Lustful Obsession

Niamh’s POV Blood slid down my shoulder, warm and slow, each step draining what little strength I had left. Still, the footsteps behind me didn’t falter. They were getting closer. I forced myself forward until the ground vanished beneath my feet—a cliff. Below, a violent current surged between jagged rocks, white foam tearing at the river’s edges. “I found her!” someone shouted behind me, voice sharp with triumph. I glanced down once. “s**t, pag minamalas ka nga naman… bahala na.” I breathed. I jumped. Naramdaman ko ang dampi ng tubig sa aking katawan bago ako tuluyang mawalan ng malay. … When I woke, the world felt distant—muted, heavy. My body ached, wrapped in unfamiliar sheets, the faint scent of old wood and something distinctly masculine lingering in the air. A cabin. I focused on the ceiling—rough wooden beams, a single hanging bulb casting a soft, uneven glow. Bandages wrapped tightly around my shoulder and ribs, the fabric holding me together more than my own strength did. Then I heard it. Low, uneven sounds from beyond the door—breathless, strained, almost intimate in a way that made my skin prickle. “Ano ’yun?” I muttered to myself, throat still dry. I pushed myself up despite the weakness in my limbs, every movement tugging painfully against the bandages. Carefully, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, legs shaky but stubborn. I moved quietly toward the door. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” a man’s voice said, calm but edged with something cold. “Then don’t pretend otherwise.” “Please… I won’t do it again…” a woman’s voice trembled. “Please…” A pause. Then his voice again—lower, controlled. “You’ll learn.” Silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, before shifting. Her voice came again—no longer pleading, but unsteady, conflicted, as if caught between resistance and something else she didn’t understand. My stomach tightened. What kind of place was this? I had seen brutality before. Interrogations. War zones. Places where pain was currency and fear was policy. But this— This felt different. Yung ungol niya… hindi ungol ng nasasaktan. Parang… nasasarapan. I was still processing that when the door suddenly opened. I stumbled, my balance giving out—but before I could fall, strong arms caught me, firm against my waist, steadying me effortlessly. “Careful,” a low voice said near my ear. “You’re not fully recovered.” The sound of his voice was controlled, confident, like someone who expected to be obeyed without question. I looked up— And froze. Greek god ba ’to? Ang gwapo niya—yung tipong kayang paluhurin ang kahit sino. Dark brows, sharp features, and eyes that held a quiet, unsettling intensity. The kind of gaze that didn’t just look—it studied, measured, occupied space without asking permission. Too close. Far too close. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing briefly against my forehead to check my temperature. The touch was light but clinical, yet it lingered just enough to send an unfamiliar warmth through me. Another sound came from outside, muffled but unmistakably intimate. I instinctively glanced past him— Then immediately looked away, pulse quickening. No. I didn’t want to see. Without a word, he shut the door behind him, sealing us inside. “Take care of it,” he called calmly to someone outside before turning back to me. He moved with effortless control, crossing the room as if nothing about this situation was unusual. I found myself watching him—tracking every step, every shift in posture, every measured movement. “Sorry you had to hear that,” he said casually, as if apologizing for a minor inconvenience. “Care to introduce yourself?” “I…” My voice faltered, which annoyed me more than it should have. His brows rose slightly, amused. “You seem unsettled.” Not wrong. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “Niamh,” I said finally, jaw tightening. “Niamh Yara.” His gaze sharpened—recognition, calculation. “Ethan Wayne,” he replied. “I pulled you out of the river three days ago.” His eyes held mine, steady, deliberate. “So tell me… how do you plan to repay me?” There it was—the cost. “I’ll repay you once I recover,” I said carefully, forcing my composure back into place. I slipped off my signet ring, the weight of old power and family obligations heavy in that small piece of metal, and held it out. “Take this as collateral.” For a moment, our fingers almost touched. I pulled back too quickly. My pulse was wrong—too fast, too loud. I had faced death without hesitation. So why did this man make me feel… off balance? “I don’t need money,” he said quietly. “Or jewelry.” His eyes held mine now, steady, unflinching. “I need a wife.” The words settled heavily between us. “A wife,” he continued, voice lower, “and an heir.” I blinked. Of all the things I expected— With his face? Kulang siya sa babae? Kahit sino sigurong babae, kung makikita siya, baka sambahin pa siya… tapos papayag pang aanakan? Hibang ba ’to? Pero syempre, hindi ko na palalampasin ’to. A wife and an heir. To him, it sounded like a transaction. To me, it sounded like leverage. “Fine,” I said. His brows lifted slightly. “No hesitation? No conditions?” “Oh, I have conditions,” I replied, crossing my arms, reclaiming control inch by inch. “No emotions. No attachments. And we walk away when it’s over.” My gaze lingered on him—this time intentionally. Measured. Assessing. “And no pretending this is anything more than an arrangement,” I added. A faint smile touched his lips, slowly and knowingly. “We’ll discuss ‘walking away’ after you’ve given me a child.” “Deal.” For a moment, neither of us moved. We stood there—two strangers bound by a decision made in the space of a heartbeat, both calculating the risks, both aware that backing out wasn’t really an option anymore. … The next thing I knew, we were at the civil registry, fluorescent lights humming overhead, cheap chairs lining the walls. A clerk stamped documents with mechanical efficiency, barely glancing at our faces. Papers had been prepared faster than should have been possible. Ethan moved through the requirements like he’d done this before—connections, influence, and money smoothing out every obstacle. Married. Just like that. The paper in my hands felt surreal—my name next to his, ink binding us in a way that felt both too easy and impossibly heavy. “I hope you’re not regretting it already… Miss…” He glanced at the document. “Niamh?” “Oumm,” I said, a small, controlled smile forming. “And it’s ‘wife’ now.” Before he could respond, I stepped closer—close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him—and pressed my lips briefly against his. A test. A claim. He stilled, clearly caught off guard, his hand hovering near my waist but not quite touching. Interesting. “Send me your address,” I said lightly as I pulled away. “I’ll come later. I need to get my things first.” I turned, already walking off. “Wait,” he called. “I don’t even have your contact.” We exchanged numbers quickly, his phone cooled against my palm for a brief second as I typed. But as I walked away, the weight of what I’d done began to settle in. A husband. A deal. A future I hadn’t planned. And a man who wanted an heir from a woman he barely knew. … By the time I reached home, the sun had already begun to dip, casting long shadows across the estate gates. The iron bars were familiar—ornate, imposing, designed to remind anyone who entered exactly who owned this land. I paused before stepping inside. My grandfather wasn’t a man easily surprised. But this? This would either amuse him— Or start a war. The doors opened, and the familiar scent of polished wood and old power greeted me. “Miss Yara,” one of the staff greeted, startled. “Maligayang pagbabalik—” “Si Lolo?” I asked. “Sa study po.” Of course he was. I didn’t bother changing. Didn’t bother preparing. If I hesitated now, I might actually start thinking. And that would be dangerous. I pushed the study doors open. He didn’t look up immediately. “You’re late.” “I got married.” That got his attention. Slowly, deliberately, my grandfather lifted his gaze to meet mine. Silence filled the room—thick, heavy, expectant. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and calculating. “…Explain.” I stepped forward, placing the marriage certificate on his desk, the paper a thin barrier between old power and new alliances. My pulse was steady now. Controlled. “His name is Ethan Wayne,” I said. “And he’s exactly the kind of man you’ve been looking for.” A pause. Then, slowly— My grandfather leaned back, studying me with renewed interest. Not anger. Not shock. Something far more dangerous. Approval.