DARK OBSESSION

The night air on the top floor of The Black Cellar was always heavy, thick with the scent of expensive tobacco, aged whiskey, and threats neatly cloaked beneath bespoke suits. This was a private sanctuary accessible only to those with enough money, power, or sin to their name. I sat on a dark brown leather sofa, swirling my crystal glass until the ice clinked softly inside. The amber liquid glinted under the dim glow of the chandelier. All around me, the five most dangerous men in this city were gathered. Once, they were my brother Leo’s best friends. Once, back when Leo was still breathing, they were the "older brothers" who used to ruffle my hair, steal cookies from my plate, and laugh at my oversized school dresses. They were my protectors. But Leo died two years ago. And tonight, there was no trace of a brotherly warmth left in this room. "You're drinking too much, Feyre," a deep, raspy voice broke the clinking of the ice in my glass. I looked up. Julian stood right in front of me. He leaned his broad shoulders, wrapped in an unbuttoned black shirt that revealed the dragon tattoo curling from his neck down to his chest. Once upon a time, Julian was the one who ruffled my hair the most whenever he came over. Now? His gaze was dark. Wild. His deep brown eyes no longer rested on my face as a friend’s little sister, but trailed down my neckline, over my bare shoulders exposed by tonight's red satin dress, down to the curve of my cleavage. The way his eyes moved... he wasn't just looking. He was stripping me bare. Stripping away every layer of defense I fought so hard to maintain. "I'm an adult now, Julian," I replied softly, meeting his gaze without flinching. There was a challenge in my voice that caught the corner of Julian's mouth into a faint, wicked smirk—a sinister smile that sent a shiver down my spine while simultaneously igniting a strange flutter deep in my stomach. "An adult?" another voice hummed from the corner of the room. Xavier, a French-descended man with dark, slightly wavy hair, stepped forward. He held a bottle of Bourbon in his left hand. His steps were like a predator cornering its prey. "You're only twenty-two, Feyre," Xavier said, his voice smooth as silk yet sharp as a switchblade. "In our eyes, you're still Leo's little girl. Although... that red dress was clearly not designed for a little girl." I felt a rush of heat flood my cheeks. The dress was indeed too tight, hugging every curve of my body perfectly. I had worn it on purpose tonight. I wanted to see their reaction. I wanted to prove that I was no longer a child who needed their protection from the outside world. But I had forgotten one thing: offering myself up as bait before five wolves was the stupidest thing I had ever done. In another corner of the room, the other three men—Damian, Mark, and Aaron—watched my every move. Damian, with his sharp jawline and a faint scar through his left eyebrow, took a slow drag from his cigarette. White smoke billowed from his lips, framing his cold, handsome face. Mark and Aaron leaned against the pool table, their fingers tapping the wooden cues in a slow, intimidating rhythm. The atmosphere in the room shifted drastically. The walls felt like they were closing in. The oxygen grew thin. The five of them shared one rule. A Pact—a secret treaty forged over my brother's grave two years ago. An absurd yet lethal pact I had accidentally overheard that night: Feyre belongs to Leo's memory. Not a single one of us is allowed to touch her. If any of us breaks this, the others will destroy him and leave. A sacred boundary. A red line that could never be crossed. For two years, that rule worked. They guarded me from a distance, ensuring no other man dared approach me, while keeping their own physical distance from me. But tonight, something in the air fractured. Something taut and ready to snap at any second. "You guys make me feel like a fish in a bowl," I said, standing up from the sofa. I tried to keep my voice steady, even though my knees were trembling slightly. "I'm going to the restroom." As I brushed past Julian, my arm accidentally grazed his hard chest. Julian didn't budge an inch to give me space. Instead, he stood even taller, pinning me tightly between him and the wooden table behind me. His scent—a blend of sandalwood, smoke, and danger—instantly invaded my senses. "Are you running away, Feyre?" Julian whispered, leaning his head down until his warm breath brushed my earlobe. My heart hammered against my ribs like a sledgehammer. "I'm not running." "Your flushed cheeks and heaving chest say otherwise," Damian chimed in from behind his cloud of cigarette smoke. He joined us, tightening the circle of intimidation around me. "You know, Leo would kill us if he knew you came here dressed like this." "Leo is dead!" I snapped, my voice rising. A sudden silence fell over the room. My words hung in the air, cold and sharp. I looked at them one by one. Xavier tilting his head with a dangerous glint in his eye, Mark tightening his grip on the end of his pool cue, Aaron freezing his rhythmic tapping, Damian snuffing out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray, and Julian standing directly in front of me with eyes blazing with something dark and untamed. "Leo isn't here anymore," I continued, my voice trembling with emotion—a mix of unhealed grief and suppressed desperation. "So stop acting like you're my guardians. You're not my brothers. You're nothing to me." That was a huge mistake. I hurried out of the private room. I swept down the dimly lit hallway leading toward the back of The Black Cellar. My heels clacked sharply against the old wooden floor, racing alongside my wild, out-of-control heartbeat. Why did I provoke them? Why did I wear this dress on purpose? The honest answer sent a chill down my spine: because I wanted that reaction. I was tired of being ignored. I was tired of being treated as a fragile relic left behind by my brother. But what terrified me most was that their dark gazes tonight—their ravenous, hungry looks—didn't scare me. They ignited something wild inside me instead. A masochistic need to be dragged into their darkness. My steps slowed near the back hallway leading to the VIP restrooms. It was quiet here, far from the thumping music of the main dance floor below. A dim yellow wall sconce flickered softly, casting long shadows against the red brick walls. Suddenly, the lights in the hallway went completely out. Pitch darkness swallowed everything in an instant. "Damn it," I muttered softly. I fumbled along the cold brick wall, trying to find a switch or a door handle. Before my fingers could catch anything, a swift movement cut through the air around me. The heavy thud of shoe soles against the wooden floor set off alarm bells in my brain. "Who's there?" my voice echoed in the narrow corridor, now laced with pure fear. No answer. Only the sound of steady breathing that felt dangerously close.