HIS FRAGILE OBSESSION

Chapter 7

The hum of the executive floor felt suffocating.

Every tap of Hazel’s fingers against her tablet screen felt heavy. No matter how hard she tried to focus on Nicholas's busy schedule, her mind kept dragging her back to those terrifying numbers on her tablet screen.

4:15 AM to 8:15 AM.

Four hours. Whoever brought her back had stayed inside her home for four full hours while she lay unconscious. A cold shiver crawled down her spine despite the quiet cool of the office air-conditioning.

She kept glancing at her right wrist. The purplish bruise was still there, tender and throbbing under her long suit sleeve. Every time her skin brushed against the fabric, it served as a harsh reminder that someone had crossed into her private space.

"Ms. Hazel?"

A sharp, arrogant voice broke her thoughts. Hazel looked up to see Vice President Harrison, a senior board member who had opposed her hiring from day one, standing over her desk with a stack of quarterly reports.

"Mr. Vance’s calendar shows a free slot at three," Harrison said, his tone dripping with condescension as his eyes scanned her simple blazer. "I need ten minutes with him to approve the offshore budget. Put me on the list."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison," Hazel replied softly, sitting up straight and adjusting her posture. "Mr. Vance reserved the entire afternoon for private contract reviews. He specifically requested no interruptions."

Harrison’s expression hardened, taking an intimidating step closer to her desk. "Listen to me, girl. You’ve been here for less than forty-eight hours. Don't tell me how Mr. Vance manages his time."

Before Hazel could defend herself, a dark, icy shadow fell over the desk.

"She doesn't need to tell you, Harrison. I do."

Nicholas stood at the entrance of his suite, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his hand resting casually in his pocket, but his dark gaze was so lethal that Harrison visibly stiffened.

"Vice President Harrison," Nicholas said, his deep voice carrying a razor-sharp edge. "My secretary gave you an answer. If you question her authority again on this floor, you won't need ten minutes on my schedule, you'll need a new job."

Harrison swallowed hard, his cheeks turning red with humiliation. "Of course, Mr. Vance. My apologies." He grabbed his files and hurried down the hall without looking back.

Hazel let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked over at Nicholas, touched yet overwhelmed by how effortlessly he shielded her.

"Thank you, sir," she murmured.

Nicholas didn't answer immediately. He walked across the room with smooth, effortless grace, holding two porcelain cups of hot coffee he had just poured. He placed one cup right in front of her. The warm, rich aroma of fresh roast instantly filled the quiet air

between them.

"Take a break, Hazel," Nicholas said, his deep voice smooth, quiet, and commanding.

"Thank you, sir. You really didn't have to do that."

Instead of walking back to his desk, Nicholas stayed where he was. He rested one broad hand on the edge of her mahogany desk, leaning down slightly. His tall, imposing frame blocked out the harsh sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows, wrapping her completely in his warm, protective shadow.

His sharp eyes drifted down to her right arm. Hazel instinctively tried to pull her sleeve down, but Nicholas was faster.

Before she could pull away, his large, warm fingers gently reached out and held her wrist. He didn't squeeze or hurt her; his touch was light as a feather, yet firm enough to hold her still. An electric charge raced straight up her arm, making her pulse jump wildly.

"Does it still hurt?" Nicholas asked, his voice dropping into a low, quiet murmur.

Hazel’s breath hitched in her throat. She looked at his sharp jawline, then down at his broad fingers holding her arm so delicately.

"N-No, sir... it's just a small mark," Hazel whispered, her face flushing warm. "It will fade in a day or two."

Nicholas stared at the mark for a heavy beat, his dark brows drawing together in a subtle, dangerous crease. "I don't like seeing damage on things that belong in my space," he said softly, his thumb tracing the untouched skin right above her bruise.

The raw possessiveness in his words made her heart hammer violently against her ribs. He slowly let go of her wrist, though his dark gaze remained locked onto her flushed face.

"Tomorrow evening, Vance Enterprises is hosting the annual Executive Charity Gala," Nicholas continued smoothly, stepping an inch closer. "Every major businessman and investor in the country will be there. I want you to attend with me."

Hazel froze mid-breath, her eyes widening in pure shock. "M-Me, sir? To a gala?"

