Sinister Obsession | 18+

|04| A little message.

Saint

I observe my father pacing back and forth in the living room, his anger palpable in every step. As he rants about what went down two days ago at the club, I remain seated with crossed legs, unmoved by his fury. I feel no remorse for what transpired; if given the chance, I would repeat it a hundred times over without hesitation.

The memory of the bottle smashing against Nikolas's head lingers in my mind, a moment of rash defiance now overshadowed by doubt. It was a bold move, driven by adrenaline and anger, but now I question its wisdom.

Elijah's warning echoes in my thoughts, reminding me of the potential fallout from my actions. His words paint a clear picture of the Castille family's power and vengeance, making me wary. I know better than to underestimate their influence.

The idea of facing Nikolas's family's wrath sends a chill down my spine, but amidst the threat, a spark of determination flares up. I won't be a pawn in their game; I'm a strategist, ready to defend myself.

My mind becomes a battlefield of plans, plotting out every possible scenario and how to counter them. I must stay ahead, predicting their moves before they make them. If they come for me, I'll be ready—strategically positioned, mentally strong.

They may have power, but I have cunning. In this fight for survival, I aim to come out on top, outsmarting them at every turn.

I may be outnumbered, but I won't be outsmarted.

Throughout his tirade, he avoids meeting my gaze, just as he always has. I've grown accustomed to his disdainful glances; they're a reminder of his disappointment in me. It's almost a relief that he doesn't look at me directly anymore—I'd rather not see the disgust in his eyes that always made me look away.

I got used to it tho, perhaps a little too much.

Every time I glanced in the mirror, my eyes stared back at me, filled with disdain and disappointment. It was as if I was seeing myself through his lens, judging myself as he did.

The reflection I saw was not my own; it was his version of me, a flawed and inadequate image. Unable to bear the weight of my own gaze, I turned away, avoiding my own reflection. In my eyes, I became invisible, nonexistent—a mere shadow of the person I once was.

I take a sip of the smoky and robust Scotch whisky in the glass, swirling the amber liquid and watching the ice cubes dance in it.

"Now, I know you're probably not even listening to what I'm saying, but make sure to keep things good with Elijah. I don't care what's going on in that head of yours, but you better sort things out with him. And that stunt you pulled? Totally out of line. Get it together, or there will be hell to pay." he orders as he walks towards the big window, his hands tucked into his suit pants.

I turn my head to the side, watching his tall figure standing there, gazing out.

Always Elijah. As if my whole life revolves around him and his precious reputation.

As for the stunt I pulled? Yeah, it was a bit extreme, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. And if that means shaking things up a bit, so be it. Let him threaten me with hell; I've danced with worse.

But Elijah? He's a different story. I'll smooth things over with him, not because my father said so, but because it's convenient for me.