The Architecture of Obsession

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2:

The taste of Angellio’s kiss still burned faintly against my lips long after he had left the glass atrium. My breath came in short, uneven gasps as I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, trying to steady the frantic, chaotic rhythm of my heart.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to make you mine.”

Those words echoed inside my head like a haunting melody, refusing to fade. What did he mean by that? Before our families were tied together by that disastrous financial ruin, our paths had never crossed—or at least, I had never noticed him. In the high-society circles of Manila, the Blackthorn name was spoken of with a mixture of reverence and absolute terror. They were untouchable corporate emperors who operated in a world far above the middle-tier architectural firm my father had managed.

So why did Angellio look at me as if I were a ghost he had chased for years? Why did his touch carry both the weight of a heavy executioner and the desperate hunger of a man starved?

I shook my head, wrapping my arms tightly around my waist to stop the sudden shiver running down my spine. I couldn’t afford to get lost in his riddles. If I let myself unravel over his psychological games, I would break before I even figured out how to survive this gilded prison.

Lifting my gaze from the green ferns, I checked the small gold wristwatch resting on my wrist.

3:15 PM.

Forty-four minutes left before four o'clock. The time he explicitly commanded me to be in his study.

Panic fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. Angellio was a man who measured punctuality in seconds, not minutes. If I arrived even a fraction of a second late after his warning in the greenhouse, the consequences wouldn't just be verbal—they would tighten the invisible chains he had wrapped around my daily existence even further.

I hurried out of the atrium, my light footsteps racing up the sweeping grand staircase and down the long, carpeted corridor leading to my suite. I needed to change out of the lavender dress, fix my hair, and compose myself before walking into the lion's den.

When I reached my bedroom, I quickly walked over to the vanity, splashing a handful of cool water onto my face. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror showed flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips, and wide emerald eyes that betrayed every ounce of the panic I was trying so hard to suppress. I took three deep, steadying breaths, smoothing down a stray lock of my stark white hair before pulling on a clean, conservative cream-colored blouse and a dark pleated skirt.

By the time I stepped back out into the hallway, the grandfather clock near the end of the wing began to chime.

Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

Four o'clock sharp.

My feet carried me toward the east wing of the mansion, an area I rarely visited because it housed Angellio’s private domain—his personal office and study. Unlike the rest of the house, which was decorated with bright white marble and expensive European art, the east wing felt heavier, darker, and infinitely more intimidating. The walls here were panelled in rich, dark mahogany, and the lighting was kept dim, casting long, dramatic shadows across the floor.

At the end of the hallway stood a massive set of double doors made of solid black oak, fitted with a heavy brass handle.

I paused right in front of it, my hand hovering in the air for a second before I gently knocked. Twice.

"Enter."

Angellio’s deep, resonant voice cut through the heavy wood instantly, sounding as though he had been waiting right behind the door the entire time.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my breath catching in my throat at the sheer scale of the room. The study was massive, housing floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes, corporate ledgers, and architectural blueprints. On the far side, a massive wall of glass overlooked the sprawling, heavily guarded back gardens of the estate.

Angellio was standing behind a grand executive desk made of polished black walnut. He had changed out of his dress shirt into a fitted black turtleneck that hugged the broad contours of his chest and shoulders, accentuating the sharp, dangerous angles of his jawline. He wasn't looking at paperwork; instead, his piercing blue eyes were fixed entirely on the door, watching me step into his territory like a hawk tracking its prey.

"You're punctual," he remarked smoothly, his voice devoid of praise, though a faint, sardonic curve touched the corner of his lips. "Good. I hate waiting, Lavigne."

"You told me four o'clock," I replied, keeping my voice as level as possible while I stood a few feet away from his desk, refusing to move closer unless invited. "I make it a point not to disobey direct orders."

A dark, amused glint flickered in his blue eyes at my phrasing. He leaned back slowly in his executive leather chair, resting his elbows on the armrests while lacing his fingers together in front of him.

"Orders," he repeated softly.