OBSESSIVE CONTROL
1239 Words
ETHAN
I watch Emma cross the street from where I stand beside my car.
She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t look back either. Just walks straight, shoulders a little stiff, like she’s aware she’s being watched even when she pretends she isn’t. There’s something about the way she carries herself that makes me pause longer than I should.
She reaches her side of the road, pushes open her gate, disappears into the house.
That should be the end of it.
The next morning, I receive a call from Marcus about an urgent meeting with an investor. I get into my car, shut the door, and start the engine. The quiet hum fills the space, grounding. I pull out of the driveway and head straight for work, letting the routine take over because routine has always been reliable. Predictable. Safe.
The drive downtown Is familiar. Same turns. Same traffic points. Same buildings rising higher the closer I get to the office. By the time I pull into the underground parking lot, whatever lingered from the morning is already being boxed away, filed under irrelevant.
My office occupies the top floor of Hayes Enterprises. Glass. Steel. Clean lines. Everything where it’s supposed to be. People like to call it intimidating. I call it efficient.
I step out of the elevator, nod at my secretary, and walk straight into my office. The city stretches beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows, busy and indifferent. I shrug out of my jacket, place it neatly on the chair, roll up my sleeves.
Work doesn’t wait.
The morning passes in a blur of meetings. Financial reports. A stalled construction permit in Port Harcourt. A board member complaining about numbers that are still well within acceptable margins. I listen. I interrupt when necessary. I make decisions people pretend not to expect but always do.
By noon, I’ve signed off on three contracts and postponed one acquisition that doesn’t feel solid enough yet. The day is going exactly how it should.
Still, somewhere between a discussion about supply chains and a call with our legal team, my mind drifts — briefly, annoyingly — back to the way Emma stood in my driveway the other evening.
Not desperate. Not demanding.
Just… careful.
I don’t like loose ends. I like even less when they show up uninvited.
By midday, I call Marcus.
He’s in my office within minutes, tablet under his arm, expression already telling me he suspects this isn’t a casual check-in.
“You wanted to see me?” he asks.
“Sit,” I say.
He does.
I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest before I stop myself. “You remember the old auto shop on Pine Street.”
His brows knit together slightly. “The one you checked last week?”
“Yes.”
“You thought something was off about it,” he says slowly. “You asked me to dig.”
“Yes because when I asked you to dig on Rico, it was because I met him at the auto shop, trespassing. He’s still very much disdained with me”
He exhales through his nose. “That’s not good.”
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
Marcus shifts in his seat. “So what exactly happened there?”
I tell him.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just the facts, which he knew a few about. That night. The confrontation. Josh. The fear poorly disguised as bravado. And then Emma, how she’s related to the whole thing — standing there, trying to hold everything together like it wasn’t already cracking.
“And last nigh,” I add, “she came to me.”
His head snaps up. “She did?”
“Yes.”
“To your house?”
“She crossed the street,” I correct. “Asked if what people say about me is true.”
Marcus studies my face. “And what do people say about you, exactly?”
I don’t answer that.
“She didn’t ask for help,” I continue. “Not directly.”
“So she didn’t say she wanted you involved.”
“No.”
Marcus leans back, arms crossing. “Then why are we talking about this?”
I look at him. “Because she’s connected to Rico.”
“Through Josh,” he says.
“Through proximity,” I reply.
Silence stretches between us.
“Ethan,” Marcus says carefully, “Rico is dangerous. You know that.”
“I know.”
“He’s been a problem since before Hayes Enterprises went public,” Marcus continues. “Even when he worked within the system, he was still reckless. Now? He has nothing to lose.”
“I’m aware.”
Marcus sighs. “Then why are you considering stepping into this?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You don’t call me in to ‘talk’ without intention,” he says flatly.
I don’t argue.
“She hasn’t asked you for help,” Marcus presses. “You would be inserting yourself into a situation that doesn’t officially involve you.”
“It involves my neighborhood.”
“That’s thin.”
“Still true.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going ahead of yourself.”
“I’m gathering information.”
“On Rico.”
“Yes.”
“And on Emma,” he adds.
I look at him. “This isn’t about her.”
He raises a brow. “Isn’t it?”
I stand, walking toward the window. The city looks the same as it always does. Busy. Unbothered.
“Rico has been a menace for years,” I say. “He destabilizes everything he touches. If there’s a chance to stop him, I’ll take it.”
Marcus joins me by the window. “You don’t usually justify your motives.”
I glance at him. “Get to your point.”
“My point,” he says, “is that this could spiral. And if it does, you’ll be involved whether you like it or not.”
“I can handle Rico.”
“You can,” Marcus agrees. “But do you want to?”
I don’t answer immediately.
Because somewhere beneath the logic, beneath the rational explanations and convenient justifications, there’s something else — something I don’t name. Not attraction in the obvious sense. Not desire.
Just… awareness. Emma exists in my space now. And I don’t like pretending she doesn’t.
“This isn’t personal,” I say finally.
Marcus studies me for a long second, then nods. “Alright.”
“Keep monitoring Rico,” I add. “Quietly.”
“And Emma?”
I pause. Just briefly.
“Nothing excessive,” I say. “I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”
Marcus nods again, though his expression says he doesn’t fully believe me.
When he leaves, the office feels still. I return to my desk, open a file, stare at it without reading a word. The truth is uncomfortable in a way I’m not used to. This isn’t just about Rico. And it’s not something I’m ready to admit — not to Marcus, not to myself.
Across the city, somewhere behind closed doors, Emma is probably replaying that morning, weighing options she doesn’t want to have to choose. She hasn’t asked for my help. But situations have a way of forcing hands.
And when they do, I don’t step back.
I take control.
- Writer
