His Obsession

The Night that changed everything

Maya's POV

I was on Claire's couch again. Same spot. Same glass of wine I hadn't touched. Same phone in my hand, open to Ethan's i********:, watching him live a life that didn't include me.

Bali. New girl. Some influencer type with a perfect smile and zero wrinkles. He was holding her like she mattered, like he hadn't spent the last year of our marriage making me feel like I was the problem.

I didn't even realize I was scrolling until Claire walked in and snatched the phone out of my hand.

"Are you serious?"

I looked up, guilty. "What?"

"You're doing it again." She held my phone up like evidence. "It's been two years, Maya. Two years since you divorced that man. He's out here living his best life taking different girls on vacation, spending money he has too much of, probably lying to them just like he lied to you and you're sitting on my couch, stalking his i********: like he left you yesterday."

"I wasn't stalking...."

"Girl, you know his current girlfriend's hair type. You told me last week."

I closed my mouth.

She shoved my phone into her own pocket and pointed a finger at me. "I want you to get up. I want you to look hot. I want you to go out, shake that booty I'd rest my head on and find someone who actually knows how to treat you. Hell, I want you to get laid."

I stared at her like she'd just spoken a foreign language.

"I'm not getting laid."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Seriously? You're gonna die here?" She gestured at the window like the outside world was an offense. "You're gonna sit in this house, waiting for a man you divorced, who literally cheated on you with your sister, to come crawling back? It doesn't work that way, Maya!"

I winced. "You didn't have to say it like that."

"Yes, I did. Because you need to hear it." She crouched in front of me, her face softening. "Maya. Please. Just do this one thing for yourself. Go out. Dance your heart out. Have a drink. Don't think about him. Don't think about the stupid divorce. Don't think about anything except how good it feels to be alive."

I looked at her for a long moment. She wasn't joking. She wasn't trying to get a reaction out of me. She genuinely wanted me to be happy.

I sighed.

"Ok."

Her face lit up. "Ok?"

"I said ok silly."

I went upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, I came back down.

I didn't recognize myself in the mirror when I passed the hallway. The dress was black, short, and it did something to my body I'd forgotten was possible. My hair was loose. My heels were high. My face was bare except for a swipe of gloss I'd found buried in the back of my drawer.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Claire was on the couch, phone in hand, watching something steamy. Two people tangled in sheets, moaning softly.

I stopped. "Seriously?"

She didn't even look up. "What? I'm trying to get you in the mood."

"You're watching steamy shii on my behalf?"

"I'm curating an experience." She finally looked up. Her eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, damn."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She stood up and walked around me like I was a piece of art she'd just finished. She leaned in and sniffed me.

I stepped back. "What are you doing?"

"You said you didn't want to get laid, but you smell like you're ready for a crime scene."

"That's my perfume."

"That's your pheromones." She grinned. "Anyway. Where's my red lipstick?"

She rummaged through her bag, found it, and applied it to my lips like I was a canvas.

"Voilà." She stepped back. "I'm the besto."

I laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm a genius." She kissed my cheek. "Now go, little chick. I love you. Be back tomorrow morning, I'll leave the key where you can find it. I have to go home tonight. Work tomorrow."

I smiled. "I love you too, silly."

I turned to walk out.

She grabbed my arm and spun me back around. She held my face with both hands.

"Operation Forget That Dickhead is a go."

I blinked. "What?"

"I didn't spend hours finding evidence against him, listening to you cry on my couch, and watching you lose yourself for two years just so you could start remembering his good old d**k and stalking him online again." She squeezed my cheeks. "You are going to go out, have fun, and remind yourself that you're a queen. You got that?"

I nodded.

She let go.

"Now get out of this house before I change my mind and make you watch that scene with me."

I laughed and walked out the door.

----

The club hit me before I even got through the door. Bass vibrating through the pavement, lights flashing through the windows, the smell of sweat, perfume, and something sweet I couldn't name. I stood there for a second, watching people stumble past me, laughing, touching, living. My hand was on the door. I could still turn around. I could still go home.

