His Maid, His Obsession

Fesity?

Jennifer stepped into the room.

The heavy scent of gunpowder and blood filled her lungs.

Her eyes trailed to the lifeless body on the floor—Jack. His head… his skull… the pool of red expanding beneath him.

And then—her gaze found Ken.

He was standing there, unfazed. Calm. Like he had just swatted a fly.

For a long moment, Jennifer didn’t speak. Didn’t react.

She just… looked at him.

Ken stared back, waiting. Waiting for her to scream. To flinch. To run.

But she didn’t.

She just let out a breath—slow, steady—and without breaking eye contact, she moved past him.

She grabbed a mop.

And silently, without a word, she began to clean.

As Jennifer moved to clean, Ken grabbed her wrist.

Hard.

He yanked her toward him, forcing her to look up at him. His grip was firm, unyielding.

"Say something," Ken muttered, his voice low. "Scream. Cry. Run. Do something, Jennifer."

Jennifer’s breathing was steady, but her heart wasn’t.

She looked up at him—his dark, stormy eyes, his jaw tight, his grip burning into her skin. But she didn’t fight. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, she whispered, "Would it change anything?"

Ken’s fingers twitched around her wrist.

No, it wouldn’t.

She knew it. And so did he.

Ken ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. "Jennifer, he was mocking you. You had your—" He exhaled sharply, eyes dark. "You had your… situation. He laughed. So, I shot him."

Jennifer, standing firm, just stared at him. Unshaken. Unmoved.

Then, after a pause, she simply asked—"Why are you telling me this, Ken?"

Ken blinked. For the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

His fists tightened. His chest felt off. Like something heavy had settled inside it.

Why was he telling her?

Why did he care if she knew? If she understood?

Jennifer tilted her head slightly, her voice quieter now. "You don’t owe me explanations, Ken. You’re a killer. You killed. That’s all there is to it."

Ken’s voice cracked through the silence like a gunshot.

"I want you, Jennifer!"

Jennifer stopped breathing.

Her fingers tightened around the cloth she had been holding, her knuckles turning white.

Ken stood across from her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes—wild, dark, and completely unguarded.

She had never seen him like this before. Not this open. Not this vulnerable.

Jennifer swallowed, forcing herself to speak. "You don’t."

Ken took a step forward. "I do."

Another step.

"And it’s driving me crazy."

Jennifer exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "This isn’t real, Ken. You don’t care about me. You just—"

"Shut up." His voice was a growl, low and rough. "Stop telling me what I feel."

He was in front of her now, so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

Jennifer’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Because for the first time… she believed him.

Jennifer’s voice was steady, cold.

"I have a husband, Ken."

Ken froze. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening.

But Jennifer wasn’t done. She lifted her chin, her eyes firm, unwavering.

"He may be dead, but my heart still belongs to him."

Silence.

Ken’s breathing was heavy, his body rigid. His eyes burned into hers, searching for something—**anything—**that might contradict her words.

He found nothing.

Then Jennifer took a slow breath, her next words cutting deeper than any bullet ever had.

"And you, Ken… I only see you as a child throwing a tantrum."

Ken’s fingers twitched. Something inside him snapped.

A cruel, bitter smirk curled at his lips, but his eyes—his eyes were nothing but rage.

"You’ll regret saying that, Jennifer."

Her expression didn’t change. "No, I won’t."

And with that, she turned and walked away.

Jennifer stirred in her sleep, a strange pressure against her back pulling her from unconsciousness.

Something hard. Unmoving.

Her breath hitched. The room was dark. Silent. But she wasn’t alone.

Her pulse spiked as she slowly turned her head—only to freeze.

Ken.

Lying behind her. Close. Too close.

His arm rested near her waist, his breath steady against the back of her neck. He was awake. Watching. Waiting.

Jennifer’s body went rigid. "What the hell are you doing?" she whispered, her voice sharp.

Ken didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Then, finally—"Making sure you don’t run."

His voice was low, rough. Dangerous.

Jennifer’s fingers clenched the sheets. "Get out."

Ken smirked against her skin. "Make me."

Jennifer’s body went rigid.

She felt it—Ken pressing against her, his grip firm, unyielding.

Her breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

"Ken." Her voice was sharp, but not as steady as she wanted.

Ken exhaled, his breath hot against her ear. "What?" His tone was low, teasing—dangerous.

Jennifer’s fists clenched the sheets. "Let go."

Ken smirked. "And if I don’t?"

Her pulse pounded. She should push him away. She should scream.

But Ken’s grip only tightened. "You feel it too, don’t you?"

Jennifer snapped out of it. "I feel disgusted."

Ken chuckled darkly. "Keep lying to yourself, Jennifer."

Jennifer’s breath hitched as she heard the soft rustle of fabric behind her.

She turned slightly—just in time to see Ken pull his shirt over his head.

**His toned chest, the scars, the raw strength—**all of it now in full view under the dim lighting.

Ken smirked, catching her staring. "Like what you see?"

Jennifer scoffed, looking away. "Put your damn shirt back on."

Ken took a slow step closer. "Make me."

Jennifer clenched her fists. "You’re unbearable."

Jennifer’s breath hitched as Ken loomed over her, his presence suffocating, demanding.

Before she could react, his fingers gripped the hem of her shirt, yanking it upward.

Jennifer’s hands shot to his wrists, gripping them tight.

"Ken, stop." Her voice was sharp, firm.

Ken’s gaze burned into hers—wild, intense. But something flickered beneath the surface. Something unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, Jennifer shoved him back. Hard.

Ken stumbled slightly, caught off guard. Jennifer’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes blazing.

"You don’t get to do this," she said through gritted teeth. "I am not yours."

Ken wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking. "Not yet."

Jennifer took a slow step forward, her voice dangerously low. "Never."

Ken chuckled darkly. "We’ll see."

Ken leaned in, his voice low, taunting. "Did you do it with Kai?"

The slap came so fast, he didn’t even see it coming.

A sharp, brutal crack. His face whipped to the side, his jaw clenching from the impact.

Jennifer’s hand trembled, but her eyes—**her furious, burning eyes—**did not waver.

"Don’t." Her voice was steady, but thick with restrained emotion. "Don’t you dare say his name like that."

Ken slowly turned back to her, exhaling through his nose. A dark smirk played on his lips, but his eyes? They weren’t amused.

He rolled his tongue over the inside of his cheek, tasting the sting. "So, that’s a yes?"

Jennifer’s hands shook with rage. "Go to hell, Ken."

She turned to leave, but Ken grabbed her wrist, yanking her back.

"I’m already there, sweetheart."

Ken’s voice was low, almost mocking. “What if I get you pregnant?”

Her fingers curled into fists. Slowly, she turned to face him.

And then—another slap. This one even harder than before.

Ken barely flinched this time. His cheek stung, but his smirk remained.

Jennifer’s eyes were filled with pure fury. "You think you can say whatever the hell you want?"

Ken licked the corner of his lip where she’d struck him, his smirk deepening. “I can. And I will.”

Jennifer took a step closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “Try it again, and I’ll make sure you can’t ever get anyone pregnant.”

Ken chuckled darkly. “Feisty.”

Jennifer didn’t give him another second—she shoved him back and stormed out of the room.

Ken stood there, watching her leave, his smirk slowly fading. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was teasing her… or if she was starting to get under his skin.