CHAPTER FIVE-TERMS OF OBSESSION
760 Words
I didn’t sleep.
Not because I wasn’t tired. But because sleep required a level of peace I didn’t have—and maybe never would again.
The text haunted me.
> “You’re not the first.
But you can be the last.”
I stared at the words until my phone dimmed and locked itself.
The silence stretched out like a threat. I triple-checked the door. Closed the curtains. Set my phone to record. I wasn’t paranoid—I was methodical. It’s only paranoia if you’re wrong.
And I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t.
---
The next day, I showed up to work with my hair in a tight bun, eyes ringed in defiance, and a USB drive in my bra. Trust no one. Not even Max.
Especially not Ethan.
I waited until lunch—when most of the staff was downstairs or lost in their own grind—to slip into the high-clearance archives room. The biometric scanner didn’t stop me. I’d copied Max’s credentials three nights ago while he was passed out on my couch after two bourbons and a crisis of conscience.
Inside, the walls were lined with flat digital drawers, glowing soft blue. I tapped the search panel.
Subject: A.K.
Year: Unknown
Department: Design / Confidential
Nothing.
I tried another approach.
Project: Mosaic Echelon
Bingo.
A single file blinked to life. Locked. Fingerprint and vocal access required.
I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink.
Then I heard footsteps.
I spun, hiding the drive.
Ethan.
Of course.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. “You know, if you wanted to see me, you could’ve just scheduled a meeting.”
I swallowed. “Curiosity doesn’t clock out.”
“Neither does ambition. But trespassing?” He tilted his head. “That’s new.”
I smiled tightly. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Into what?”
“Someone who doesn’t blindly obey billionaires with god complexes.”
He walked closer—slow, deliberate.
“Tell me, Lila. Do you really want the truth?”
“I do.”
He stopped inches away. “Then stop acting like you’re immune to what you’re stepping into. This isn’t a fairytale. No one here wears white.”
“I noticed,” I whispered. “But the question is—how deep does the black go?”
A pause.
Then he stepped back, unlocked the drawer with his fingerprint and voice, and walked away.
I stared after him.
Was that permission?
Or a dare?
---
Inside the unlocked drawer was a collection of files—blueprints, audio transcripts, internal memos—all coded with dates that didn’t exist in any public company timeline.
But it was the photos that caught my breath.
A.K.
In the same clothes. Same space. Different expressions.
In one, she was smiling—relaxed, almost glowing.
In the next, weeks later… she looked haunted. Diminished.
Each photo was tagged with a file number: "E.K. – Private Archive."
E.K.
Ethan Kade.
I copied everything.
As I turned to leave, a line at the bottom of one memo made me freeze.
> Subject exhibited behavioral fragmentation after third prototype. Refused further testing. Expressed paranoia. Requested termination of contract. Request denied.
I didn’t know what any of it meant.
But I knew this:
A.K. didn’t vanish. She was erased.
And I was next in line.
---
That night, I confronted Ethan.
In his penthouse.
No appointments. No hesitation.
He opened the door like he was expecting me.
“You’ve seen it,” he said.
“I have.”
He walked to the window, city lights reflecting in his eyes like shattered glass.
“She wanted to disappear,” he said. “She begged for it.”
“Liar.”
He turned slowly. “You think I made her vanish?”
“You did something. Maybe not with your hands. But with your power.”
“I gave her everything.”
“No. You took everything she was, and when she started fighting back, you buried her.”
He was quiet.
Then, “Do you want to leave, Lila?”
I didn’t answer.
“Because you can. Right now. No strings. No penalties.”
Still, I stayed silent.
Because something inside me—something I didn’t fully trust—wanted to see how far the fall would go.
He stepped closer.
“There it is,” he whispered. “That look in your eyes. The same one she had. Right before she broke.”
“I’m not her.”
“I know,” he said, voice low. “You’re worse.”
- Writer
