Obsessed

Chapter 39

Mark sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching the morning sunlight stretch across the room. The air was still warm from their bodies, the scent of her clinging to the sheets, to his skin, to his thoughts. He glanced back at Ronnie, still tangled in the blankets, a leg peeking out, hair messy around her face, lips parted in sleep. And God, she was beautiful.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that stunned him. It was everything else.

He’d known Ronnie as shy and quirky, with an almost painful politeness and a soft-spoken voice that always left him leaning in to hear more. Her awkwardness had been endearing, a kind of armor she wore when navigating the world, and especially people. She fidgeted with her sleeves, counted under her breath in different languages, blushed easily when someone made a crude joke. She was a good girl, the kind people felt inclined to protect.

But here? With him? When the door was shut and no one else was around?

She was fire.

Mark ran a hand over his face, remembering the feel of her mouth, the way she’d taken control, unashamed and unfiltered. There was confidence in her touch, an unspoken knowing of how to drive him insane. She'd flipped him over, held his gaze while riding him, whispered the dirtiest things in that soft, sweet voice of hers. And when she came undone, she didn’t hold back. She gave all of herself.

He was seeing a side of Ronnie no one else got to see. Not her colleagues, not the world. This version of her—wild, hungry, fearless—was reserved only for him.

And damn it, it was making him fall harder.

Mark glanced down at his chest, at the faint scratch marks trailing over his skin. He smirked. She didn’t even know she left them. He liked that—the way she got lost in it, in him, like he was the only thing that existed in those moments. It was intoxicating.

He moved quietly around the room, tugging on a pair of sweatpants and wandering into the kitchen. The morning felt slow, still humming from the night before. He poured a glass of water, staring out the window, his mind running laps around the same thought: he was in trouble.

Markus Marshalls didn’t fall for people. He didn’t trust easily, didn’t let anyone close enough to even try. But Ronnie had wormed her way in with her obsessive organization, her sarcastic quips, her deep loyalty to her little brother, and the heartbreaking pain she tried so hard to hide.

Now she was everywhere in his mind. In his bed. In his blood.

He heard the rustle of sheets, then soft footsteps on the floor.

“Morning,” she murmured sleepily, walking in wearing only one of his oversized shirts that barely covered her thighs.

He turned, smiling without even thinking. “Hey, you.”

Ronnie gave him a lopsided grin, rubbing one eye. “Coffee?”

Mark handed her the glass of water instead. “Start with this. Then coffee.”

She took it with a mock glare. “Bossy.”

“You like it,” he said smoothly, pulling her into his arms. She let out a soft laugh, resting her head against his chest.

They stood like that for a moment, wrapped in the quiet morning, the chaotic world outside kept at bay.

Mark kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

Ronnie looked up at him, and for a second he saw it again—the soft vulnerability she tried to mask, the flicker of uncertainty.

“Yeah,” she said. “More than okay.”

He traced his thumb across her jaw, lifting her chin gently. “You sure? Last night got a bit intense, didn’t freak you out or anything?”

Her smile widened. “I think the only thing that freaks me out is how much I like you.”

Mark's chest tightened. He wasn’t used to this kind of honesty. But Ronnie wore her heart on her sleeve, even when she didn’t mean to. It was part of what made her so damn special.

“Same,” he murmured, then leaned down to kiss her.

The kiss was slow, soft, unhurried. Nothing like the feverish ones from last night. This one was a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, Ronnie looked up at him, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “We should probably get dressed before your neighbors get an eyeful.”

He chuckled. “Let them look. Can’t blame them.”

She rolled her eyes and padded back toward the bedroom. Mark watched her go, unable to stop the smile stretching across his face.

Yeah. He was in trouble. And he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Mark drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other gently resting on Ronnie’s thigh. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was warm, familiar, and filled with unspoken words that didn’t need to be said. The early morning sunlight spilled across the dashboard, casting a soft glow across Ronnie’s skin.

Mark glanced at her briefly, heart tugging in his chest. She looked peaceful, cheeks still flushed from earlier, hair tossed in soft waves, lips slightly swollen. Every little detail about her had become something sacred, something he craved more of.

Before stepping out of the truck, Mark paused. “Hey,” he said softly.

Ronnie turned to him. “Yeah?”

He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or heated—just full of quiet affection. A promise. Ronnie melted into it, smiling against his lips before they pulled apart.

They walked through the precinct doors side-by-side, but something subtle had shifted. They didn’t touch or speak intimately, but their eyes said it all. They were synced in a way that couldn’t be faked.

Ronnie peeled off toward her office, clipboard in hand, head down as if she was focused. But Mark saw the slight upturn of her lips as she disappeared behind the glass.

Mark made his way to his desk. He tried to smother the grin tugging at his mouth but failed miserably.

Jackson didn’t miss it. He spun in his chair, arms crossed, watching Mark with an amused smirk.

“Well, well, well,” Jackson teased. “Somebody had a good night.”

Mark cleared his throat, tossing his keys on his desk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. Right. Sure.” Jackson tilted his head. “Mark, I’ve been working with you for five years. And this is the first time I’ve seen you smile. Like actually smile. You look... I don’t know. Happy. It's weird.”

Mark tried to play it cool with a half smirk.

Jackson laughed under his breath. “s*x must be that good.”

Mark snorted, grabbing a pen and gently tossing it at him.

But the playful mood evaporated when Mark noticed a large manila envelope on his desk. He frowned. “What’s this?”

Jackson shrugged, his smile fading as well. “Dunno. That was already there when I came in.”

Mark turned it over, checking for any markings. Nothing. Carefully, he pulled the flap open and reached inside. What he drew out made the breath leave his lungs.

Photographs.

Stacks of them.

And not just any photographs—photos of him and Ronnie. Intimate ones. Some from the first night they had s*x in his apartment. Others from last night. Some looked to have been taken through the apartment’s window. Others from slightly different angles—zoomed in. High quality.

Mark’s stomach turned.

He shuffled through them quickly, heart pounding, jaw tight. Whoever took these had been close. Watching.

Then, at the bottom of the envelope, there was a single note in cramped, blocky writing:

“I warned you.”

The moment he read it, a chill went down his spine. A sudden weight settled in his chest—but not from dread. Something literal.

He looked down and saw a tiny red dot dancing on his shirt.

He didn’t have time to think.

CRACK!

The sound of glass shattering was followed by a flash of white-hot pain ripping through his chest. Mark’s body jerked backward as the bullet slammed into him, throwing him off his feet.

He hit the floor hard. Papers scattered.

Everything blurred.

Someone shouted his name.

Chaos erupted in the precinct—officers diving for cover, weapons drawn. Shouts for lockdown. Sirens blaring. But all Mark could focus on was the fire in his chest and the metallic taste in his mouth.

Ronnie.

He tried to say her name, but the words got stuck. He couldn’t lift his arm. The photos were scattered across the floor beside him, damning and cruel.

A blur of blonde hair and pale skin appeared above him.

“Mark!” Ronnie dropped to her knees beside him, her voice trembling.

His vision doubled. He tried to speak again, but she hushed him, pressing her hands to his wound.

“Help is coming. Just stay with me. Stay with me, okay?” she pleaded, her voice cracking. Blood seeped between her fingers.

He looked up at her, brushing the edge of her jaw with his knuckles before his arm fell back.

Everything started to fade into black.