Obsessed

Chapter 32

The sun filtered through the blinds of Mark’s studio apartment, casting soft golden lines across the floor and walls. The apartment was still and quiet, except for the subtle rustling of clothes and the faint clicking of a hairbrush against Ronnie’s scalp as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready for the day.

Mark was in the kitchenette, pouring hot coffee into two mugs. He glanced toward the bathroom every so often, still half-expecting to wake up and find out last night had been a dream. Ronnie—in his apartment, sleeping under his roof. Her presence had shifted the feel of his place completely. It was still minimal, still neat, still cold in its aesthetics… but the air was different now. More lived-in. More real.

“Cream?” he asked, holding up a small carton.

“Please,” she replied, walking out of the bathroom with her damp hair pulled into a low bun, minimal makeup on her face, and dressed in a navy blouse and fitted black pants. “Thanks.”

He handed her the mug, their fingers brushing. That brief contact sparked a memory of her curled into his side on the couch last night, her soft breathing against his chest as she fell asleep.

They sipped in silence for a moment.

Then, Mark cleared his throat and moved to the dark coffee table. He picked up the photos—the ones left in the envelope on his truck after the explosion. The glossy images were too intimate, too invasive: a kiss they’d shared in private, Ronnie asleep in her bed, the soft rise and fall of her chest captured in shadowy black-and-white.

Mark carefully turned the pictures over. One by one. Then he stopped.

Black ink, tight handwriting in block letters.

“She’s mine. Touch her again and you’ll end up like the rest.”

“Stay away from my little angel.”

“You can’t protect her. You’re not worthy.”

A chill rushed up Ronnie’s spine. “The rest…?”

Mark looked up, face grim. “You think he means the other guys?”

She nodded slowly. “The ones I dated. The ones who ended up... disappearing. He’s taunting you. Warning you.”

Mark clenched his jaw. “He’s escalating.”

Then Ronnie froze.

Her eyes widened, her lips slightly parted.

“I think… I think we need to talk to my mother.”

Mark’s brows pulled together. "Why?”

“Because,” Ronnie said, voice distant but firm, “I think she may have some information.”

The county jail was everything Ronnie remembered it to be—gray, cold, and humming with tension beneath flickering fluorescent lights. As she walked beside Mark through the processing area, her spine straightened, her jaw locked tight. She hadn’t seen her mother in a while, and even that visit had ended with venom laced in every word.

The guard led them to the visitation area. A thick glass wall divided the space, with old, scratched-up phones for communication.

Alice Summers was already seated on the other side of the glass, arms crossed over a loose, dingy prison-issued shirt. Her once-blonde hair was stringy and faded, greying, and her skin bore the evidence of years of drinking, drugs, and bad decisions. But there was no denying it—she looked a little like Ronnie. Or rather, what Ronnie could’ve been, had she not clawed her way out of hell.

Alice leaned forward the moment she saw her daughter, eyes narrowing with mild surprise. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Ronnie picked up the phone but didn’t speak yet. Mark stood silently beside her, arms crossed, his presence steady and grounding.

Alice smirked. “Where’s my son? Where’s my little Theo?”

Ronnie’s voice was clipped. “He’s in Florida. With Uncle Marvin and Gale.”

Alice snorted. “Oh, how precious. An early Christmas trip to Disney, huh? Gale still trying to pretend he's the new matriarch of this family?”

Ronnie didn’t respond.

Alice’s gaze flicked to Mark, and something shifted. She sat up straighter and subtly puffed out her chest. “Well, well, who’s the big boy?”

Ronnie gave her a dry look. “Detective Marshalls. We work together. On a case.”

Alice’s lips curled in a mocking grin. “Still playing doctor, huh? You couldn’t handle your own trauma, but now you get paid to dissect someone else’s.”

Ronnie’s grip on the phone tightened, knuckles going white.

Mark placed a calm hand on her back, a silent reminder: Breathe. Don’t let her win.

Ronnie straightened her spine and changed the subject. “Have you heard from… William?”

At the mention of the name, Alice’s entire expression darkened.

Her eyes became small, glassy slits.

“That bastard?” she hissed. “You dare ask me about him, you little slut? You stole him from me!”

Ronnie didn’t flinch. “I didn’t steal anyone. He raped me when I was a child.”

Alice slammed her hand against the glass, causing Mark to take a small step forward.

“Liar!” she shrieked. “You wanted it! You always flaunted yourself, always tried to take what was mine!”

Ronnie lips pressed together in a hard line, eyes burning.

Alice’s breath was ragged now. Her voice dropped lower, colder. “I haven’t heard from him in years. Last time was five years ago. A phone call. He said he’d be getting out of prison soon… he had a plan and that he’d come back for his family. Then nothing. No letters. He vanished.”

Ronnie said nothing for a long beat.

Alice’s attention snapped back to Ronnie. Her voice turned mocking again. “You were always such a burden. You know, I should’ve gotten that abortion when I had the chance.”

Silence.

It dropped like a bomb between the glass.

Ronnie’s breath caught. Her eyes widened—but only briefly.

Then she swallowed and whispered, “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

And she stood.

Alice blinked, stunned by the cold dismissal.

Ronnie dropped the phone back onto the hook with a hard clack, turned on her heel, and stormed toward the door.

Mark followed without a word, but not before casting one last look at Alice, she blew him a kiss—his gaze sharp and full of quiet contempt.

Outside the jail, the air was sharp with winter. Ronnie didn’t speak until they reached the car.

Her hands were shaking.

“She never changes,” she murmured, voice low and shaken, “He used to call me his little angel…”

Mark’s brows drew together. His jaw tensed. "William?"

“But I thought he was still in jail,” Ronnie said, eyes unfocused. “He was arrested after… after what he did to me. Then he got out a few years later and went back to my mom. I guess he thought he’d get to see me again, but there was a restraining order and Uncle Marvin got full sole custody. And when she got pregnant with Theo… he just disappeared.”

Mark leaned closer. “And he ended up back in jail?”

She nodded, “I don’t know why,” she admitted. “I never looked into it. I just… I wanted it all gone.”

Mark didn’t say anything. But the envelope with the photos, the note calling her his little angel—the connections were becoming harder to ignore.

Still, without a name or a confirmed ID, they couldn’t be sure.