HIS OBSESSION

Chapter 1: The Mistake The house was too perfect Elena Russo had seen wealth before—high-rise apartments, designer lobbies, luxury boutiques—but this place was something else entirely. It felt untouched, like a museum where everything was too pristine to be real. The grand marble floors gleamed under soft chandelier light. The furniture, all dark wood and velvet, was arranged with eerie precision, as if no one truly lived here. She clutched the cleaning supplies tighter, her grip clammy. “This is insane,” she muttered under her breath. When Isabella had begged her to cover for her at work, Elena had assumed she’d be scrubbing floors in some penthouse. But standing here, inside the eerie perfection of the mansion’s entrance hall, she had the unsettling feeling she wasn’t meant to be here. There was no dust. No mess. Nothing to clean. She hesitated, debating whether to just leave, but the weight of Isabella’s desperate plea rang in her ears. "Just the tenth house, Ali. Please. I’ll owe you big time." Sighing, she wandered deeper inside. A library. A sitting room. A bar stocked with bottles of liquor that looked untouched. Every space was as immaculate as the last. It didn’t feel like a home—it felt like a place meant to be looked at, not lived in. Elena stopped in the living room, where an oversized velvet chair sat by the fireplace. It looked expensive, plush—inviting. She had been on her feet all day, and this job was clearly pointless. What was the harm in sitting for a moment? She sank into the chair, exhaling. It was sinfully comfortable, molding to her body like a lover’s embrace. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a second. And that was her first mistake. The second was not hearing the front door open. The third was not noticing the heavy silence that followed. A presence filled the room—dark, suffocating. It wrapped around her before she even opened her eyes. Then, a voice like crushed velvet and sharpened steel. "Who the f**k are you?" Elena 's breath stilled. A shiver crawled down her spine, slow and deliberate. Her eyes snapped open—and locked onto a man who was nothing short of lethal. He stood just beyond the shadows, his presence an unspoken warning. He was tall, his frame cut with precision beneath a black-on-black ensemble—an unbuttoned dress shirt over dark slacks. But it was his face that sent a tremor through her. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, lips that looked like they never curled into a smile. And his eyes—dark, fathomless, a shade too intense to be anything but dangerous. Elena swallowed. "I—uh—" Her voice faltered. His gaze raked over her, slow, assessing. Like a predator deciding whether or not to strike. "You're not my staff," he murmured, more to himself than her. "And yet, you're sitting in my chair." The weight of his attention was suffocating. Elena shot to her feet, hands raised. "I—I'm sorry! I was just—" "Who sent you?" The question cut through the air, sharp as a blade. She blinked. "What?" "Who. Sent. You?" Panic prickled beneath her skin. "No one! I'm just—" She exhaled, forcing herself to think. "Isabella. My friend. She works for the cleaning company. She was sick, and I—" The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Ah." His expression didn’t change, but something about him grew impossibly still. He reached into his pocket. A moment later, his voice was like ice as he spoke into his phone. "Isabella Louis. Fire her." Elena's stomach plummeted. "No—wait! Please!" She stepped forward, but the way his gaze flicked to her stopped her dead. Cold. Unforgiving. It was done. Her pulse thundered as reality sank in. Because of her mistake, Isabella had just lost her job. And from the way this man—the owner—looked at her, Elena knew one thing for certain. She had just met the most dangerous man in London. And she had made an enemy of him.