HIS OBSESSION

Victoria’s POV “Victoria!” My heart raced. Nothing had triggered my fear instinct except for Jemima’s voice. “Yes?” I hid my fears behind a neutral expression. She had mentioned earlier that there would be a midnight couple’s reservation tonight. I’d been buried in planning all day—confirming orders, arranging decorations, and calling vendors who either didn’t pick up or arrived hours late. Half the ingredients were still being restocked. “Trust you can arrange the cups and mugs before going home.” She slipped on her coat and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “I have a reservation tonight.” “Of—” She disappeared through the door. “Of course,” I finished. The other staff gave me a sympathetic look. I only shrugged. I wasn’t the first to suffer under Jemima’s tyranny, and I certainly wouldn’t be the last. Once upon a time, working at the café had been the easiest thing in the world—just serving coffee, refilling beverages, and making the place warm enough for people to linger. When the owner willed the café to her daughter, the change slowly dulled the shine the job once held for me. By the time I washed the last cups and stacked them on the espresso machine, my muscles burned and my forehead was slick with sweat. The sun had set nearly two hours earlier, leaving the streetlights to cast a hazy orange glow across the snow-packed sidewalks. Cold seeped through my coat as I made my way home. Walking was faster than taking the subway, which always shut down at the faintest hint of snow. I shouldn’t have been looking at my phone, especially in weather like this, but I couldn’t help myself. I pulled up the message I had received that afternoon and stared at it, waiting for the words to rearrange themselves into something less devastating. They didn’t. Taking place on May 5, the cost for a private room at Golden Health Care Centre will increase by $8,000 per month. We’re sorry in advance for any inconvenience, but we assure you the changes will result in an even higher quality of care. The coffee I had forced down at lunch curdled in my stomach. Any inconvenience, they said. As if they weren’t sky-rocketing the prices beyond reason. I tried to calm myself, forcing the pace of my breathing to slow. Pawila had practically raised me. She had cared for me even before my father passed away, though now she no longer remembered who I was. I couldn’t move her to another facility—Golden Health had been her home for years. It was the best care center in the area. None of my friends or family knew I had been paying for her treatment. I couldn’t bear their questions or their judgment. I would simply find a way to cover the cost. Somehow. “Miss Morgan.” The deep, rich voice brushed my skin like a bullet, sharp and burning. My body shivered in both warning and pleasure. I knew that voice. I had only heard it once, that was enough. Like the man who owned it, it was unforgettable. Weakness threatened to betray me, but I pushed it down. I turned, my gaze trailing up the distinctive lines of a sleek black Porsche—the wheels, the polished hood, the windshield—until it reached the rolled-down passenger window. My heartbeat stumbled. His black hair, trimmed beard, and sculpted features were sharp enough to rival Misfit Jax himself. Richard Moore. The CEO of an elite security firm and owner of the penthouse where I lived. The most beautiful—and dangerous—man I had ever met. I had no proof to justify my instinctive unease around him, but it never left me. I steadied myself with a slow breath. He was the only one in the building who insisted on addressing tenants by their last names, as though we were all part of his private empire. “Mr. Moore,” I replied, my voice dry, betraying my surprise. His eyes lingered on the drifting snowflakes before landing on me. My pulse slowed by a fraction. Tiny sparks of electricity ran across my skin. It took all my willpower not to step back under his unreadable stare. “It’s a nice walk,” he said, voice as dry as his expression. Heat rushed to the back of my neck. “Yeah, it’s nice.” Only then did I notice how quickly the snow was thickening. “Not bad. My apartment is thirty minutes away,” I added, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe to justify why I was walking in this weather. Normally, I would have taken the subway. He exhaled, his hand gripping the steering wheel—an ordinary action that somehow made him more magnetic. “I’ll give you a ride.” He lived in the same penthouse, on the top floor. It made sense. Still, I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine being confined in a car with Richard Moore. Panic clawed at my chest just thinking about it. “I’m okay,” I rushed out. “You don’t need to go out of your way for me. It’s good exercise… and, um, I wanted to test my new snow boots.” I shrugged. “First time wearing them.” My words tumbled out too fast, leaving me breathless. I was getting better at saying no—until I overexplained myself. “Does that make sense?” I asked, nervous under his silence. A strong wind swept past, knocking my hood off. Cold cut through me so sharply, my teeth clattered “It does.” His face remained impassive. “Good,” I managed, my voice shaking. “So—” The click of a lock cut me off. “Get in the car, Victoria.” And I did. The command rolled through me, leaving no room for argument. I told myself it was because of the bitter wind, but that was a lie. It was his voice. The authority in it. The way he called my name. My body obeyed before my mind could resist. For a man I barely knew, Richard Moore wielded a power over me no one else ever had. He pulled away from the curb, adjusting something on the dashboard. Warm air spread from the vents, thawing the ice clinging to my skin. The car smelled of expensive leather. Not a trace of clutter—not a bottle, not a can, not even a stray coffee cup. Every detail in the car screamed precision and control. I sank into the seat, stealing a glance at him. “You always seem to get your way,” I muttered, my voice tight. “Do I?” He flicked his gaze toward me, then back to the road. A faint line tugged at his lips. “Not always.” My throat tightened, words deserting me. All I could manage was a faint, “Thanks.” Silence fell again. I hated it—the way he dominated every inch of space, every beat of my pulse. I fixed my eyes on the windshield, but his cologne lingered in my lungs. My skin tingled every time his hands shifted on the wheel. Handsome. Rich. Well-mannered. Dangerous. I shouldn’t have gotten into his car. I pressed my fingers against the chain of my necklace until it hurt. “Just styled your hair?” The words startled me. His tone was casual, but it was unmistakably Richard—not my imagination. “Excuse me?” “Your hair,” he said smoothly, decelerating to let another car pass. “It wasn’t like this yesterday morning.” What—? Oh. Understanding hit, followed by a flicker of pride. I released my necklace and brushed my fingers through my hair. “Thank you.” A smile broke across my face. Safe conversation. Harmless. “Just needed a little love and attention.” “It blends well,” he said, his voice steady and unreadable. I blinked at his bluntness, forcing another smile. Still, his observation unsettled me. “I don’t think I saw you yesterday morning,” I said lightly, as he pulled into the penthouse garage and parked in his reserved spot. No answer. We didn’t speak again as we walked through the entrance and into the lobby. At five-foot-seven, I barely reached his shoulder. Yet somehow, our footsteps fell in sync against the marble floor. “No more walking in blizzards, Ms. Morgan.” We stopped by the elevators, facing each other. The faintest shadow of a smile curved his lips. “I can’t have one of my tenants dying of hypothermia. It would be bad for business.” A laugh escaped me, surprising even myself. “I’m sure I’d be replaced in no time.” His gaze sharpened. I wasn’t sure if my breathlessness came from the lingering cold or from standing so close to him. “I can’t.” His smile carried a strange assurance that slipped past my defenses before I could stop it.