Obsessed ang Teacher ko Sa’kin

Chapter 10

Liyro's POV

I adjusted my tie in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling glass. The tuxedo of the "wedding" had been replaced by a sharp, navy blue power suit—the armor of the CEO. I looked at the bed, where Elara remained curled into a ball, the silk sheets tangled around her bruised and weary body. She looked like a broken porcelain doll, beautiful even in her wreckage.

"I have to return to Manila, Elara," I said, my voice cutting through the morning silence. "A merger with the Singaporean group needs my signature. I expect to be back in three days."

Hindi siya sumagot. She didn't even flinch. It was as if she had turned into stone. I walked to the bed and leaned down, kissing the top of her head. She smelled of the expensive oils I had forced her to bathe in, a scent that now belonged to me.

"Don't think of this as freedom," I whispered, my hand tracing the gold band on her finger.

"The island is surrounded by my men. The satellite link is encrypted. You can paint, you can swim, but you cannot leave. And when I return, I expect to see progress on the portrait I commissioned."

I stood up, grabbing my briefcase. "Don't disappoint me, Mrs. Ferrer."

Elara's POV

I heard the roar of the helicopter engines starting up on the helipad outside. I didn't move until the sound faded into a distant hum, then finally into nothing but the crashing of the waves.

He was gone. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the air in the room didn't feel like it was being sucked out by his presence. I sat up slowly, my body screaming in protest. Every muscle, every inch of my skin felt the lingering ache of his "love." I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror—the hollow cheeks, the dark circles, and the terrifyingly vacant look in my eyes.

I am 22 years old, an orphan, a wife, and a prisoner.

Tumayo ako at lumapit sa bintana. The Pacific Ocean was a vast, glittering blue desert. No boats. No land in sight. Just a horizon that mocked me. I looked at the easel Liyro had set up in the corner of the room. It was stocked with the finest oils, the softest brushes, and a massive, blank canvas. Beside it was a photograph of him—Liyro at his most "Professor-like," cold and untouchable.

"Ipagpinta mo ako, Elara," he had told me last night, his breath hot against my ear. "Show me how you see me. Show me the man who owns you."

Nanginginig ang kamay ko habang hinahawakan ko ang brush. I didn't want to paint him. I wanted to paint a way out. I wanted to paint Julián. I wanted to paint the dirt of Cubao and the smell of fishballs and the sound of freedom. Pero alam ko ang mangyayari kung babalik siya at wala akong nagawa.

Elara's POV

The first day was a blur of silence.

The staff—three silent women who cleaned and cooked—moved like ghosts. They didn't speak to me. They didn't look me in the eye. They were extensions of Liyro's will. I spent hours staring at the blank canvas. The white was blinding. It felt like my life—empty, waiting for someone else's colors to be forced upon it. I finally dipped a brush into a deep, abyssal black.

I started with his eyes.

Not the eyes the world sees, but the eyes I saw in the dark of this room. The obsidian eyes that looked at me like I was a ledger to be balanced. I painted the coldness, the obsession, and the terrifying void behind his glasses. But as the sun began to set on the second day, I realized something. Habang ipinipinta ko siya, mas lalo siyang nabubuhay sa isip ko. It was like he was still here, watching me from the canvas. My heart started to race. I felt the same drain, the same weakness I felt when he was actually inside me.

"Huwag... please, umalis ka sa isip ko," bulong ko sa hangin.

I looked at my wedding ring. It caught the light of the setting sun, a flash of brilliance that felt like a scream. I realized then that Liyro didn't need to be on the island to keep me prisoner. He had already installed himself in my soul.

Elara's POV

The storm returned on the third night.

The wind howled against the glass, and the waves crashed with a violence that made the villa tremble. I lay in the massive bed, alone, but I couldn't sleep. Every shadow looked like him. Every sound of the wind sounded like his voice calling my name. I felt weak. Drained. Not from his touch this time, but from the sheer weight of his absence. I realized, with a sickening jolt of horror, that I was waiting for him. I was terrified of him, I hated him, but the silence of the island was becoming more unbearable than his cruelty.

I walked to the canvas in the middle of the night, guided only by the flashes of lightning. The portrait was almost finished. It wasn't a man I had painted; it was a monster made of silk and gold. I picked up a palette knife and, for a moment, I wanted to shred the canvas. I wanted to destroy his image. Pero natigilan ako nang marinig ko ang pamilyar na tunog sa labas.

The helicopter. He was back.

Nabitawan ko ang palette knife. I felt a wave of nausea and a strange, terrifying rush of adrenaline. My body, which he had broken so thoroughly, was reacting to his arrival before my mind could even process it.

I am Elara Ferrer. And the master of the island has come home to check his audit.