THE MONARCH OBSESSION

THE MONARCH'S OBSESSION CHAPTER 1: The Ugly Fat Duckling There was a word that followed me everywhere, a word people used when they looked at me, a word that was supposed to be a compliment but had slowly transformed into a curse that haunted my every waking moment: Voluptuous. I was never thin. I was never delicate. I was never the kind of woman you could describe as “tiny” or “petite.” Since I was a young girl, my body had developed into something soft and womanly. I had wide hips that swayed when I walked, full, rounded breasts, soft arms, thick, creamy thighs that rubbed together when I moved, and a tummy that was always soft and rounded, no matter how much I tried to flatten it. My skin was fair and smooth, my cheeks were naturally full and rosy, and my hair was thick and wild, cascading down my back in waves of black silk. My eyes were large, dark brown, and innocent, always holding a look of kindness that the world often took advantage of. When I was younger, older women would pinch my cheeks and tell my mother, “Oh, she is going to be a heartbreaker! Look at those curves! She is the definition of a real woman!” Men would look at me with appreciation, eyes lingering on my body, making me shy and proud at the same time. I used to think it was beautiful. I used to think my body was a gift. But then… Paxton came. Paxton Velasco. The man I fell in love with hopelessly, completely, and foolishly. The man who promised me forever. The man who put a shiny diamond ring on my finger and told me I was his. And Paxton took everything beautiful about me and slowly, carefully, turned it into something I hated. From the very first month we started dating, the comments began. They were soft at first, whispered sweetly against my ear, disguised as concern, as love, as advice. Words that chipped away at my soul day by day, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left of the confident girl I used to be. “Anissa, baby, you are so gorgeous… but you know, you carry a little bit too much weight on your hips, don’t you? If you lost just a little, you would be perfect.” “I love your body, I really do… but sometimes I wish you were smaller. More like the girls I work with. You’re just… very soft. Very big.” “You have such a pretty face. It’s a shame you have such a heavy figure. You look like an ugly fat duckling next to other women, you know? But don’t worry, I still love you.” Ugly fat duckling. Those words etched themselves into my mind, burning deep into my soul like a brand. Every time I looked in the mirror, that was all I saw. Not the woman. Not the curves. Not the beauty. Just… big. Fat. Ugly. Too much. And because I loved him more than I loved myself, I believed him. I believed that my natural shape was a mistake. I believed that my softness was disgusting. I believed that to be worthy of his love, I had to destroy the woman I was born to be. I started starving myself. Breakfast? Gone. Lunch? Just a small apple or a leaf of lettuce. Dinner? I pushed food around my plate until he thought I had eaten, then threw it away later. I exercised until my legs shook and sweat mixed with tears on my face. I joined gyms, bought diet pills, drank teas that promised to shrink me. I changed my clothes, hiding my body under loose, shapeless sacks of fabric because he said tight clothes made me look “bigger.” I cut my hair short because he said long hair added volume to my figure. I stopped smiling so much because he said happy people looked heavier. I lost weight. I got smaller. My cheeks hollowed out. My ribs showed. My bones hurt. I was tired, weak, and miserable. But it was never enough. “Just a little more, Anissa. You are almost there.” “You look better, yes… but you still have that tummy.” “Almost perfect… but not quite.” And today… today I finally understood why it was never enough. It was six in the evening. I had closed my boutique early—Fernandez Couture, the small shop I had worked so hard to build, where I designed gowns and dresses for women who felt beautiful. I had spent all morning in the kitchen, cooking for hours, preparing Paxton’s favorite meal—beef stroganoff with rich sauce and mushrooms, just how he liked it. I had bought a new dress, loose and dark, hoping he would approve. I had driven to his condominium complex, excited to surprise him, hoping that if I was good enough, if I tried hard enough, he would finally tell me I was beautiful. That I was enough. I unlocked the door to his unit with the key he had given me—the key I thought was a symbol of trust and love. “Paxton? Love? I’m here… I brought dinner—” My voice died in my throat. The glass container slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. Delicious food splattered everywhere, staining the white tiles, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even notice. Because right there, in the middle of his living room, on the expensive leather sofa he told me he couldn’t afford to replace… I saw him. I saw Paxton. My fiancé. He wasn’t alone. Wrapped around him, legs spread, naked, pressing her body against his, kissing him with a passion he had never shown me, was Cherise. Cherise. His secretary. The woman he told me was “just a coworker.” The woman he told me was “skinny, flat, and boring.” The woman he said he “would never look at twice.” They didn’t even stop when I walked in. They didn’t jump apart in shame. They didn’t scramble to cover themselves. Cherise slowly pulled away from his lips, her hair messy, her skin flushed, her eyes shining with cruel victory. She looked right at me. