Dark obsession

Abuja 3 days

---

The flight to Abuja was 55 minutes.

It felt like 5 hours.

Damian booked first class. 2 seats. Side by side.

Window and aisle.

He took the aisle. Like he was blocking me in.

He didn't speak to me for the first 20 minutes.

Just laptop.

Emails.

Jaw tight.

Like I was any other PA.

Like he hadn't texted me `Wear red` at 5am.

Then he closed it. With a snap.

"Look at me."

I did.

My heart was doing stupid things.

"One room," he said.

"What?"

"At the Hilton. I booked one room. One bed." His eyes were cold. Testing me. "Problem?"

My mouth went dry.

"Mr. Cross, that's not appropriate—"

"I'm not asking if it's appropriate, Maya." He leaned back in the seat. The leather creaked. "I'm telling you."

He turned to face me fully.

"You can sleep on the floor if you want. On the couch if you want. In the bathroom if you want."

A pause.

"But you are not leaving my sight for 3 days."

Arrogant.

Possessive.

And I was too scared to say no.

Too curious to say no.

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because." He said it like that was enough.

"Because why?"

"Because I said so." He opened his laptop again. "And because Abuja is full of men who will look at you. And I won't have it."

---

The hotel was 5-star.

Marble floors that echoed.

Chandeliers that cost more than my rent.

Bellboys who called him `Sir`.

And one keycard.

For one room.

Suite. 3402.

He swiped us in.

Dropped his suitcase.

Turned to me.

"Rules for the next 3 days," he said. Voice flat. Business-like.

"Rule 1: You answer my calls. Immediately. No matter where you are."

"Rule 2: No other men. Not even eye contact. Especially not eye contact."

"Rule 3:"

He stepped closer.

I could smell his cologne. Cedar. Money. Control.

"You wear what I tell you to wear. You go where I tell you to go. And you don't pretend this isn't happening."

My throat bobbed.

"And if I don't follow the rules?"

His hand came up. Knuckles under my chin.

"Then I make new ones." His thumb brushed my jaw. "Starting with never letting you out of this room."

The air left me.

My phone buzzed in my bag.

`BROTHER: Abuja? Since when do you travel for work?`

`BROTHER: Send me hotel details.`

Damian heard it.

He took my phone from my bag.

Read it.

Face unreadable.

Then he deleted it.

Both messages.

Blocked the number for 72 hours.

"He doesn't get to know where you are," he said. Handing it back. "Not for 3 days. You’re mine here."

"Damian, that's my brother—"

"And I'm your boss." He cut me off. "For 3 days, I'm the only man who gets to worry about you."

---

6pm. Company dinner.

For the Abuja branch launch.

He made me wear a black dress.

From the shopping bag he'd sent to my house that morning.

With a note: `Wear this.`

Low cut.

Backless.

Hugged every curve.

I felt naked.

"Turn around," he said when I came out of the bathroom.

I did.

His eyes darkened.

"Perfect." He stepped behind me. Zipped me up slowly. His fingers lingered on my back. "So they all know."

"Know what?"

"Who you belong to."

In the car, his hand found my thigh.

Under the tablecloth at dinner, it stayed there.

Tracing circles.

Squeezing when the regional manager talked to me.

Pulling back when I tried to shift away.

I barely ate.

Because I couldn't breathe.

"Stop," I whispered.

"Stop what?" He smiled at the client across from us. Like butter wouldn't melt.

"Your hand."

"What's wrong with my hand?" He squeezed. "It's on my PA's thigh. Where it belongs."

After dinner, the walk back was silent.

Tense.

He was angry.

I didn't know why.

---

Back in the room: 10:47pm.

He kicked the door shut.

Dropped his jacket.

Undid his tie.

Watched me.

"Are you scared of me?"

"No."

"Liar." He crossed the room. "You're shaking."

"I'm not—"

"You are." His hands came to my shoulders. Turned me.

He unzipped the dress. Slow.

The fabric fell.

He didn't touch me.

Not yet.

Just looked.

Like he was memorizing.

"Maya."

"Yes?"

"Why did you wear it?"

"Because you told me to."

"No." He spun me around. "Why did you wear it for me?"

I couldn't answer.

Because I didn't know.

He sighed. Pulled me to him.

Forehead to forehead.

"Chapter 15 is done," he murmured. "But we have 2 more days, Maya. And I'm just getting started."

"What does that mean?"

"It means tomorrow, Rule 4 starts." His hand slid to my waist. "And Rule 4 is: You sleep in this bed. With me. No floor. No couch."

"That's not—"

"That's the rule." He kissed my temple. "You can fight it. Or you can accept it. But either way, you're not leaving."

He got into bed.

Left the other side empty.

An invitation.

A command.

I stood there for 10 minutes.

Then I got in.

On top of the covers.

As far from him as possible.

He didn't touch me.

That night.

But he didn't sleep either.

I heard him.

Breathing.

Watching me.

At 3am he whispered:

"I can hear you thinking."

"I'm not thinking."

"You're thinking about running."

"...Maybe."

"Don't." His voice was rough. "Because if you run in Abuja, I'll chase you. And I always catch what I chase."

---

Morning. Day 2.

He woke up first.

Already dressed.

Coffee in his hand.

One for me too.

"Rule 4," he said. "Get dressed. We're having breakfast in bed."

"Together?"

"Together."

And just like that, Abuja started.

3 days.

1 room.

1 bed.

And a boss who decided I was his.

---

*END OF CHAPTER 15*