Surrendering to his obsession

CHAPTER 2

His eyes swept across the room until they found me. The moment our gazes locked, the air shifted, charged and electric. A wave of warmth rushed through me, and I bit my lower lip.

There was something magnetic about him, an unspoken allure that pulled me in despite the years that separated us.

Is it wrong to be attracted to a man so much older? 'Cause I've always hated that notion. Or worse… is he after me?

My thoughts tangled with unease, but before I could make sense of them, he broke eye contact. The spell shattered as he made his way to a secluded table in the far corner of the bar.

Phew! I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as he turned away.

A few men arrived and joined him at the table, and his attention shifted. I turned back to my drink, finishing off what was left.

I set the shot down with a thud and called over to Sandra. “More!”

“You should take it easy,” she warned, her brows pinched with concern. “You know you can’t handle your liquor.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, though my words slurred. “Just one more.”

With a resigned sigh, she poured me another and moved on to other customers.

But even as I tried to drown my troubles in alcohol, I felt a pair of eyes digging into my back.

When I turned around, I couldn't see anyone, the unsettling man was still engaged in conversation.

I took another long swig, the warmth spreading through my chest, the world blurring at the edges. When I asked for more, Sandra refused.

“You’ve had enough. Go home,” she said firmly.

Before I could argue, the phone on the counter rang. She picked it up and returned a few minutes later.

“Hey, I have to go. They need me upstairs.”

“Go on,” I waved her off.

“Will you be okay?” she asked, still hesitant.

“Of course. I’m not a kid,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to.

“Okay, okay. But no more drinks and don’t do anything stupid.”

"Yeah, yeah, I won't," I said, and she shook her head in exasperation and left.

The bar suddenly felt too quiet. Boredom prickled at me, so I pushed myself off the stool, swaying slightly. When I glanced back at the table in the corner, he was watching me now, a smirk tugging at his lips. My heart thudded wildly.

The thrill of his attention made my cheeks flush. Straightening myself, I muttered, “I’ll show him who’s a little girl,” and headed toward the gambling table.

The table buzzed with energy, laughter, the clink of glasses, and the shuffle of cards.

“Can I join in?” I asked, steadying my voice despite the flutter in my chest.

“Of course, darling,” a man answered, handing me a drink. “I’m Charles.”

“Liliana,” I replied, reaching for the glass.

He pulled it back teasingly. “You’re old enough, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m nineteen.”

“Good enough.” He passed it to me, and I sat down, sipping cautiously. Drink by drink, the line between bold and reckless blurred.

Charles leaned toward me, cards in hand. “So, baby girl, want to play?”

I arched my brow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just a little game,” he said with a sly smile. “Nothing serious. Just a test of luck.”

I agreed, partly for the thrill and partly to defy that arrogant man across the room.

The first round was easy, I won, and the cheers boosted my confidence. The second round went my way too, and victory made me feel unstoppable.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Charles suggested, his eyes gleaming.

I should have paid attention to that look. Instead, I leaned in. “I’m listening.”

“This one is a bit different,” he said and held up a jar filled with folded slips of paper.

“Alright, everyone,” he announced. “New twist. If you win, we double your money. Lose, and you draw from the jar and do whatever it says.”

I laughed nervously and asked, “What’s in the jar?”

“You have to lose to find out," he teased. “So… are you daring enough?”

Apprehension flickered, but I couldn’t back down in front of the crowd. “Fine,” I said, heart racing. “Let’s do it.”

The game began, and the stakes felt higher than ever, so I focused intently. I barely won and was going for the second round.

However, as the second round progressed, my luck began to wane. The tension in the room grew palpable, and I could feel the eyes of everyone on me, urging me on.

Then it happened. I lost. The room erupted in cheers and playful jeers, but inside, I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.

“Pick the paper! Pick the paper!” they chanted, their voices a mix of encouragement and mockery.

With shaky hands, I pulled a slip from the jar and handed it to Charles. His grin faded as he read it, replaced by a sudden seriousness.

“What does it say?” I asked, my voice tight.

“It says… you have to do whatever the person written here says.”

“Who?”

“Let me see… a Mr Jayden Garrettson,” he read the name.

I frowned. “Who’s that?”

“You don’t know?” Charles blinked. “He’s quite a big name around here.”

I glanced around, but no one stepped forward. “So, where is he?”

“Not here, it seems,” Charles said with a sly grin. “But just to make it official, why don’t you sign here?”

“Is that necessary? It’s just a game,” I murmured, the edges of my mind fuzzy.

“Not necessary, but fun,” he assured me and I reluctantly took the pen and signed the paper.

With the formalities out of the way, they presented drinks to celebrate my participation in the game.

I raised my glass, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in my stomach.

The night continued with laughter, games and cheers, and I drank until the world around me began to blur.

As the effects of the alcohol took hold, I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness.

Little did I know that this night would leave a lasting impression. Then everything went dark.

The rhythmic hum of the car’s engine was almost soothing as I sat in the backseat, listening to my parents' conversation.

We had just left a community meeting about the town’s new park. Dad, full of conviction, spoke animatedly about possible locations, while Mom chimed in with her usual calm, practical insights.

“I still think Willow Lane is the best spot,” Dad said confidently. “It’s spacious and would bring so much life to our neighborhood.”

“True, but what about the traffic?” Mom replied, her frown visible in the rearview mirror, even as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We don’t want to create a jammed-up situation.”

“I could talk to the mayor about implementing better traffic control,” Dad offered, leaning back with confidence.

I swelled with pride at their shared determination. They made a great team, advocating for our community with both idealism and practicality.

Then, without warning, an ear-splitting screech shattered the moment. My chest tightened as headlights blinded us.

A car barreled toward us from the opposite direction, swerving violently, its driver’s face twisted in panic.

“Dad!” I screamed.

My dad instinctively jerked the wheel, but the road was too narrow to avoid an impact.

Time slowed. Dad’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white on the wheel as he tried to pull us away from the oncoming car.

And then I heard Mom’s voice, sharp and terrified: “James, watch out!”