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in my loose dress, my thin frame, my sad eyes, my trembling hands. She smirked—a wicked, mean, arrogant smirk that made my blood run cold. And she spoke, loud and clear, making sure every word stabbed right through my heart. “See, Paxton? I told you she would show up eventually. Look at her… she really is just an ugly fat duckling, isn’t she? All that effort and she still looks heavy. No wonder you prefer me. I’m actually a woman, not a… cow.” Paxton didn’t defend me. He didn’t jump up. He didn’t say he was sorry. He didn’t say I was beautiful. He just adjusted his clothes, looked away from me, stared at the wall, and sighed like I was the one who had done something wrong. Like I was the problem. That was the exact moment my heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn’t just the cheating. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the realization that hit me harder than a physical blow. I realized I had starved myself. I had hurt myself. I had hated myself. I had cried myself to sleep every night. I had destroyed my health, my happiness, and my confidence… all for a man who never even loved me. A man who made me feel small and ugly just so he could feel big and powerful. A man who criticized every inch of me only so he would have an excuse to look for someone else. I realized that all those cruel words were never about me. They were about his weakness. I turned around slowly. My legs felt like lead. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a heavy weight. Tears streamed down my face, hot and blinding. I walked out of that condominium. I walked out of his life. I reached my hand up, twisted the diamond engagement ring off my finger, and threw it into the gutter outside the building. I didn’t care where it landed. I didn’t care about anything anymore. I didn’t go home. I couldn’t go back to my empty apartment. I couldn’t face the reflection in my mirror. Instead, I drove aimlessly through the city, my car moving on autopilot, until I found myself stopping in front of Lumina. The most expensive, wildest, most exclusive club in Arcadia. The kind of place Paxton always said was “too fancy and too expensive for someone like me.” I walked inside. The heavy doors opened, and the noise hit me like a wall. The music thumped in my chest, drowning out the pain in my heart. The darkness wrapped around me like a blanket, hiding my tears, hiding my shame. The air smelled of alcohol and perfume, sweet and intoxicating. I needed to forget. I needed to numb everything. I needed to drink until I couldn’t remember my own name, until I couldn’t remember the words ugly, fat, or duckling. I found a small table near the window, tucked away in the shadows where no one would look at me. I sat down, and I ordered everything. Whiskey. Vodka. Tequila. Rum. Anything strong enough to burn the memories away. Glass after glass. The liquid burned my throat and warmed my stomach. My vision started to blur. My head spun pleasantly. The edges of the room softened. The pain in my chest dulled, turning into a heavy, fuzzy ache. I was so lost in my misery, so lost in the numbness, that I didn’t notice him. I didn’t notice the pair of dark, terrifyingly intense eyes that had been fixed on me from the very second I stepped through the door. I didn’t notice the man sitting in the deepest, darkest corner of the room, behind a curtain of silk, sipping his drink slowly, his gaze never leaving me, his mind already spinning plans I couldn’t even imagine. I didn’t know that in this crowded room full of people, he was the only one who truly saw me. Until suddenly… the light changed. A heavy, powerful shadow fell over my table, blocking out the glow from the city lights outside. I looked up slowly, my eyes heavy with tears and alcohol, my mind foggy and slow… and my breath caught in my throat. I froze. Standing right in front of me was the most handsome, most terrifying, most breathtaking man I had ever seen in my entire life. He was tall. So tall he towered over me, making me feel small and delicate in a way that wasn’t cruel, but overwhelming. He had broad, massive shoulders that filled the space, a chest that looked hard as rock, and arms that looked like they could crush stone or hold the world together. His skin was tanned and smooth, glowing under the dim, shifting lights. His face… oh God, his face. It was a masterpiece of danger and beauty. High cheekbones, a jawline so sharp it could cut glass, lips that were full, firm, and looked sinful and soft at the same time. But it was his eyes that trapped me completely. Dark. Deep. Bottomless black eyes. Intense. Burning. They looked at me like I was the only thing in the entire room. Like I was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he had been waiting for me his whole life. