CONTRACTED: His Dangerous Obsession

Don't Touch Me

Phoebe felt something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. Her limbs felt unusually heavy, and the uncomfortable warmth beneath her skin made the soft sheet feel uncomfortable.

She stared at the ceiling, listening to her own body. She was sick.

She pushed the blankets aside and slowly sat up. The room tilted, and she frowned, rubbing her forehead.

"Great."

She swung her legs off the bed and went to the bathroom. Afterwards, she dressed slowly, brushed her hair back into place, and left the room.

Halfway down the staircase, she felt dizzy. She immediately grabbed the railing and held onto it tightly; her stomach turned.

She stood still, breathed and closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass.

"Please don't let me faint," she mumbled.

"Madam?"

Her eyes flew open, and she saw one of the old maids standing at the foot of the staircase, looking up at her.

"Is everything okay, Madam?" The maid asked.

"I am fine," Phoebe said. "I just need a moment."

The maid's face changed immediately, and she started climbing the stairs.

"I am fine," Phoebe said quickly.

"You don't look fine to me," the maid said when she got to her. "Come. Let me help you back up."

Phoebe sighed, and upon seeing the maid's expression, she lost the argument. So she let the maid hold her arm gently but firmly.

A few minutes later, she was back in bed with the blanket pulled up. The old maid tucked the blanket around Phoebe's legs like she was eight years old.

"I'm not dying, you know?" Phoebe said dryly, sarcastically.

"I know." The woman said. "You remind me so much of my son." She added after a while.

"I feel sorry for him."

"I do too."

Phoebe laughed despite herself. When the old maid left, she stared at the ceiling. She would be fine by afternoon.

The door opened again, and she thought it was the old maid. But when Damon came into her line of vision, she sighed. Of course, the maid had reported to Damon.

Damon's gaze moved over her face, and he exhaled. "The maid said you're unwell. How're you?"

She pulled herself upright slightly. "I am fine," she said.

"You sure?" He asked, brows raised. "She said you almost collapsed on the stairs. No?"

"I didn't collapse." She muttered and lay back on the bed.

He pulled out his phone and stepped back into the hallway. He dialled a line and spoke briefly with the receiver. Then he came back in.

"A doctor is coming," he said.

"That is not necessary. I just need to rest."

"He will be here in thirty minutes."

"Damon, it's not that serious. I don't need a doctor," she interrupted him.

"You can tell him that when he arrives." He walked toward the chair near the window and sat down, watching her.

Phoebe stared at him. "You are impossible." She groaned.

His lips curved into what seemed like a smile. Her eyes narrowed, and her heart did a little flip. She quickly turned to the other side, backing him.

Damon opened his laptop and began working.

...

The doctor arrived in twenty-five minutes. He looked to be a man in his mid-fifties. After checking her temperature, he asked her a series of questions. Phoebe answered them and tried not to look at Damon, who stood with his arms folded, watching her.

When the doctor was done, he finally nodded. "It's just a mild infection. There's no need to worry."

Phoebe immediately looked at Damon and raised a brow. "Told you."

The doctor hid the chuckle on his face. "You're ill, Mrs Ross."

The doctor had switched sides, and she felt betrayed.

Minutes later, he left with Damon. They both spoke in the hallway. She could hear their voices but could not make out the words. So she sat in the bed and waited for Damon to come in.

Damon came back in holding a small paper bag. He set it on the nightstand and took out a box and a bottle of water.

"Twice a day," he said, setting two tablets beside the water. "With food. Then you'll take enough rest and fluids."

Phoebe stared at the medicine and then at him. Then, at the medicine again.

"You know, most husbands would at least pretend to feel sorry for their sick wife."

"I called a doctor."

"Oh, how could I forget? What a sweet, loving husband that you are." She said dryly, picked up the tablets and swallowed them with the water.

Damon opened his mouth to say something, closed it and then sighed, loss of words. He moved back to the chair by the window and opened his laptop again.

