, suspicious. “Work again?”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him the truth—about the man who had invaded her nights and stolen her peace. But the words wouldn’t come. Part of her feared Daniel wouldn’t believe her. Another part feared he would.

So she lied. “Yes. Work.”

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged, already lost in the glow of his phone again.

Isabella’s chest ached. The man in front of her was safe, predictable. The kind of man she should want. And yet, compared to Matteo Ricci’s fire, Daniel felt like ashes.

And that terrified her most of all.