I didn't.

I pushed the door open and walked in.

The crowd was thick, bodies pressed together, moving like they'd forgotten they were separate people. Some were kissing like they were trying to win a prize. Others were drinking like they had drums in their stomachs and no reason to stop. A girl stumbled past me, laughing, her hand gripping a guy's shirt like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

I made my way through the chaos, dodging elbows and swaying couples, until I found a corner near the bar where the crowd thinned out just enough to breathe.

Then I saw them. Two people pressed against the wall. The girl's back was arched, her hands tangled in his hair. His mouth was on her neck. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, like she was in another world entirely.

I looked away. She didn't. She opened her eyes, saw me watching, and smiled.

"Wanna join?"

I blinked. "What?"

She tilted her head toward the guy she was attached to. "You look like you need to relax. He's good with his hands."

"No, no. Thanks. I'm good."

I turned and walked to the bar before she could say anything else.

The bartender looked up as I approached. Young, good jawline, confident smile.

"What can I get you?"

I didn't have to think. "Something strong."

"Alright." He grabbed a glass, poured something dark, and slid it toward me. "And damn, you're hot."

I stared at him for a second, trying to figure out if he was serious. He just kept smiling like he'd said something charming.

I grabbed the drink and turned away before I could say something I'd regret.

Then I felt his hand land on my lower back. He didn't ask. He didn't wait. He just placed it there like he had the right.

I spun around.

He was standing way too close. Tall, good-looking in that polished, practiced way. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom, not a club. His smile was easy, confident, like he'd done this a hundred times before.

"Well, well," he said. "You look good. Wanna follow me to the room?"

I looked at him. Really looked at him. And I felt nothing. Not attraction. Not curiosity. Not even irritation. Just disappointment.

I wasn't interested. I wasn't flattered. I wasn't even angry. I was tired.

"Piss off," I said.

His smile didn't drop. "I'm just saying..."

"I know what you're saying," I cut him off. "And I'm saying piss off!l"

I turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd until I found a spot near the wall where I could lean and breathe.

I looked at the drink in my hand. I hadn't even touched it.

What was I doing here? I didn't want to dance. I didn't want to drink. I didn't want to hook up with some stranger who thought "you look good" was a winning line. I wanted to go home. I wanted to take off these heels and curl up on my couch and pretend tonight never happened.

I closed my eyes and whispered to myself: "Claire, what did you make me do?”

I pulled out my phone, hoping for a distraction. Anything to pull me out of this place. But the first thing I saw was a notification. Ethan Carter spotted with famous actress. New photos. A new girl with the same smile he used to give me, his hand resting on her hip just like he used to hold mine.

I stared at it for a second too long. Then I locked the screen.

Maybe Claire was right. Maybe I needed to let him go. It had been two years. He wasn't coming back. He wasn't sorry, he'll never be sorry, I should really stop thinking about him. He wasn't even thinking about me.

I looked up and someone was sitting beside me. A guy, quiet and unassuming, just sitting there with a glass in front of him. He wasn't drinking it, just holding it like he was waiting for something.

He caught my eye and smiled.

"Are you gonna drink that or do you just love staring at wine?"

I blinked, caught off guard. Then I laughed, just a little.

"I was deciding."

He nodded toward my glass. "Well?"

I picked it up and took a sip. It was good, strong, and warm going down.

He smiled. "Guess you were gonna."

"With the way you look, I'm sure lots of creeps have tried to crawl on you here," he said.

I laughed, but it came out tired. "Oh, you have no idea. It's crazy here."

He chuckled, low and warm. "I believe you."

He sat up straighter, glanced at my phone, then back at me.

"Whatever you were looking at must be rough."

I looked down at the screen, dark and cold in my hand. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Yes," I admitted. "It is. It really is.”