"Yes," he replied simply, as if it was the most obvious decision in the world.

"Sorry Sir... I am just a normal girl. Just your secretary," Hazel stammered, her cheeks burning hot under his intense stare. "All those powerful people... I won't fit into a place like that. People will talk, and it might embarrass you."

In one slow, fluid motion, Nicholas stepped even closer, closing the remaining distance. He reached out, his warm fingers gently catching her chin and tilting her face up to meet his dark gaze. The space between them shrank so much she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Look at me, Hazel," Nicholas murmured, his deep baritone dropping into a velvet roughness. His thumb brushed softly against her lower lip. "You are not just a normal girl. You are my personal secretary, Nicholas Vance's personal secretory. No one in that room dares to look down on who stands by my side."

Hazel’s breath choked in her chest. She got completely lost in the dark, intense heat burning in his eyes. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. For a second, the fear of her intruder vanished, replaced entirely by the breathless, overwhelming aura of the man standing over her.

Brrrring! Brrrring!

The sudden, sharp ringing of Hazel's desk phone shattered the intimate moment into pieces.

Hazel flinched, pulling back abruptly. Nicholas let his hand drop slowly, his dark eyes lingering on her flushed face with a subtle, unreadable smirk before he straightened up.

Shaking, Hazel cleared her throat and answered the phone. "Y-Yes? Executive floor."

"Ms. Hazel Sterling ?" the main receptionist's voice sounded from the speaker. "There is a private courier boy down in the main lobby. He has a package marked Urgent & Confidential for you. He says he is only allowed to hand it directly to you."

Hazel blinked, her mind still foggy from Nicholas’s touch. "A package? For me? Alright... I'll be right down."

She hung up the receiver and looked up at Nicholas, trying to hide her shaky hands. "Sir, there's a personal delivery for me at the front desk. I'll be back in two minutes."

Nicholas gave a slow, quiet nod. "Take your time." His dark eyes followed her every step as she grabbed her handbag and hurried out toward the private elevators.

As the private elevator glided down toward ground level, Hazel leaned her head back against the mirrored wall, the quiet hum of the machinery vibrating through her. Her heart was still hammering wildly against her ribs.

Why does he make me feel like this? She thought, pressing a trembling palm against her chest. One second he was a cold, ruthless billionaire, and the next, he protected her with a fierceness that made her knees weak.

The elevator doors chimed and opened into the grand, sunlit lobby.

Employees and visitors moved quickly across the marble floors, but near a tall pillar by the front entrance, a young courier wearing a black cap was standing quietly. In his hands, he held a sleek, midnight-black gift box wrapped in a crimson silk ribbon.

"Ms. Sterling?" the boy asked politely as she approached. "Please sign here."

Hazel signed the digital pad with trembling hands. "Who sent this? Did they leave a name or a return address?"

"I don't know, ma'am. A driver in a black car gave it to me outside with a heavy tip to deliver it straight to your hands," the courier said, bowing respectfully before turning around and walking out into the busy city street.

Hazel stared down at the heavy black box in her arms. A cold, unsettling weight settled deep in the pit of her stomach.

Holding the box tightly against her chest, she moved toward a quiet, secluded alcove behind the grand glass elevators, away from the eyes of passing staff. Her hands shook violently as she pulled the smooth crimson ribbon and lifted the heavy lid of the box.

Inside lay a breathtaking, pure white silk scarf, soft as water, exquisitely expensive.

And resting right on top of the silk was a small, black envelope.

Hazel’s breath caught in her throat as she opened the envelope and pulled out the crisp card inside. Dark, elegant handwriting covered the paper:

“To match your beauty and hide the mark on your wrist. Wear it tomorrow night... you will look flawless, and you won't have to worry about anyone staring at your bruise.”

Hazel gasped, dropping the card back into the box as if it had burned her bare skin. All the color drained instantly from her face.

A wave of pure, suffocating horror washed over her body.

He was watching her. He knew about the bruise on her wrist. He found out about the gala tomorrow night.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched the black box tightly against her chest. She turned her head quickly, her wide, terrified eyes looking out through the massive glass walls at the crowded street, the moving cars, and the endless sea of strangers walking past.

Somewhere out there in the city... a pair of dark eyes was watching her every single move, waiting for tomorrow night.