CONTRACTED: His Dangerous Obsession

Open The Door

Phoebe was on her third empty glass when the silence in her head finally stopped screaming Ethan's name.

Ama eyed the glass, then looked at her. "That's enough for tonight."

Phoebe turned to her with a tired look. "One more."

Ama held her gaze for a few seconds before sighing. “Fine. But after this one, you're dancing. No sitting here and thinking about that idiot.”

“Deal.”

The bartender placed another drink in front of her, and she picked it up before Ama could change her mind. She swallowed it quickly, placed the glass back on the counter and breathed out.

Ama immediately grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the dance floor before the alcohol even hit.

At first, Phoebe stayed stiff on the dance floor. Ama began dancing beside her without caring, loudly. As the alcohol caught up, her body began moving. The music was loud and enough to drown out everything, and for a while, that was all she wanted.

Ama tapped her arm. "Give me two minutes. I just saw someone."

She nodded before Ama had even finished the sentence, and Ama disappeared into the crowd.

One song ended, then another started. Phoebe kept moving, occasionally glancing toward the direction Ama had disappeared, but she still couldn't see her.

After a few minutes, the heat inside the dance floor became unbearable for her. She stopped dancing and pressed her palm against her forehead. Her head felt slightly heavy, and the room seemed warmer than it had been before.

She looked around again. “Ama?”

Nothing.

She checked her phone, but there was no message. “I need some air,” she muttered.

Without thinking too much, she turned away from the dance floor and pushed through the crowd until she found a hallway outside the main floor and leaned against the wall, breathing slowly.

She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them again, she felt like she needed a restroom. She looked up and down the hall for a restroom sign and found none.

At the far end of the hallway was an elevator with its door closed. She stared at it for a second, walked towards it and pressed the button.

The doors opened. She stepped in. Her fingers hovered over the buttons, and the numbers blurred slightly as she looked at them.

"Top floor," she muttered, and pressed one without checking it.

The doors closed, and the elevator began to move upward. She leaned against the wall, looked at the ceiling, waiting for the doors to open.

When they finally did, she stepped into a completely different part of the building. The floor was quieter, warmer, and there was no music.

She walked toward the first door and tried the handle, but it was locked. The second door was the same. She kept moving until the fifth gave under her hand.

By the time she reached the fifth door, she was beginning to wonder whether she had ended up in the wrong building. Then she noticed the door was slightly open.

She pushed it wider.

The room was large and quiet, with soft lighting and expensive furniture arranged around the space.

She stepped inside slowly. “Hello?”

She looked around and noticed another door farther inside. She could hear the sound of running water.

“Hello?” she called again, but her voice came out weaker than she intended.

She crossed toward the sound. Behind her, the door clicked shut. She glanced back at it, and when she turned around again, the water had stopped.

The restroom door opened, and a man stepped out.

Phoebe froze. The reason she'd come in here left her completely.

He was tall, dark-haired, still wet from the shower. Water dripped down his skin and disappeared into the towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes found her before the door had even finished closing behind him, and they sharpened.

For two full seconds, neither of them moved.

His gaze dropped, then came back to her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." Her brain caught up half a second late. "I think I came to the wrong room."

"You think?" He took a step closer.

She instinctively took a small step back, and his eyes narrowed at the movement.

"I didn't mean to end up here," she said quickly. "I was looking for a place to..." She trailed off.

"Who sent you here?" His voice was low and controlled, and his eyes were scanning the room even as he spoke.

"Nobody sent me. I got the wrong room. I'll leave." She turned and pulled the door. It didn't move. She pulled again.

But it wouldn't open.

"It's locked. It needs a card." She looked back at him. "Can you open it?"

He didn't move toward the door or attempt to get the card. He stood there, watching her.

"Get out," he finally said.

"I'm trying to. Open it."

His jaw ticked. He looked away from her for the first time, muttered something under his breath she didn't catch, and his hand came up briefly to press against his own temple before dropping back to his side.

She rattled the handle again. Her dress rode up at the hem when she turned, and she yanked it back down, but not before his eyes had already dropped there and come back up too slowly, like he was forcing himself.

"Get out," he said again, rougher this time.

"I told you. The door's locked." She turned back to him, frustration replacing the embarrassment she had felt a moment earlier.

She looked at him properly this time. His breathing was uneven. His shoulders were tense, and his hands had curled into fists at his sides.

The warmth of the four shots receded just slightly, and that was when she understood the situation she was in.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Wrong room."

"Or wrong night," he said, and took another step.

She swallowed hard and took a small step back without realising it.

"You shouldn't be on this floor." His eyes stayed on her face like he was trying to memorise it before something took that ability away from him too.

"I think I already said I got the wrong room. I'll go the second you open that door."

He looked away, as if he was deciding something internally. Then he started toward her and stopped himself mid-step, like his own legs had tried to disobey the decision he'd just made.

"Are you okay?" she asked before she could stop herself.

His eyes dropped to her mouth and dragged back up slower than before.

"Are you sick?" She took a step toward him without intending to.

"Don't come closer." His answer came so quickly. The words weren't really aimed at her but she stopped.

He looked like he was fighting something inside himself, watching his own control get taken apart piece by piece.

Phoebe's heart began beating faster.

"Just leave," he said through his teeth.

"I didn't mean to end up here." Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. "I just needed a restroom, that's all."

He moved toward the door and placed himself between her and the door. They stood close enough now that she could see exactly how much it was costing him to stay still.

His hand lifted, stalled halfway, and dropped again, like he'd caught himself reaching.

"You should leave,” he said in a quieter voice. "Please."

“Then open the door."

He turned slightly like he was about to step away, then stopped and looked back at her. His gaze dropped to her lips and didn't fully come back up.

Phoebe's breathing changed. She understood then exactly what was happening with him. She reached out and closed her fingers around his wrist anyway.

He went rigid.

"I told you to leave." Barely a whisper now, and it sounded like the last full sentence he had left in him.

Before she could answer, his lips captured hers. She froze for half a second before kissing him back.