She watched him as he worked. His attention never seemed divided. When he focused on something, everything else disappeared.

She wondered what it would be like to matter to him as much as whatever was currently on that screen.

The thought slipped into her mind before she could stop it.

She frowned. Where had that come from?

"You don't have to stay here, though," she muttered and lay back on the bed

He looked at her, but she had turned to the other side. He stood and tucked in the blanket that had pulled up. Then went back to work.

...

When Phoebe woke up again after a long hour of sleep, the room had gone quiet. The chair near the window was empty.

She sat up slowly. Her limbs felt less heavy, and the dizziness had eased. On the tray beside her bed was a warm bowl of soup, bread and juice.

The old maid appeared in the doorway a moment later, as if she had been waiting for signs of movement.

"Mr Ross asked that you have something to eat when you woke," she said.

Phoebe looked at the soup. Then at the door. "He did?" She asked.

"Yes, madam."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

The old maid nodded and left.

Phoebe looked at the soup again, and for some reason, it made her smile. She pulled the tray closer and ate slowly. The soup was good. She did not know why that surprised her.

When she was done, she lay back against the pillows. The fever wasn't gone completely, but she felt better than she was in the morning. She closed her eyes again.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed. But somewhere between awake and asleep, she heard voices outside the room.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. Then she heard Damon speak.

"This should be the last time you come to my house uninvited." His voice was low and dangerously controlled.

She was more awake now.

"Why, Damon?" A woman's voice. She spoke to him in a way that showed that they had a history. "Why are you doing this?"

"I said I am married."

Phoebe sat up slowly.

"So?" The woman laughed mockingly. "So?" Her tone now had anger underneath it.

"You spent years with me. We've known each other for a long time. We have come a long way, Damon."

Phoebe's fingers tightened around the blanket.

"You were with me the morning before you went to that registry." The woman's voice rose slightly. "The morning before. And now you are married, and I am supposed to simply disappear?"

Phoebe froze. Her heartbeat stumbled.

"Lower your voice."

"No." The answer came immediately. "No. I won't."

The woman began pacing. Phoebe could hear her footsteps. "Tell me why, Damon." She continued. "Tell me why you want me to disappear. Tell me what she has that I don't have."

There was silence. A long silence that made Phoebe's heartbeat increase with every second. Finally, Damon spoke.

"This conversation is over."

The woman laughed, but there was nothing warm in it. "Why? Is your wife listening?"

The woman laughed again. Then suddenly the laughter disappeared. "Listen, Damon," her voice had gone frighteningly low. "If I can't have you, no one else will. No one."

Phoebe's fingers went still on the blanket.

There was a brief, heavy silence until Damon spoke again. His voice flat and final.

"Take her out."

Phoebe heard the footsteps of the security walking in.

"Don't touch me. I will leave on my own." The woman immediately snapped.

Footsteps followed, retreating down the hallway. The hallway went quiet again, and the door opened.

Damon stepped inside. Their eyes met immediately. She was sitting up against the headboard, the blanket pooled at her waist, fever still on her cheeks.

He stood near the doorway, looking at her. She held his gaze without looking away.

"Who was that?" she finally asked.

His face gave nothing away. The silence between them stretched on and on, and it told her more than any answer would have.

Phoebe swallowed. "Was she telling the truth?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Which part?"

Phoebe stared at him. "The part where she said you were with her the morning before our wedding."

Something changed in his face. It was gone so quickly she almost thought she had imagined it.

"Yes."

Phoebe felt something twist inside her. Before she could speak again, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, and his face darkened.

Her stomach tightened. Because for the first time since she met him, Damon looked dangerous. The man standing in front of her no longer looked like the husband she had spent weeks living with.

"Damon..."

His gaze met hers.

And for the first time since she married him, Phoebe was afraid to hear the answer to the question sitting on the tip of her tongue.