OBSESSION

ONE

Bethany Scott stood in the middle of her new townhome, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh paint. The movers navigated around her, lifting and shuffling the few pieces she owned, while she took in the polished wood floors and stark white walls, marveling that this—finally—was her space. Her own start.

The drive from Temecula to Seattle was short in miles but felt like a lifetime. Here, in this city with its damp, moody skies and unfamiliar faces, she'd build a life that was hers alone. Independence, she thought with a quiet, bitter laugh. If it weren't for her stepfather's money, she wouldn't be here at all. A couple of phone calls, a check in her account, and that was that.

But at least it was beautiful. The room was bathed in late afternoon light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a full view of downtown Seattle's heartbeat below.

Bethany had wanted those windows open to the world, to start again with nothing hidden. No blinds, no curtains. Just a clean slate.

The clatter of a box falling onto the hardwood snapped her out of her thoughts. One of the movers, a tall, grizzled man with scuffed boots, gave her a half-hearted shrug.

"Where you want this?" he grunted, gesturing to the box labeled "Kitchen" in thick Sharpie.

She pointed silently toward the kitchen, and he dragged it away without another glance. She'd barely opened her mouth to protest when her phone buzzed, pulling her attention to the screen.

Mom.

Bethany stared at the name for a long moment, debating. She'd fought tooth and nail to make this move, convinced her mother that distance would be good for her. A fresh start was what she needed, not the constant reminders of her past. But her mother had nearly sabotaged her job to keep her from leaving, claiming it was too risky, too unknown.

Against her better judgment, Bethany answered.

"Bethany!" Her mother's voice broke with both relief and reprimand. "Why haven't you been answering? I've been worried sick."

"I'm moving, Mom," Bethany replied, exhaling as she watched the movers continue to pile boxes by the kitchen. "I don't have time to check my phone every ten minutes."

"Oh, I know, but Seattle is so big, so full of strangers... Anything could happen."

Bethany braced herself, fingers tightening on the phone. "The worst has already happened, Mom. I'll be fine here. It's safe."

"You say that, but how do you know? Does it feel safe?"

Bethany scanned the empty space, the blank walls. Here, at least, there was no past to cling to her, no whispers or stares reminding her of who she'd been. In Seattle, she was free to be whoever she wanted—maybe even the person she was meant to be.

"Mom," she replied firmly, "I need to go. I'll be fine."

A pause, her mother's breath a soft sigh. "Alright. But make sure you eat something tonight, and nothing greasy."

"Love you, Mom," Bethany managed before hanging up. She pressed the phone against her forehead, willing herself to feel grounded, steady.

As she reached for the first box to unpack, a man in heavy boots shuffled over, hand outstretched. Payment.

Bethany rolled her eyes, grabbed her wallet, and handed him a couple of bills.

"Four-fifty," he muttered.

"You said two hundred for two hours," she argued.

"Three hours, miss. Goes up two-fifty per."

Bethany stared, biting back a retort. The movers hadn't exactly been speedy, but she handed him the extra cash, watching as he left with a cocky grin.

She closed her wallet with a sinking feeling. Two hundred dollars left. Three weeks until her first paycheck. So much for a perfect new life.

After arranging her bathroom with almost ritualistic care—lining up toiletries with precision, stacking towels neatly—Bethany finally stepped out for food. She wanted to mark this new beginning with something more than unpacking. She walked slowly, taking in the small shops and bright city lights.

A cozy café caught her eye: Farm to Table, the sign gleaming gold against the black storefront. She stepped inside, the industrial-chic vibe oddly comforting.

"Welcome!" the cashier greeted her. "Menu?"

Bethany nodded, skimming the list of options as she heard the door chime behind her. A tall, lean man stepped in, the sheen of sweat still on his skin from a run. She glanced down at her menu, feeling his presence like a pulse.

"I'll have the quinoa bowl," she said, "with chicken, no onion."

The man beside her leaned over with a smirk. "It's pronounced keen-wah."

Bethany looked up, meeting his sharp green eyes. He smiled, a hint of mischief tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She gave a small, uncertain laugh. "Noted."

"I come here a lot. Don't think I've seen you before," he said, his gaze assessing, almost curious.

"First time," she replied, managing a polite smile.

"Well, I hope it's not the last," he said, picking up his order. "I'd remember you."

As he walked out with a final, confident glance her way, Bethany felt a warm flush creep up her cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Seattle was already starting to feel like a place she could belong.

~*~

The following morning, Bethany gave herself a final, scrutinizing look in the mirror. She'd chosen a tailored gray pencil skirt that hugged her curves just right, and a crisp white blouse adorned with black floral patterns. Her black Louboutins—shiny with their unmistakable red soles—were polished to perfection.

She'd spent extra time on her hair, curling it into loose, smooth waves that framed her face, every strand meticulously in place. Today had to go well; it was her first day at R&M Interiors, and everything rode on making a flawless first impression.

Her heart beat a little faster as she adjusted her blouse, trying to push down the anxious thoughts circling her mind. She was on a ninety-day probation. If anyone doubted her abilities, if she failed to impress, they could cut her loose without a second thought. Failure would mean returning to her parents' doorstep, and that was simply not an option.

With a deep breath, Bethany grabbed her purse, leaving her apartment and descending through the lobby to the street.

