HIS OBSESSION MY CAGE

Flash back (Five years ago) Charles’s pov The lilies were already wilting. I noticed it on the drive over—a faint brown edge creeping along one petal. Lara would notice before I even got through the door. She always did. “Hey man.” Aiden materialized beside my desk, hands shoved in his pockets. “Going off already? It's not even five.” “Lara's home alone.” I shut down my workstation. “She's waiting.” “With how you're rushing?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Pretty sure you're the one who can't wait to see her.” “Get a fiancee and you'll understand. For now?” I grabbed my coat. “f**k off.” He pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. “I'm a catch. Just not interested in the whole one-woman thing.” He tilted his head against the wall, lazy as always. “Why have one fish when the sea is literally crawling with them?” “Try keeping your d**k in your pants for a week. Might improve your critical thinking.” His gasp was theatrical. “Did you just imply I lack sense?” “Your words, not mine.” I nodded to my employees on the way out—warm greetings returned, the usual rhythm of polished floors and clacking keyboards fading behind me. By the time I hit the parking garage, I was already calculating: fifteen minutes if traffic behaved. Twelve if I pushed it. Lara hated waiting. --- “Order for Goodluck.” A beat of silence, then Nana’s voice floated from the back. “Coming right up, sweetheart.” The scent hit me before she appeared—lilies, always lilies. Lara’s favourite. Nana emerged cradling the arrangement like it was spun glass, her weathered fingers careful around the stems. “Your fiancee is a lucky girl.” She set them on the counter, smiling. “Not many men stop by every single day just for flowers.” My lips moved before I could stop them. “I'm the lucky one, Nana.” She waved a hand. “And how's pops?” “Still breathing, the stubborn old thing.” “Good. Today's your anniversary, isn't it?” “Next weekend.” I tucked the lilies into the crook of my arm, careful not to bruise them. “You always mix it up.” “Ah.” She patted my hand. “Well, run along. Never keep a beautiful woman waiting.” I held her gaze a moment too long, something warm settling in my chest. Then I was out the door, the flowers secure beside me, the engine humming. --- The estate was too quiet. I noticed it before I even cut the ignition—no gardeners by the hedges, no maids on the porch. The afternoon light fell across empty stone. Weird, I thought. Then: She probably gave them the evening off. I checked my reflection in the rearview, smoothed my hair. The lilies looked perfect again; I’d picked the ones with the tightest buds, the ones that would open overnight and fill the bedroom with that clean, sweet scent she loved. I left the car running, key still in the ignition. I'd only be a moment. “Lara?” My voice bounced off marble, swallowed by silence. No answering call. No rush of footsteps on the stairs. Then I saw it. A slip of yellow at the base of the banister. I stared at it. Her panties—the silk pair with the lace trim, the ones I’d bought her three months ago for no reason except she’d pointed at the shop window and said those are pretty. Why were they on the floor? I picked them up without thinking. Still warm. Then I heard it. “Ahh—” Soft. Muffled. From upstairs. My hand closed around the silk. “Oww, softly. I still have to satisfy that fool when he gets back.” A laugh. Breathless. Familiar. “Yes darling, I haven't forgotten. Just a bit further.” The second voice was male. Rasping. Low. Then the sounds came—rhythmic, wet, skin against skin. The headboard knocking the wall in a beat I recognized because I’d set that bed up myself, because I’d tightened those screws with my own hands, because I’d carried her across that threshold six months ago and promised myself I’d do it again every single day for the rest of our lives. I didn't move. The panties were still in my hand. I was still holding the lilies. It’s a prank. The thought surfaced like a life raft. Of course. She’s been on that app—t****k, whatever it’s called. She watched those videos where couples fake-cheat and film the reaction. This is one of those. Any second now she’s going to burst out laughing, camera in hand, and I’m going to pretend to be furious while she wraps her arms around my neck and says my gullibility is cute. I forced a smile. “Okay,” I said, too loud. “You got me. Real good.” The sounds continued. The smell drifted down the staircase—not lilies. Something thicker. Salt and skin. Him. My knees didn't work right. I gripped the railing and pulled myself upward anyway, step by step, the lilies trembling in my grip. The door was cracked. I could see the reflection in the dresser mirror—the one she’d insisted on, the antique with the bevelled edge that had cost more than my first car. She said it made the room feel finished. I saw them in it. Her legs wrapped around his back. His hand fisted in the sheets—my sheets—beside her head. Her face tilted toward the mirror, eyes half-closed, lips parted. I saw her see me. She didn't stop. Her gaze slid to the doorway, registered me standing there, and slid away again dismissive, unconcerned, like I was a passing car or a distant noise. Her mouth opened wider. “Does your gullible fiance hit you like this?” His voice was ragged, driving into her with each word. “Does he know you're taking my d**k in his bed?” I waited. Waited for her to say stop, this has gone too far, it's just a prank, look at your face. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “The love-struck fool?” Her voice was breathless, but clear. Clear enough to carry to the doorway. “He didn't even notice when I handed you his company secrets.” She moaned loud, theatrical. “You think he'd notice this?” Something in my chest snapped. Not dramatically. Not with sound or fury. Just—a clean break, like a stem between fingers. The lilies slipped. I caught them before they hit the floor. I took one step backward. Then another. Then I was in my car, engine already running, and I didn't remember putting the key in the ignition or shifting into drive or pulling out of the estate. The road blurred in front of me. The lilies lay on the passenger seat, petals crushed against leather. Horns blared. I was doing ninety in a fifty. I didn't care. Grrr… Douglas calling… Douglas calling. The voice pulled me up from deep water. I blinked. The road ahead refocused. I pulled over, hands shaking on the wheel, and pressed the answer button. “Yes, Douglas.” His voice came through tight and wrong. “Young master. It's the old master. Sudden heart attack. His condition has relapsed,he’s asking for you.” I didn't answer. My foot was already on the gas. --- The hospital hallway stretched forever. Douglas met me at the elevator bank. His face went through three emotions in two seconds—relief, confusion, alarm. I didn't ask what he saw. “Where is he?” “In there.” Douglas nodded at the closed door. “The doctors are examining him.” “What happened?” His jaw tightened. “Master was eating. Then he received this.” He handed me a photograph. I unfolded it slowly, deliberately, like I had all the time in the world. Lara. Smiling. Her engagement ring catching the light. His arm around her waist, his mouth against her temple. The hotel logo embossed at the bottom of the image. My father always said a man reveals himself in what he does with bad news. Some men rage. Some men weep. Some men tear the world apart and rebuild it in their image. I folded the photograph along its original creases. Carefully. Neatly. My veins rose along my knuckles like corded wire. “Thank you, Douglas,” I said. “I'll take it from here.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once. The door to my father's room was still closed. The doctors were still working. I had time. I pulled out my phone. Scrolled to her contact. Lara—no last name, no special characters, just the six letters I’d typed in eighteen months ago with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. I typed: Coming home. We need to talk. Then I waited. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Her reply came through in seconds: Miss you. Hurry home ❤️ I stared at the heart emoji. Then I locked my phone and stood outside my father's door, the photograph folded into my palm like origami, and I felt nothing at all. I'm going to end her. The thought wasn't hot or cold. It wasn't anything. It was simply the next thing. The only thing left to do.