STARK OBSESSION

CHAPTER FOUR

I couldn’t believe where I was. Sitting in a sleek, black limousine with tinted windows, I felt small, like a child lost in a world too big for her. Just weeks ago, I had been the same Rory Olive who had been pushed around, mocked, and beaten at home by Rae. And now… now I was dressed in white silk that clung to me in ways I wasn’t used to, and my hands shook as I clutched the yellow file that contained my fate.

A marriage.

With a man I had never seen, never met, and didn’t even know beyond the name Noona had whispered: Nicole Stark—the CEO of Stark Designs, one of the most respected, feared, and untouchable figures in fashion.

I swallowed hard. There was no turning back.

My mind wandered back to the past few days—the long baths, the waxes, the hair, the makeup, the silk gown, the heels that made me taller than I’d ever been and yet somehow smaller in spirit, precise and sharp, checking, testing, making sure I was… “fit” for this mission.

One year. That was all I had to secure my mother’s properties. One year to give this woman a grandchild. Fail, and the houses—my only connection to my mother’s life—would be gone forever. Destroyed. Sold to strangers.

I squeezed the yellow file until my knuckles whitened. I refused to cry. Not yet. Not here. I had to be strong. I had to play the part.

The limousine slowed to a stop in front of the modern city hall. My stomach churned as I adjusted my gloves and stepped out. The air was colder than I expected, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was what awaited me inside.

“Ms. Olive,” a young man called, his earpiece glinting as he straightened, sharp eyes assessing me.

“Um… hello?” I stammered. “Are you…?”

“No. Follow me.” His voice was clipped, professional. No warmth. No emotion. Just authority.

I obeyed, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I kept my head down, trying not to be noticed, trying to steady my racing heart. Couples smiled and laughed as they posed for pictures. Their happiness stabbed at me. My own “happiness” would be manufactured. Forced. Pretend.

The man led me to a small, quiet office. The smell of polished wood and faint perfume filled my nose. A woman in a crisp white corporate suit sat at the desk, calm and precise. And beside her… a man. Broad, intimidating, impossibly handsome.

Nicole Stark.

I froze. My breath caught. I had admired him from afar, his designs, his reputation, the way his presence commanded attention in every room. And now… I was sitting beside him, about to be his wife.

My thoughts spiraled. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. I’m not ready. I don’t know him. I don’t…

“Please sign,” the woman said, sliding the papers across. My hands shook. I picked up the pen, swallowing the lump in my throat. I dared a glance at Nicole. His eyes, sharp and blue, flicked to my face for a second before returning to the papers in front of him. No warmth. No greeting. Just… business.

I signed. My hand felt heavy, as if I were signing away not just a marriage, but a piece of my soul.

Nicole signed next, and I caught the faintest flicker of something—annoyance? suspicion?—in his eyes as he looked at me. My pulse quickened. I had never seen him like this. Not in interviews, not in pictures, not in the countless videos I had obsessively studied. He was… dangerous. Unpredictable.

The photographer snapped pictures. I froze under Nicole’s gaze, the way his arm, almost reluctantly, brushed against mine. I could feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken message: Don’t think you can fool me.

I forced myself to smile. A small, fragile curve of my lips. Not for him—not for anyone—but for myself. I had survived worse. I could survive this.

After the pictures, the woman excused us. I followed the man outside, where the bodyguard—Kevin—waited. “I’ll take that, Ms. Olive,” he said, extending a hand. I hesitated.

“Call me Rory,” I said softly. Kevin nodded, respectful, silent, professional. Not like Nicole.

The limousine waited, black and gleaming. I slid inside, trying to steady my breathing. I barely had time to think before a cold, hard presence appeared beside me. Nicole leaned against the window, piercing eyes on me.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, kitten,” he said, low, almost a growl, sharp and warning.

I swallowed, heart hammering. I knew he wasn’t lying. This was only the beginning.