obsessed over you

chapter 9

The sunlight filtered through my thin curtains, painting faint patterns on the walls. I rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, my body still sore from yesterday's endless tasks. But there was no time to linger—there never was. I lived alone, and everything rested on my shoulders.

Humming Somebody You Love by Lewis Capaldi softly, I started my day the way I always did.

First, I straightened my bed. The sheets were tugged tight, and the blanket was folded with military precision. It wasn’t for anyone but myself—it gave me a sense of order in the chaos of my life.

Next, I swept the floors. Every corner, every speck of dust had to go. I moved the broom in a steady rhythm, letting the music fill the quiet house. As the song reached its chorus, I sang louder, my voice echoing in the emptiness.

The dishes from last night waited in the sink, so I scrubbed them clean, letting the warm, soapy water soothe my hands. Each plate, glass, and fork sparkled by the time I was done. I dried them and placed them neatly back in the cupboard.

Afterward, I gathered the laundry scattered around the house. My work clothes, towels, and even the kitchen rags went into the washing machine. I measured the detergent, started the cycle, and stood for a moment, watching the water swirl. It was oddly hypnotic, like a tiny escape from reality.

Once the washing machine rumbled to life, I grabbed a mop and tackled the floors. The scent of lavender cleaner filled the air as I worked, the rhythmic swipes of the mop matching the beat of the song still stuck in my head.

Finally, I wiped down every surface—tables, shelves, and even the windows. Dust and grime were my enemies, and I refused to let them win. The house slowly transformed, from disheveled to pristine.

By the time I finished, I was breathless, my arms aching. I leaned against the kitchen counter, looking around. The house was spotless, but it still felt empty. Too quiet. Too big for one person.

I sank into the chair by the window and stared outside, still humming the last lines of the song. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was mine. At least I had my music to keep me company.

I hummed along to the chorus of Somebody You Love, my voice cracking as I hit the higher notes. My hair bounced with every exaggerated shake of my head, the mop in my hands acting as an impromptu dance partner. The floor wasn’t going to clean itself, and if I had to spend my morning buried in chores, I was going to have some fun with it.

Jason watched all of it.

From the tiny screen of his phone, he leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The app displayed a clear view of Kyra, every move she made captured through the hidden camera he’d installed. He could see how her face lit up when she sang, her dramatic twirls as she switched from mopping to dusting, and the way she talked to herself when she thought no one was listening.

"Really going all out today," he murmured to himself, his tone laced with amusement. She looked... free, even if her freedom was wrapped in the monotony of daily chores.

Kyra twirled the mop like it was a dance partner, her bare feet sliding on the freshly cleaned floor. Her hair swung wildly as she threw her head back, laughing at her own ridiculousness. Jason’s smirk deepened, his eyes following every movement.

Her voice cracked mid-verse, and she groaned, shaking her head. “Terrible,” she muttered, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. “Lewis Capaldi would disown me.” She laughed at her own joke, oblivious to the fact that someone was watching her every move.

Jason tilted his head, his expression softening for a moment. She was different when she thought no one was looking—unguarded, playful, even a little clumsy. It was a side of her he doubted anyone else got to see.

But as quickly as the softness came, it vanished. He leaned forward, his thumb swiping across the screen to switch angles. He told himself this was necessary, that he needed to keep an eye on her, to know her patterns. Yet, the longer he watched, the more it felt like an excuse.

She flopped onto the couch with a sigh, wiping her forehead dramatically. "Another day, another battle won," she declared to the empty room. Jason chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“She has no idea,” he muttered, locking his phone screen. For now, he’d let her live in her little bubble of peace. After all, watching her was enough—for now.

Ethan adjusted the cuff of his tailored navy suit as he stepped out of the elevator into the sleek lobby of his hotel. His every movement was deliberate, controlled, as if the world itself moved at his pace. The valet opened the door to his black Mercedes, and he slid inside without a word, already lost in his thoughts.

His destination was the headquarters of his design company, Avant Edge Creations, a name synonymous with cutting-edge innovation in architecture and interior design. The drive through the bustling city was uneventful, and within minutes, he arrived at the towering glass building that housed his empire.

Stepping into the building, Ethan’s presence commanded immediate attention. Employees greeted him respectfully as he made his way to the private elevator that led to his office on the top floor.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, his assistant, mark, was there to meet him. With a tablet in hand and a coffee in the other, she fell into step beside him.

"Good morning, Mr. Davenport," he began, his tone crisp and professional. "Your nine a.m. meeting with the marketing team has been rescheduled to one this afternoon. The materials for the new project pitch are ready for review, and the legal department is requesting your approval on the updated contract for the Martinson deal."

Ethan nodded, his gaze focused ahead as they walked. "Anything else?"

mark hesitated for a moment before adding, "Your mother called earlier. She insisted that you be home for dinner tonight."

Ethan’s jaw tightened at the mention of his mother. Rebecca Davenport’s invitations were rarely optional. "Did she say why?"

"No, sir. She simply said it was important."

Ethan sighed, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "Fine. Confirm with her that I’ll be there."

"Understood," mark replied, making a quick note on her tablet. "Should I have the car ready for you after your last meeting?"

"Yes."

They reached his office, and Ethan pushed the door open, stepping into the minimalist yet impeccably designed space that mirrored his personality—sharp, efficient, and meticulously organized. He placed his briefcase on the desk and loosened his tie slightly before turning to Grace.

"Clear my schedule after five," he instructed.