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his white silk shirt undone, showing a glimpse of his hard, tanned chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms and veins that spoke of power and strength. He smelled incredible—a mix of expensive cedar cologne, musk, and pure, raw power. It was a scent that made my head spin even faster than the alcohol. He radiated authority. He radiated danger. He radiated pure masculinity. He was terrifyingly beautiful. And before I could say a single word, before I could ask who he was or what he wanted… he leaned down. He leaned down, his large hand coming up to cup the side of my face, his touch warm, firm, and possessive. His thumb brushed over my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t even know was falling. And then he kissed me. Right there. In the middle of the crowded bar. In front of everyone. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was hard. Demanding. Deep. His lips crushed against mine, claiming me completely. His tongue swept into my mouth, taking everything, tasting every part of me, memorizing my flavor. It was a kiss that said: You are mine. It was a kiss that felt like he had been starving for me for a lifetime. It was wild, desperate, and consuming. I was drunk. I was hurt. I was angry. I was humiliated. I was broken. And in that moment, I didn’t push him away. I didn’t care who he was. I didn’t care about anything. Instead… I kissed him back. I kissed him back with everything I had left in me. I kissed him like I wanted to forget Paxton. Like I wanted to erase every cruel word ever spoken to me. Like I wanted to wash away every insult, every tear, every moment of pain. I kissed him because for the first time in my life, a man was looking at me like I was something precious. Like I was something he wanted. Like I was beautiful. He pulled away slowly, agonizingly slowly. His thumb caressed my swollen, tingling lips, his eyes dark and burning with a fire I had never seen before. His voice was low, deep, rough, and thick with possessiveness, vibrating right through my chest and settling deep in my bones. “Finally,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving mine, trapping me completely. “I’ve been watching you all night, Anissa Fernandez. And you are mine tonight.” I blinked, dizzy, lost, breathless. “You… you know my name?” He smirked. A wicked, arrogant, charming smirk that made my knees weak and my heart race. “I know everything about you, little girl. Everything. I know who hurt you. I know what they called you. And I know exactly what you need.” I didn’t ask how. I didn’t care. I was drowning in his presence, in his scent, in the way he looked at me like I was the only woman alive. “Take me away,” I whispered, barely audible, hanging onto his suit jacket to keep from falling. “Please… just take me away from here.” And he did. He took my hand in his—his hand was so big it swallowed mine completely, warm and safe—and led me out of the bar. People turned to look as we passed. They bowed their heads. They stepped aside quickly, fear and respect in their eyes. I realized then that everyone knew who he was. That he was someone important. Someone powerful. Someone feared. But I didn’t care. He led me to his car—a massive, sleek black luxury vehicle that looked like it cost more than my whole life’s earnings—and we drove straight to the most luxurious hotel in the city: The Grand Montenegro Hotel. We didn’t speak on the way. There was no need. The air between us was thick, heavy, electric, charged with a tension that could light up the whole city. That night… I didn’t just drink away my pain. I didn’t just have a one-night stand. I gave myself completely to this stranger. To Damien Montenegro. And it was everything. It was wild. It was hot. It was intense. It was passionate. It was everything I had never had, never imagined, never thought I deserved. He touched me like I was precious. Like I was porcelain that would break if he wasn’t careful. He worshipped every inch of my body. He ran his hands over my curves, over my softness, over my rounded stomach, over my thick thighs, over my full breasts… and he made sounds of pure pleasure, sounds like he had found the only treasure in the world. He didn’t push me away. He didn’t say I was too big. He didn’t say I was ugly. He held me close, burying his face in my neck, his arms wrapping around me completely, whispering over and over again against my skin, deep and rough: “Perfect… so perfect… exactly what I wanted… you are everything… beautiful… soft… mine… all mine…” He loved my softness. He loved my curves. He loved that I was womanly, that I was real, that I was soft and warm. He told me my body drove him crazy. That every inch of me was exactly what a man should desire. That Paxton wasa blind fool. For the first time in my life, I felt beautiful. For the first time, I felt wanted. For the first time, I felt like a queen. When morning came… the headache hit hard. The bright sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, hurting my eyes. The memories rushed back into my mind—the cheating, the insults, the alcohol, the man beside me. And then… panic exploded in my chest. Oh my God. What did I do? I looked at the bed. Messy silk sheets, pillows everywhere. I looked at myself. Naked. My skin covered in marks, bruises, love bites, evidence of the wild night we had shared. My lips were swollen. My body ached in the best way possible, but my mind was screaming. And beside me… he. Damien Montenegro. Sleeping peacefully, looking even more handsome, even more dangerous, even more god-like in the daylight. His hair messy, his chest bare, strong arms resting where I had been lying just moments ago. He looked powerful even in his sleep. