CONTRACTED: His Dangerous Obsession

Don't Touch Me

Phoebe knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. Her arms and legs felt heavy, and her skin was burning hot against the bed sheets.

She stared at the ceiling and sighed. She was sick.

Pushing the blankets aside, she slowly sat up. The room spun around her, and she frowned, rubbing her forehead.

"Great."

She swung her legs off the bed and went to the bathroom. After freshening up, she brushed her hair, got dressed, and stepped out into the hallway.

Halfway down the staircase, she felt dizzy. Her stomach turned, and she quickly grabbed the handrail, holding on tightly.

She stood still, closing her eyes as she took deep breaths, waiting for the feeling to pass.

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

"Madam?"

Phoebe opened her eyes and saw one of the older housemaids standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her in concern.

"Is everything okay?" the maid asked.

"I'm fine," Phoebe said. "I just need a second."

"You don't look fine at all," the maid said as she reached her. "Come on. Let me help you back up to your room."

Phoebe sighed. Seeing how determined the maid looked, she gave up the argument and let the woman gently hold her arm to lead her back upstairs.

A few minutes later, Phoebe was back under the covers. The old maid tucked the blanket around her legs like she was a little kid.

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

"I know," the woman replied. "You just remind me a lot of my son." She paused for a moment before adding, "I feel sorry for him."

"I do too."

Phoebe laughed despite herself. After the maid left, she lay there staring at the ceiling, telling herself she would be fine by the afternoon.

A moment later, the bedroom door opened again. Phoebe thought it was the maid coming back, but when Damon walked into the room, she let out a soft sigh. Of course the maid had told him.

Damon's gaze moved over her face, and he exhaled. "The maid said you aren't feeling well. How are you?"

She sat up slightly against the pillows. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "She said you almost collapsed on the stairs."

"I didn't collapse," she muttered, rolling onto her back.

He pulled out his phone, stepped into the hallway, and made a quick call. A moment later, he walked back inside. "A doctor is on his way," he said.

"That really isn't necessary. I just need to rest."

"He will be here in thirty minutes."

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

"You can tell him that yourself when he gets here." He walked over to the chair near the window, sat down, and watched her.

She stared at him in disbelief. "You are impossible," she groaned.

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

Damon opened the laptop and began typing.

The doctor arrived twenty-five minutes later, a friendly man in his mid-fifties. After taking her temperature, he asked her a few quick questions. Phoebe answered them, trying her best to ignore Damon, who stood nearby with his arms crossed, watching everything.

When the checkup was over, the doctor nodded. "It's just a mild infection. Nothing to worry about."

Phoebe immediately looked over at Damon and raised an eyebrow. "Told you."

The doctor hid a small laugh behind his hand. "You are still sick, Ma'am."

Phoebe felt betrayed. The doctor had instantly taken Damon's side.

A few minutes later, the doctor left the room with Damon. They talked quietly in the hallway, but Phoebe couldn't make out the words.

When Damon walked back in, he was carrying a small paper bag. He set it on the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of water and a box of medicine.

"Take these twice a day," he said, placing two pills next to the water glass. "Take them with food, and make sure you rest and drink plenty of water."

Phoebe looked at the medicine, then at him, and back at the medicine again.

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

"I called you a doctor."

"Oh, how could I forget? What a sweet, loving husband you are," she said dryly, then picked up the pills and swallowed them with a gulp of water.

Damon opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Unable to find the words, he walked back over to the chair by the window and reopened his laptop.

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 did that come from?

"You don't have to stay here, you know," she muttered, pulling the blanket up.

He looked over at her, but she had already turned her back to him. He stood up, gently tucked the blanket around her shoulders, and went back to his work.

...

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

She sat up slowly. Her body didn't feel as heavy anymore, and the spinning in her head had stopped. Resting on a tray beside her bed was a bowl of warm soup, fresh bread, and a glass of juice.

The old maid appeared in the doorway a second later, as if she had been waiting for her to wake up.

"Mr Ross asked me to make sure you ate something when you woke up," the maid said, lowering her head.

Phoebe looked at the soup, then back at the door. "He did?"

"Yes, madam."

"Thank you," she murmured.

The maid nodded with a warm smile and left the room.

Phoebe looked at the soup again, and for some reason it made her smile. She pulled the tray closer and began to eat. The soup was surprisingly delicious.

When she finished, she lay back against the pillows. Her fever hadn't completely gone away, but she felt so much better than she had that morning. She closed her eyes and drifted off again.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but somewhere between sleep and waking up, she heard tense voices coming from outside the door.

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

"This is the last time you ever show up at my house uninvited," he said, his voice dangerously cold.

Phoebe's eyes snapped open. She was wide awake now.

"Why, Damon?" a woman's voice demanded. "Why are you treating me like this?"

"I am married," Damon replied.

Phoebe sat up slowly in the bed, holding her breath.

"So?" the woman laughed. "So what? You spent years with me! We've known each other for so long, Damon!"

Phoebe’s hands tightened around the bedsheets.

"You were with me the morning before you went to that courthouse," the woman’s voice rose, filled with anger and desperation. "The very same morning! And now you're married, and I'm just supposed to disappear?"

Phoebe froze. Her heart skipped a heavy beat.

"Lower your voice," Damon commanded coldly.

"No!" the woman snapped back instantly. "No. I won't!"

Phoebe heard the heavy clicking of high heels pacing back and forth in the hallway.

"Tell me why, Damon!" the woman demanded. "Tell me why you want me gone. Tell me what she has that I don't!"

There was silence, a long silence that made Phoebe's heart pound wildly in her chest with every second.

Finally, Damon spoke. "This conversation is over."

The woman let out a harsh, cold laugh. "Why? Is your wife listening?" She laughed again, but the sound cut off abruptly, her voice turning dangerously dark. "Listen to me, Damon. If I can't have you, nobody will. Nobody."

Phoebe's fingers went still on the blanket.

After a moment of silence, Damon spoke again. "Take her out."

Heavy footsteps echoed as security guards moved in.

"Don't touch me! I can walk myself out!" the woman snapped. Her heels clicked loudly down the corridor until the hallway went completely silent.

A second later, the bedroom door opened.

Damon stepped inside, and his eyes met hers immediately. Phoebe was sitting upright against the headboard, her hair messy, the blanket pooled around her waist, her cheeks still flushed from the fever.

He stood by the doorway, staring at her silently. Phoebe returned his gaze without looking away.

"Who was that?" she finally asked.

His face gave nothing away. The silence between them stretched on and on, feeling heavier with every passing second.

She swallowed, forcing the next question out. "Was she telling the truth?"

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

Phoebe held his eyes. "The part where she said you were with her the morning before our wedding."

Something changed in his expression, but it was gone so quickly she almost thought she had imagined it.

He didn't look away, nor did he make a move to leave the room.

"Yes."