"Of course, Mr. Ethan Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will be all for now."

mark gave a polite nod before leaving the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Ethan exhaled deeply, sinking into his chair. Dinner with his mother was never just dinner—it always came with strings attached. But for now, he had work to focus on, and that was a world he could control.

The sun was merciless today, beating down on me as if it had a grudge. I tightened my ponytail and took a deep breath, gripping my folder of resumes like it was my lifeline. Maybe it was. Bills were piling up, and I needed this job hunt to pay off—desperately.

First stop: Golden Threads Boutique. I had passed by it countless times, admiring the elegant mannequins in their window displays. Inside, the air conditioning was a blessed relief from the heat. A cheerful woman at the counter greeted me with a rehearsed smile.

“Hi, I’m Kyra,” I began, trying to sound confident. “I wanted to ask if you’re hiring.”

Her smile faltered, replaced by a polite shake of the head. “Not at the moment, but you can leave your resume. If something opens up, we’ll let you know.”

I forced a smile of my own, thanking her as I left. The words "we’ll let you know" hung in the air, sounding more like "don’t hold your breath."

Next, I tried Cozy Cup Café, a small coffee shop just a few blocks away. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me the moment I stepped inside, and for a second, I wished I could just order a latte and forget the world. But I couldn’t afford that luxury.

I approached the counter, where a young man with a name tag that read "Tim" was wiping down the surface.

“Are you guys hiring?” I asked, handing over my resume.

Tim glanced at it briefly before shrugging. “I don’t think so, but I’ll give this to the manager.”

“Thanks,” I said, though my heart sank a little.

The third place was a bookstore called Page Turner Haven. I loved books, so working there sounded like a dream. The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and I immediately spotted a woman shelving novels.

She looked up as I approached. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was wondering if you’re hiring,” I said, offering my resume with hopeful eyes.

She hesitated, giving me an apologetic smile. “We just filled a position last week, but I’ll keep your information on file.”

By the fourth stop, my feet were aching, and my optimism was dwindling. I entered Urban Market, a bustling grocery store. Surely they needed extra hands, right?

The manager, a burly man with a no-nonsense expression, barely looked at my resume before saying, “We’re not hiring right now. Sorry.”

I trudged out of the store, deflated. Four places in one day, and all I had were empty promises. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning, but I couldn’t spare money for lunch.

Just as I was about to give up and head home, I spotted a sign in the window of La Belle Cuisine, a well-known restaurant in the area. It read: “Delivery Driver Wanted.”

The sun was merciless today, beating down on me as if it had a grudge. I tightened my ponytail and took a deep breath, gripping my folder of resumes like it was my lifeline. Maybe it was. Bills were piling up, and I needed this job hunt to pay off—desperately.

First stop: Golden Threads Boutique. I had passed by it countless times, admiring the elegant mannequins in their window displays. Inside, the air conditioning was a blessed relief from the heat. A cheerful woman at the counter greeted me with a rehearsed smile.

“Hi, I’m Kyra,” I began, trying to sound confident. “I wanted to ask if you’re hiring.”

Her smile faltered, replaced by a polite shake of the head. “Not at the moment, but you can leave your resume. If something opens up, we’ll let you know.”

I forced a smile of my own, thanking her as I left. The words "we’ll let you know" hung in the air, sounding more like "don’t hold your breath."

Next, I tried Cozy Cup Café, a small coffee shop just a few blocks away. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me the moment I stepped inside, and for a second, I wished I could just order a latte and forget the world. But I couldn’t afford that luxury.

I approached the counter, where a young man with a name tag that read "Tim" was wiping down the surface.

“Are you guys hiring?” I asked, handing over my resume.

Tim glanced at it briefly before shrugging. “I don’t think so, but I’ll give this to the manager.”

“Thanks,” I said, though my heart sank a little.

The third place was a bookstore called Page Turner Haven. I loved books, so working there sounded like a dream. The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and I immediately spotted a woman shelving novels.

She looked up as I approached. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was wondering if you’re hiring,” I said, offering my resume with hopeful eyes.

She hesitated, giving me an apologetic smile. “We just filled a position last week, but I’ll keep your information on file.”

By the fourth stop, my feet were aching, and my optimism was dwindling. I entered Urban Market, a bustling grocery store. Surely they needed extra hands, right?

The manager, a burly man with a no-nonsense expression, barely looked at my resume before saying, “We’re not hiring right now. Sorry.”

I trudged out of the store, deflated. Four places in one day, and all I had were empty promises. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning, but I couldn’t spare money for lunch.

Just as I was about to give up and head home, I spotted a sign in the window of La Belle Cuisine, a well-known restaurant in the area. It read: “Delivery Driver Wanted.”

I hesitated. The restaurant’s reputation was impeccable, and their food wasn’t exactly cheap. Could I even handle working there? But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Inside, the manager, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a clipboard, sized me up as I handed her my resume.

“Do you have a license?” she asked, her tone brisk.

“Yes,” I answered quickly.

“And a reliable vehicle?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She raised an eyebrow, then said, “The pay is modest, $12 an hour, plus tips. You’d be delivering orders within the city. Are you interested?”

Was it ideal? No. But was it a job? Absolutely.

“Yes,” I said, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face. “I’ll take it.”

“Great. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

As I left the restaurant, the sun seemed a little less harsh, and my steps felt a little lighter. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A chance to keep my head above water for a little while longer. And for now, that was enough.