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t explain. I was broken. I was hurt. I was stupid. I had just slept with a stranger, a powerful billionaire, while I was drunk and heartbroken. I told myself: It was a mistake. A crazy, drunken mistake. It meant nothing to him. He doesn’t care. He’s just a rich man playing with a broken girl. Forget it ever happened. Run away before it gets worse. So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I dressed quickly, quietly, my hands shaking so bad I could barely button my dress. I slipped out of the massive bed, grabbed my bag, and tiptoed toward the door. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I left the hotel room. I left the hotel. I disappeared into the crowds of the city, blending in, hiding, trying to erase the night from existence. I thought that was the end. I thought I would never see him again. I was wrong. Because you can run away from a man… but from Damien Montenegro? You can never hide. CHAPTER 2: Found Three weeks passed. Three long, torturous weeks. I tried to go back to normal. I tried to work at my boutique, cutting fabric and sewing dresses for happy brides who glowed with love and confidence. I tried to eat. I tried to sleep. I tried to breathe. I told myself over and over again that it was just a dream. Just a crazy night. Just something that happened to someone else. But I couldn’t forget. Every time I closed my eyes… I saw him. His face. His touch. His voice. The way he said my name like he owned it. The way he looked at me like I was the only treasure in the world. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way he made me feel like I was everything. And every time I walked outside… I felt it. That feeling. That heavy, prickling sensation at the back of my neck. The feeling that someone was watching. Following. Waiting. I saw black luxury cars parked near my apartment building. I saw men in dark suits standing across the street, pretending to look at their phones. I saw shadows moving when I turned around. I thought I was going crazy. I thought the trauma had finally broken my mind. One afternoon, I was walking out of my shop, carrying heavy boxes of fabric and supplies, tired, lost in thought, exhausted from work and from the memories that haunted me every second. The sun was hot, the street was busy, and I just wanted to go home and cry in peace. Suddenly… a sleek, massive black luxury car pulled up right in front of me, blocking my path completely, stopping so smoothly it barely made a sound. The engine purred softly, powerful and expensive. The window rolled down slowly, silently, like a curtain opening on a stage. And there he was. Damien Montenegro. Sitting inside the backseat, looking at me with those same dark, intense, terrifying eyes. He was wearing a grey suit today, looking powerful, rich, and bored… but his lips were curved in that familiar, arrogant, dangerous smirk. He looked at me like he knew exactly where I was every single second of every single day. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he had been sitting there waiting for me to step out of that door for hours, or maybe even days. My heart stopped beating. My breath caught in my throat. The heavy boxes almost slipped from my hands. “Hello, Anissa,” he said. His voice was calm, low, dangerous, and amused. “Did you really think you could run away from me? Did you really think you could take what is mine, and just disappear into thin air?” I froze. My legs turned to jelly. I stood there on the sidewalk, people passing by, staring, whispering, but I couldn’t move. I was trapped in his gaze. “I… I don’t know what you mean… Sir… Mr. Montenegro…” I stammered, my voice trembling, barely audible. “It… it was just… a mistake. I was drunk. I was hurt. I didn’t know what I was doing… I’m not… I’m not the kind of woman you want.” He opened the car door himself. He stepped out. He was taller, bigger, broader, more intimidating than I remembered. He filled the space. He dominated everything around him. The air around him seemed to shift, becoming heavier, hotter. He walked toward me slowly. Step by heavy step. Like a predator approaching its prey. Calm. Confident. Deadly. He stopped right in front of me. So close I could feel the heat radiating from his massive body. So close I could smell that familiar scent of expensive cologne and danger. So close that I had to tilt my head all the way back just to look into his eyes. He reached out. His hand was large, warm, rough, and firm. He grabbed my chin gently but firmly, forcing me to look up at him, forcing me to meet his gaze, forcing me