His Obsession, My Ruin

Voice of a Devil

Chapter 3

Melanie's POV

I couldn't tell where I was. Or even how I got here.

The hallway seemed to stretch forever, lined with cream walls and polished marble floors. It felt like someone had hit mute on the world—my footsteps, the air, even the light.

It should have been familiar, but it wasn't. It felt new… staged. Strange.

Like walking through a memory I didn't remember having... but still knew I'd had it.

That's kind of strange.

And I noticed.

He was ahead of me, just far enough that I couldn't make out his face but close enough that I could almost feel him in the vast nothing. And he was moving... closer.

My legs moved on their own, and I found myself walking. I didn't know why, only that I had to keep walking. Like I was being pulled toward him. Each step landed without a sound, and yet I still heard something pulsing in the air—like time ticking.

Idris?

I tried to call out, but nothing came. My throat was dry. My mouth wouldn’t work.

He stopped.

I stopped.

He turned, just enough for me to see the sharp edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. His face stayed in shadow, but somehow, I felt him looking straight at me.

Then he stepped closer. And the distance between us was covered.

He reached out and brushed his hand against my arm—soft, slow, careful. Not possessive, not demanding. Just… present, like a reminder for something I didn't quite remember. His touch didn’t take anything from me; it cooled my spiking heart rate.

Then he spoke.

“He’ll try to break you,” he murmured, and his voice—God, his voice—settled into my skin like heat. “But I won’t let him. I won't let anyone break you.”

Something in me cracked. Not from fear but from recognition. Like my brain knew exactly who he was but couldn’t pass the message along fast enough.

His face was still hidden. It was almost like the shadows had an agreement to hide him from me.

I tried to raise my hand.

I blinked.

And then I was gasping. Back in bed. My sheets were damp as I heaved. There was no hallway. No, man. Just the dark and my own pulse hammering against my ribs.

I sat up, fingers clenched in the sheets.

What the hell?

I looked around, still disoriented.

Why did that feel so real? Even my heart still felt flustered.

I stayed sitting up, trying to calm my breathing. My fingers had gone numb from clutching the sheets.

The room was dim, with just a fracture of light slipping through the drawn curtains. I turned to the left side of the bed—Idris' side.

Empty. Cold.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand. 6pm. When did I fall asleep?

Why the hell did it feel like I’d just run a marathon?

I leaned back slowly, dragging the blanket up to my chest. The dream clung to me like wet clothes after rain.

Not scary, but... unsettling. It wasn't Idris.

That was the part that got to me. I didn’t know who it was, but I knew it wasn’t him.

And maybe that’s what scared me.

I didn’t dream about other men. That wasn’t something I did. I didn’t long for people I didn’t recognize or even know.

So why did I feel... missed? Like someone had been waiting for me and I’d left them behind.

Ugh.

I scrubbed a hand down my face and let it fall to the edge of the bed. My knuckles brushed something on the floor. I looked down, and there it was—the receipt.

Still untouched from yesterday. Idris' unexplained luxury staring back at me. Still needing answers.

I didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

“Why the hell am I dreaming about strangers when I’m barely holding my real life together?” I whispered to myself.

No answer.

Just the silence... and the reminder that Idris still wasn’t home.

I kicked the blanket off and dragged myself to the kitchen, limbs heavy like I was still moving through that damn hallway. Every tile on the floor felt colder than the last, reassuring me that this was reality.

The tap squeaked as I turned it. I filled a glass and gulped the water too fast, wincing as the chill hit the back of my throat. It didn’t help. I still felt that hand on my arm. That voice.

I reached for my phone again.

No texts. No missed calls. Just that one pinned message from Idris yesterday about needing his suit cleaned before the gala.

Right. That was probably where he was—getting his precious tux tailored like we weren’t tiptoeing over cracks.

I unlocked my phone, thumb hovering over our chat.

"Hey—"

No. I erased it before I could finish.

What was I going to say?

Hey, so I just dreamt about a faceless man who touches me gently and whispers about saving me? Have any thoughts? Great. That wouldn’t sound unhinged at all.

I tossed the phone on the counter, harder than necessary.

Was I overthinking? It was just a dream. Were all the romance movies finally catching up to me?

Or was I just losing my grip because of the receipt... letting suspicion stretch reality until even my subconscious didn’t know what to believe?

I pressed my fingers to my temples.

Stop spiraling, Melanie.

He said he’d pick me up soon. I just needed to look good, smile, and get through the night.

I could do that.

I forced a deep breath and pushed off the counter.

A hot shower. Then hair. Then makeup.

Simple.

I was pulling the zipper up when the buzz came.

Not a loud one—just a short hum against the bedspread. I turned, still holding the dress closed with one hand, and reached for the phone.

Idris.

I caught myself smiling as I opened it.

I’ll pick you up in an hour. Wear the red one. with a heart emoji at the end.

He remembered.

The red one.

The dress—he couldn’t take his eyes off it the first time I wore it. The one he said made me look like “trouble, in the best way.”

I used to laugh every time he said that. Honestly, I still did.

I glanced at the black dress I was halfway into, then down at the red one hanging neatly in the closet. Wine-red, elegant, and dramatic in all the ways Idris loved.

A warmth settled in my chest. I had a good feeling about tonight.

I pushed the receipt out of my mind and shoved it into a purse. Just one night of being with him... and dozens of investors to fake smiles with, but more importantly... him.

I picked up the red dress and ran my fingers along the fabric. The shimmer caught the light, and for a second, I imagined his face when he saw me in it. That look. That smirk. The one that made me feel like the only girl in the room.

I didn’t even hesitate.

Black dress off. Red one on.

A quick spin in the mirror and a little laugh slipped out of me.

Still got it.