My uncle’s Obessesion

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Wren didn’t sleep.

She lay in one of Bastian’s guest rooms, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city sounds drifting up from the street below. Around 3 AM, she got out of bed and walked to the kitchen.

Bastian was still awake, sitting at the counter with his laptop open, whiskey glass half-empty beside him. He didn’t look up when she entered.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

“I don’t sleep much.”

Wren poured herself water from the tap and stood at the window. The city was different at night quieter but still alive, like something breathing.

“Your ex-wife,” Wren said. “What does she want?”

“To remind me she exists. To make sure I know she’s watching.” He closed the laptop. “It’s what she does.”

“And she has photos of you and me.”

Bastian looked at her directly for the first time since they’d arrived at the loft. “Not yet. But she will.”

Before Wren could respond, there was a knock at the door.

Not a gentle knock. Official. The kind of knock that meant something legal was happening.

Bastian didn’t move. Wren’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t answer it,” she said.

But a man in a grey suit was already sliding an envelope under the door before Bastian could reach him. By the time Bastian opened the door, the man was gone.

Wren picked up the envelope with shaking hands.

It was addressed to her. Her name, Bastian’s address, official court stamp on the back.

She opened it.

Custody petition. Emergency filing. Holt Calloway requesting immediate temporary custody of Jonah Calloway, pending full custody hearing. Reason for emergency filing: “Public violence and emotional instability demonstrated at child’s birthday party. Mother’s fitness for custody questionable. Child’s safety at risk.”

The photograph from the party was attached. Wren walking out with Jonah. The slap caught on camera. Her face twisted in anger.

She set the papers down on the counter before her hands could shake them apart.

“He’s fast,” Bastian said, reading over her shoulder.

“He’s destroying me,” Wren said.

Her phone buzzed. Text from her studio manager: Ashford account just pulled all contracts. All three phases canceled. No reason given. I’m so sorry.

Wren stared at the message for five seconds before understanding hit her.

Holt had connections. Holt had money. Holt had a mother who made phone calls.

Her largest client. Gone. Her income. Gone. Her stability. Gone.

“He’s squeezing both sides,” she said, her voice numb. “Custody and money.”

Isolde emerged from the guest room at 6 AM, still in her clothes from the night before. She was holding her phone, her face white.

“I got fired,” she said.

Wren and Bastian both looked up.

“Calloway Corp. I just got an email. Terminated for breach of confidentiality and conflict of interest.” Isolde’s voice was shaking. “Effective immediately. I need to return my badge by end of business.”

“That’s retaliation,” Wren said.

“It’s illegal,” Bastian said quietly. “And it’s also a message.”

Isolde sat down heavily on one of the stools. “What message?”

“That everyone connected to you becomes a target,” he said. “Your sister works with your family. Now she can’t work anywhere. You’re a single income. Now you have no income. You’re trying to fight a custody battle. Now you’re completely dependent on someone else.”

Wren felt something cold move through her chest. “That’s what this is. He’s trying to make me so desperate, so dependent, that I’ll give up. He’s trying to make me disappear.”

“Yes,” Bastian said.

Wren walked to the window. The city was fully awake now traffic, people, the normal world moving on without her. She could feel everything slipping away. Her business. Her independence. Her credibility. Her son.

She turned back to Bastian. “Why are you helping me? You barely know me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Because I watched someone else in my family get destroyed,” he said finally. “And I did nothing. I stood by and let it happen. I’m not doing that again.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Isolde was scrolling through her phone. “It’s on social media. Someone posted that I was fired from Calloway Corp for corporate espionage. People are already sharing it, saying I was part of some scheme to damage the company.”

“That’s false,” Wren said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bastian said. “False spreads faster than truth.”

Wren felt the pressure building in her chest. She wanted to yell or break something, but instead she just sat down at the counter and pulled the custody papers toward her.

Holt’s signature was at the bottom. Odalys’s name appeared in the filing as a supporting witness.

“I need a lawyer,” Wren said.

“I’m already on it,” Bastian said. He turned his laptop toward her. Three names on the screen. “These are the best custody attorneys in New York. I’ve sent them the paperwork. One of them will call you by this afternoon.”

“I can’t afford”

“You don’t have to afford it.”

“I’m not taking money from you.”

“You’re not taking it. I’m investing it. There’s a difference.”

Wren wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. She was too tired. Too scared. Too aware that everything she’d built in six years was crumbling in real time.

Isolde’s phone rang. She answered, listened, and her face went even paler.

“Okay. Thank you for calling.” She hung up.

“What?” Wren asked.

“That was my new employer. They just called to rescind the job offer. They said Calloway Corp contacted them and there were concerns about my character and loyalty.”

Wren stood up. She was going to say something, but her phone buzzed again.

Another text from an unknown number: Your sister just became a liability. How many more people are you going to drag into this?

She showed it to Bastian.

His expression didn’t change, but his hands made fists.

“That’s enough,” he said.

He stood up and left the kitchen. Wren heard him on the phone in the living room, his voice low and controlled. Words like “harassment,” “harassment,” “legal action,” “cease and desist.”

When he came back, he was different. Colder. Like something had switched off inside him.

“Pack what you need,” he said to Wren. “You’re not leaving this loft. Not until we get in front of a judge.”

“That could be weeks.”

“Then you’re staying for weeks.”

He looked at Isolde. “You’re staying too. You’re both staying.”

“I can’t” Isolde started.

“Yes, you can. And you will. Because right now, being seen with you is the only leverage I have against people who want to destroy you both.” He picked up his phone. “I’m going to make sure your new employers know that pulling your offer was a mistake. I’m going to make sure Calloway Corp knows that retaliating against you was a mistake. And I’m going to make sure my nephew knows that touching either of you again was the biggest mistake he’s made in his life.”

Wren felt something shift inside her. Not relief. Not gratitude.

Fear. Because Bastian Calloway was no longer the distant uncle. He was something else entirely. Something dangerous.

And she was about to become completely dependent on him.

Her phone buzzed again. One word message from Bastian’s number:

Wait.

But it wasn’t from Bastian. She could tell by the way he immediately tensed, the way his hand tightened on his own phone.

Celestine was already inside. Already watching.