to see the truth in his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me, little girl,” he growled softly, his voice dropping low, vibrating through my chest. “You were mine that night. Every second. Every touch. Every breath. Every sound you made. And you are still mine. I don’t give away what I take. I don’t forget what belongs to me. And I definitely don’t let anyone run away from me.” “It was… a mistake,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes, spilling over and running down my cheeks. “I was hurt. I was broken. I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m nothing, Mr. Montenegro. I’m not beautiful. I’m too big. I’m too soft. I’m… ugly.” His grip tightened slightly, his face hardening, turning cold and possessive. Anger flashed in his eyes—not at me, but at my words, at the fact that I could even think such things about myself. “Mistake?” he repeated, his voice terrifyingly low and deep. “You think what we had was a mistake? Let me remind you, Anissa… you kissed me back. You begged for me. You held onto me like you never wanted to let go. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you. Don’t you dare tell me it meant nothing. Don’t you dare diminish the most perfect night of my life.” He leaned closer, his face inches from mine, his lips near my ear, sending shivers racing up and down my spine, making my knees weak and my heart race uncontrollably. “And from that moment on… you belong to me. Whether you like it or not. Whether you run or hide. Whether you cry or fight. I will find you. Every time. Anywhere. There is nowhere you can go where I won’t find you. There is no hole deep enough to hide you from me.” I cried softly, sobbing openly now, the pain of the last few weeks finally breaking free. “Why?” I wept. “Why me? Look at me! I’m… I’m nothing. I’m not beautiful. I’m too big. I’m too soft. I’m… an ugly fat duckling. That’s what he said… that’s what everyone says…” I saw his eyes flash with pure, unfiltered rage. His jaw clenched hard, the muscle jumping. His hands tightened on my face, not hurting, but holding me still, forcing me to listen. “Who told you that?” he demanded, his voice like thunder, terrifyingly low. “Who dared to put those poisonous words in your mouth? Who dared to look at perfection and call it ugly? Who dared to look at a goddess and call her a duckling?” “My fiancé…” I whispered, broken. “Ex-fiancé… Paxton. He said I was ugly. He said I was too heavy. He said I wasn’t enough. He cheated on me with someone thin and small… because I was too much.” Damien’s expression turned deadly. His eyes went black, cold, and ruthless. I knew right then and there that if Paxton was standing in front of him, he would be dead instantly, crushed like an insect. “Listen to me carefully, Anissa Fernandez,” he commanded, his voice firm, powerful, and absolute, ringing with authority. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Every curve, every inch, every soft part of you… it is perfection. It drives me absolutely crazy. It makes me want to burn down the world just to keep you safe. It makes me want to lock you up so no one else can ever see you. You are not ugly. You are a goddess. You are a real woman. And you are mine. And no one… no one… gets to say anything bad about what belongs to Damien Montenegro.” He pulled me suddenly, roughly, but lovingly against his massive chest. He wrapped his strong arms around me, crushing me to him, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. I felt safe. I felt protected. I felt like nothing could ever hurt me again as long as he held me. I buried my face in his suit, breathing in his scent, letting his strength seep into me. “He is a fool,” Damien whispered into my hair, kissing the top of my head. “He is a blind, stupid fool who didn’t know treasure when he saw it. He had you, and he threw you away because he was too weak and too ugly inside to deserve you. He made you hate yourself because he hated himself. But I… I know exactly what I have. And I am going to show you. I am going to spend every single day proving to you that you are everything I ever wanted. Everything I ever needed. Everything I will ever love.” He pulled back just enough to look at my face. He wiped my tears away with his thumb, his touch incredibly gentle for such a powerful man. He smoothed my hair back, looking at me with so much adoration it made my chest ache. “Come,” he ordered softly, opening the car door wider and gently pushing me inside. “We are going home.” “Home?” I asked, breathless, confused. “Where?” He smiled. That dangerous, charming, possessive smile that made my heart race. “Wherever I am. From now on… you stay with me. You don’t leave. You don’t run. You are where I can see you. Where I can touch you. Where I can love you. Where I can worship you as you deserve.” I didn’t fight him. I didn’t argue. I didn’t run. I stepped into his car, and he closed the door behind me, sealing my fate. I knew then… my life would never be the same again . 😊😊😊😊😊 SEEEEEEEEE YOUUUUU TTTTTTTHHHHHHHEEEEEE LAAAAASSSSSSTTTTTTT CCCCCCHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPTEEEEERRRRRRRRRR😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