She had a full hour before she needed to be at the office, though it was only a twenty-minute drive. An early start felt like a small comfort—a buffer against anything that could go wrong.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten, so she walked the familiar block and a half to Farm to Table, the little café she'd visited the night before.

The café buzzed with the morning rush, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of cups and cutlery.

Outside, the city was cloaked in a soft, gray light, clouds thick in the sky as though Seattle was easing into the day. She recognized the cashier from yesterday, who gave her a small, polite smile as she approached. Bethany picked up a menu, even though she'd already decided on a simple croissant and black coffee. She stood in line, clutching her purse as she mentally rehearsed her order, nerves making her feel light-headed.

"Good morning," the cashier, Toby, said as she reached the counter, his name tag finally catching her eye.

"Good morning," she replied, managing a small smile. "I'll have a croissant and a black coffee, please."

As she paid, her phone buzzed insistently in her purse. She pulled it out to see her mother's name flashing on the screen, a string of back-to-back texts lighting up with question after question. With a sigh, she tried to respond quickly, her fingers typing hurriedly as more texts came in.

Bethany, are you there?

How's the new job?

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Bethany's shoulders tensed as she tried to send a single reply, but the messages kept coming, pushing her to the edge of her patience. Suddenly, a barista called her name, snapping her out of her haze.

She turned, grabbed her coffee and croissant, and hurried toward the exit. Just as she was about to reach the door, she collided with something solid, her coffee slipping from her grasp. It splashed across a gray shirt in front of her, darkening the fabric, and she looked up in horror to see a man staring back at her, his eyes a piercing shade of gray that radiated irritation.

"I am so sorry!" she stammered, cheeks flushing as she met his scowl. "I wasn't paying attention; I was—"

"On your phone?" he cut in, his voice low and sharp. He looked down at the coffee stain spreading across his shirt. "You should watch where you're going. This is probably worth more than you can afford."

Bethany's breath caught as she recognized the man from yesterday's café. "Logan?" she asked, surprised.

He narrowed his eyes, confusion flickering over his face. "You know my brother?"

Realizing her mistake, Bethany's face reddened further. She'd mixed up the two brothers. "I—I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He scoffed, the corners of his mouth lifting in a humorless smile. "Just keep it." Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving her standing there, mortified.

"Hey, don't worry," Toby said, suddenly at her side with a handful of napkins. "I'll clean this up and get you another coffee. Just give me a minute."

"Thanks," Bethany murmured, relieved. She took a few calming breaths, waiting while Toby filled a fresh cup. Once she was back in her car, a spare blouse on her lap, she glanced down at her phone, still buzzing with her mother's messages.

Can't you leave me alone for a day? she typed quickly, frustration biting at her as she started the car and headed to R&M Interiors.

The café mishap and her mother's texts weighed on her as she pulled into the parking garage, but she straightened her back, determined not to let anything ruin her day.

Taking a deep breath, she collected her things and entered the lobby, her heels clicking softly on the marble floors. She hit the button for the ninth floor, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves rise with each floor.

The elevator doors opened, and Bethany stepped into a beautiful, open space. White marble floors gleamed under soft, ambient lights. Mint-green and blush-pink chairs surrounded a sleek stone coffee table in the waiting area, which was neatly arranged with style lookbooks from each designer. A television over a gas fireplace played HGTV reruns on mute, casting a comforting glow.

Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the room, offering a view of the rainy cityscape, the drops on the glass catching faint glimmers of light.

"Hello! You must be Bethany!" A short, energetic redhead appeared from behind the reception desk, flashing a warm smile. "I'm Teagan, receptionist and secretary extraordinaire. I'll be showing you around today."

"Beth," Bethany replied, smiling back as they shook hands.

Teagan's enthusiasm was contagious as she led Bethany through the office, pointing out everything with quick, practiced ease. "This is the waiting room—keep it empty if you can. Clients don't like to feel like they're in a doctor's office, you know?" Teagan said with a wink.

Bethany followed Teagan into the break room, where the coffee machines and espresso makers stood in pristine rows, alongside counters neatly stacked with condiments and napkins. "Not a place you'll see crowded often," Teagan noted. "Most people are too busy to linger."

Finally, they reached the end of a quiet hallway. Teagan turned, beaming as she opened the door. "And here's your office!"

Bethany stepped inside, her heart swelling with pride. The room was simple—a glass desk with elegant gold legs, a small window in the corner, and clean white walls waiting to be decorated. Her mind raced with ideas, already envisioning the space filled with her personal touch. This was hers—a blank slate where she could finally make her mark.

Teagan handed her a company tablet. "Your calendar's on here. You have two clients today: Mr. Marr, who's looking for a full home remodel, and Mrs. Lavender, who wants a tearoom redesign. And tonight, there's an after-work dinner with Mr. Richards and Mr. Whitehead to welcome you. I'll be there too!"

Bethany's face lit up. "Thank you, Teagan. I'm really looking forward to it."

Once Teagan left, Bethany unpacked her portfolios, carefully arranging them on a shelf, before heading back to the break room for a fresh cup of coffee. She added two creams and four sugars, just the way she liked it, stirring absently as she savored a small moment of calm.

"Surprised your teeth haven't fallen out with that much sugar," a familiar voice drawled from behind her.

Startled, Bethany turned to see the same man she'd spilled coffee on this morning. His gaze held a hint of amusement, though his expression was unreadable.