Obsessed

Chapter 50

A dull, pounding ache pulsed at the side of her skull.

Ronnie stirred, blinking against the haze. The world around her was blurry, like she was submerged in fog, every breath heavy and damp. She reached up instinctively to rub her temple—but stopped short.

A metallic clink echoed in the silence.

Her wrist was bound.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick, cold metal of a chain. It wasn’t just one wrist—both hands were shackled, a short length of chain between them and another going down, anchoring her to the headboard behind her.

Panic slithered in.

Her eyes snapped open fully, heart galloping as she sat upright—then immediately recoiled.

She knew this room.

She’d spent countless sleepless nights here, crying into her pillow, counting backwards in French or German or Latin until her brain stopped spinning.

But that was years ago.

Yet here it was—her childhood bedroom. The faded pink walls. The white shelf sagging with old stuffed animals. The corner desk with its cracked, floral sticker still on the edge.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Clothing lay scattered across the wooden floor—some of it impossibly familiar. A sequined tutu. A pink swimsuit with frills. A little blue sundress with yellow daisies she used to beg to wear in winter.

She felt nauseous.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched violently.

On the back of the rocking chair near the window hung a pink nightgown, worn and thinned by time. The faded image of a unicorn barely clung to the fabric.

That nightgown.

The one she wore when—

"No. No no no no."

Ronnie’s chest constricted. Her lungs refused to pull in air. Her hands trembled violently in her lap. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push herself away from the memories clawing at the edges of her mind.

She was counting now—ten, neun, neuf, diez, nove—

But it wasn’t helping.

The walls closed in. The suffocating scent of stale childhood filled her nose—fabric softener, bubblegum perfume, old fear.

And then the door creaked open.

She froze. Her eyes locked on the hallway beyond the doorway.

A shadow stretched across the floor.

And he stepped inside.

William.

Older now. His once-dark hair had gone almost completely gray at the temples, and his face was harder, more lined. But the smile he wore was the same. Too wide. Too pleased.

Too wrong.

Ronnie’s lips parted but no sound came out. Her body recoiled instinctively.

He closed the door behind him with slow, deliberate ease. He held something in one hand—something he set gently on the old dresser before turning toward her with that same soft, sickening gaze.

Like a father.

Like a lover.

Like a predator.

“Hello, little angel,” William said softly, like he was saying good morning.

Ronnie’s entire body shook. Her voice trembled when it finally came. “Don’t… don’t call me that.”

William’s brow furrowed like she’d hurt his feelings. “You used to love it when I called you that. You’d come running to me in your little nightgown and jump into my arms—remember?”

“I was nine,” Ronnie spat, bile rising in her throat. “I didn’t know—”

He stepped closer.

“Stop!” she screamed, pressing herself against the headboard, chains rattling violently.

William paused. “You always had such a big voice for such a little girl.” He tilted his head, eyes scanning the room. “I thought this would help you feel safe. Bring back the good memories. I kept everything just the way you left it.”

Her eyes darted toward the corner of the room. The unicorn lamp. The ballerina jewelry box. All of it.

“You’re sick,” she said, her voice hoarse now.

His smile faltered for a second. “You say that now. But I know why you really ran from me.” He pointed at the rocking chair. “That night… when I saw how you looked at me, how you held on to me… you felt it too.”

“I was a child,” she hissed.

“You weren’t like other children,” William said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. “You were… special. You understood things other people didn’t. You wanted me.”

Ronnie gagged.

Her stomach turned with so much rage, so much terror, she thought she might throw up.

“Is Victor here too?” she asked suddenly. Her voice was clipped, angry, weaponized.

William’s face changed—tightened just slightly, the smile faltering.

“Why are you asking about him?”

Ronnie gritted her teeth. “Because you’re not smart enough to do this alone.”

William chuckled, but it was forced. “You’ve always underestimated me.”

“Where is he?” she demanded.

He stepped closer again, and this time she didn’t flinch. She stared at him with the same ice he used to strike fear when she got quiet as a kid.

“You don’t need to worry about him. He doesn’t like… sharing.”

The implications made her blood freeze.

Ronnie looked away, choking on the thought.

“I wanted to talk first,” William said softly, crouching beside the bed. “Before he gets back. Just us.”

She didn’t answer.

She was too busy scanning the room—anything she could use, any weapon, any edge. The lamp? Too far. The jewelry box? Maybe. If she could get the chain loose—

“Ronnie.”

Her head snapped back to him.

He was leaning closer now. Too close.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said gently. “Even after all these years. Even after you lied, and ran, and—”

“I told the truth,” she snapped.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“And the truth is… you were mine first. Before your mother. Before anyone.”

Ronnie’s body turned to ice.

There were no words left. No witty retorts. Just the awful, stifling truth of what he’d said.

But in her silence, she saw it—behind his eyes.

Fear.

William sat back on his heels, eyes tracing every inch of her face like he was memorizing her all over again. Ronnie kept her expression cold, even though her insides were screaming.

“I tried,” he said, his voice calm, too calm. “After you disappeared, I… I really tried to move on. Tried again with your mother, I told myself maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I needed to let go.”

He smiled again. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“But none of them were you.”

Ronnie’s brow twitched.

“I found girls who looked like you,” William continued, tone almost dreamy now. “The same hair. The same big blue eyes. Some of them even sounded like you when they cried.”

Her stomach twisted.

“But it was never the same. They weren’t you. They didn’t smell like you, move like you, feel like you. Taste like you.”

He rose to his feet again and started to pace slowly, fingers brushing across the surface of her old dresser.

“I watched you grow up, you know. From a distance at first. I’d sit outside your school sometimes. Then later… when you moved into that little house. With Theodore.”

Her hands curled into fists, the chains clinking softly.

“I kept you safe,” he said proudly. “You had no idea how many times I protected you. From the shadows. From all those… men.”

He turned to look at her again. His eyes lit with something manic.

“They weren’t good enough for you. Not a single one. And I could tell. I could see it.”

Her breath caught. “What did you do?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I killed them.”

Ronnie’s mouth went dry.

William stepped closer, crouching again beside the bed. “Every man who ever touched you—every single one—you never had to suffer long. I made sure of it. They weren’t worthy. Not of you. Not of my little angel.”

“You’re insane,” she hissed.

“I’m devoted,” he snapped, voice sharp now. Then softer again, his mood shifting like a switch. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. You belong to me. You always have.”

Ronnie shook her head slowly, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall.

“You think this is love? Chaining me up in my childhood bedroom like some twisted fairytale?”

“I’m not the villain,” William said, voice trembling now. “I’m the one who’s always loved you. Always waited. Always watched.”

Ronnie looked him dead in the eye. “You’re a monster.”

He didn’t flinch. In fact, he smiled again—serene and certain.

“No, baby girl. I’m your home.”