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When I was in Mya-mode, not much else mattered to me. Mya-mode was a mindless term my right-hand man, Joseph, had come up with to describe my obsession with her.
Joseph thought he was funny. And if anyone else had dared to call it that, an obsession, they would be dead. I’d killed men for less, but I knew Joseph was only kidding. Mostly.
There was no other word to describe the way her existence drew me in. I lived, breathed, and woke up to thoughts of Mya.
I liked the way she wore her hair long nowadays. It made her look like a princess. She smelled like one too.
I caught the scent of lavender and sandalwood as she passed me. She didn’t even notice me as she walked in the opposite direction of where I stood, her head down, deep in thought.
I adjusted my sunglasses. I leaned against a tree and just watched her. Dion, my driver, had cautioned against this, like healways did when I convinced him to drop me off somewhere I knew she would be.
I knew it was a bad idea to be there, but I knew surrounded by others in mourning. She wouldn’t notice me…let alone question my presence.
There was something tender and endearing about her pain. I would never forget the moment I saw her outside on the steps of the courtroom right after my brother’s trial.
She looked fragile, breakable, as if she were made of glass and just the right frequency would make her shatter. I knew my men didn’t get it. I could have anyone I wanted.
I was wealthy, powerful, and had the build of a professional athlete. So why was I so obsessed with a woman who didn’t even know I existed?
But I didn’t want just any woman, I wanted her. At first, I had just thought she was a passing fancy. I would get her out of my system, and then I would move on.
The more I tried to ignore her existence the more I felt compelled to see her.
I started by sitting outside the place she worked every morning. I would sit there and just watch her enter, memorizing every detail about her that I could see from afar—the way she walked, the sound of her laugh, even though it was rare, and the way she seemed to carry the weight of the whole world on her shoulders.
But then she stopped showing up for work. I don’t know if she quit or started working remotely. I just knew not seeing her was intolerable.
I went from having access to her every morning, to not seeing her at all, so I became bolder. I arranged to sit discreetly in a car outside her apartment. Unfortunately, she rarely left the house.
I noticed that her groceries were always delivered and she would get a package or two each week. I relished those momentswhen she would walk out to her front porch, normally wearing a pair of jeans or my favorite, shorts that displayed her perfect legs. They were my favorite part of her body.
Who was I kidding? I felt that way about every part of her body, from her pert breasts to her generous ass, visions of what Mya would look like as I came inside of her kept me up at night.
Over the years, rarely leaving home and possibly quitting her job weren’t the only changes she made in her life. She surprised me when she took up running.
At first, I thought she was being idiotic going out at night alone, but I realized why she did it. All was forgiven in the dark, even though in the darkness, one had to surrender to one’s own thoughts.
My thoughts were like me, dark and dangerous. Watching her every evening, made me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
And when I saw her that fateful day on the steps of the courthouse, her fragility unlocked something in me. I couldn’t resist fragile things.
I spent millions at auctions collecting the most obscure, fragile pieces of history. I took pride in owning them and caring for them the way no one else ever had.
I kept them in a vault that no one else was allowed to enter. Sometimes I closed myself in the vault to think, when I needed a break from the family business.
Deep down, I knew my obsession with her was just an extension of my obsession with owning beautiful broken pieces of art. Mya was as broken as she was beautiful.
There was no wonder I couldn’t resist her.
Now, she pushed her auburn hair behind her ears as she walked to the car. It was a motion I was used to her doing when she was frustrated or felt restless.
Slowly, I followed her and slid into my car, which was parked only a few feet behind her own.
For whatever reason, she didn’t pull away immediately. I couldn’t clearly see her, but she seemed to be on the phone.
After a few minutes, she drove off, and made a U-turn, passing by me, allowing me to see a rare close-up glimpse of her face. Something about her eyes caught me off-guard. They looked haunted.
Against my better judgement, I followed her, expecting her to take the exit to her home, but instead, she drove past it. Hmmm…where was she going?