Page 8 of Charmingly Obsessed

T hey arrive precisely at one PM. Punctual thugs.

Three of them materialize in my doorway.

Two look like they’ve seen too much and enjoyed most of it – rough, seasoned, moving with the easy synchronicity of long-time partners. The third is younger, trying too hard, radiating nervous energy.

He leaves the door wide open behind him, an implicit threat hanging in the air. I take a step to close it, needing that small barrier, but the tallest one, all sharp angles and dead eyes, thrusts a thick stack of documents into my hands before I can reach the knob.

Their approach is brutally efficient. No preamble, just business. Only the stocky one, the one with a dense black beard and eyes that linger too long, lays it on thick.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice like gravel scraping concrete.

“Just sign on the dotted line. We meet the notary tomorrow, neutral ground, make it all official. Don’t try anything funny.

We always do things by the book.” He grins, showing too many teeth.

“Wouldn’t want things to get… ugly for such a pretty little thing. ”

A hysterical giggle bubbles up inside me. By the book. Right.

These guys are foot soldiers, obvious from their cheap suits and hungry eyes. Pawns working for the real sharks, the ones swimming in the same polluted waters as Kozar.

The man who likely drove Anya to her death. The man I’ll probably never touch. You have to know when to cut your losses. Though maybe you need to win something first. All I’ve done is bury my family.

I flip numbly through the papers. Red tabs mark key pages. Transfer of ownership. My signature required here, here, and here. Surrendering my half of the apartment, Anya’s legacy, everything.

I hand it back to the tall one, forcing myself to ask for clarification on a clause I already understand, stalling for… I don’t know what.

He starts explaining the legalese – how my share transfers to my deceased sister’s debt, how it’s all perfectly legal…

And then the papers are simply gone from his hands. Snatched away.

All three thugs jump, startled. Even I jump.

Mykola Frez stands just inside the doorway he must have slipped through while they were focused on me.

He appeared from nowhere, silent as smoke, radiating an aura of ice-cold, barely contained fury. He’s not a genie; he’s a goddamn apex predator materializing in my cramped hallway.

Frez’s voice is dangerously soft, each word clipped with precision as he asks, “What are these documents?”

His gaze sweeps over the three men, sharp and assessing, before locking onto the stocky, bearded one.

The temperature in the hallway drops ten degrees.

“Apartment business,” Stocky says, trying for nonchalant but failing. “Lady here owes a debt. We came to a… friendly arrangement.”

“That’s true,” I force out, swallowing hard, turning towards Frez, desperate to de-escalate. He doesn’t even glance at me, his entire focus lasered on the intruders. “I mean, I don’t owe anyone, but this is voluntary.”

Frez ignores me. “Who do you work for?” he directs at Stocky.

“And who the hell are you?” the young one pipes up, bravado cracking.

A slow, chilling smile touches Frez’s lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Spent my whole life trying to figure that out,” he says, his tone light, conversational, utterly terrifying. “But I just had a breakthrough. Right now? I’m your problem. Personally.”

The tall one shifts uneasily. “We work for Papa. If that name means anything.”

Frez feigns contemplation. “Papa… Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Must not be important.” He shifts the papers in his hand. “So. How are we settling this?” He speaks with effortless speed and authority.

I stand frozen, terrified that any move I make will ignite the powder keg.

“It’s already handled. No need for trouble. Lady signs tomorrow, we all walk away friends.”

Friends. Right. If Kozar wasn’t pulling the strings, maybe. My plan is simple: sign, disappear, hope three years is long enough for them to forget I exist.

“Oh, there’s going to be trouble,” Frez assures him conversationally, pulling out his phone with his free hand. The casual menace is breathtaking. “But the lady won’t be involved. Give me a contact. Yours. Papa’s. I don’t care. We settle this debt. Today.”

“Uh, no,” Tall Guy drawls, shaking his head. “She signs the apartment over. That’s the deal. We don’t care about the cash.”

Frez’s gaze flicks up, pinning the man like an insect. “We will settle it with cash,” he states, not asks. “Or does Papa have sentimental plans for retirement in this specific two-bedroom walk-up? Money exists. It equals property. Need me to draw you a diagram, or did you grasp the concept?”

“Not up to us,” Stocky mutters, turning back to me, deliberately ignoring Frez. “Your sister didn’t go through Papa directly, did she? Maybe try talking to her contacts about other options…”

“Talk. To. Me,” Frez snaps, the command cracking like a whip. The temperature drops further. “Not her. If you don’t have your boss’s number, get out. Your documents,” he gestures vaguely with the papers, “have been received.”

“Nobody’s gonna answer to you,” the young one spits, defiant but sweating now.

“Just give him the damn number, Wanya,” Stocky sighs, defeated. “Waste of time standing here.”

A number is reluctantly produced.

Frez taps it into his phone without looking, his expression unreadable granite. He makes no sound as the three men shuffle out, casting uneasy glances back at the silent, imposing figure dominating the hallway.

The second the door closes behind them, Frez slams the deadbolt home. The sharp thud echoes in the sudden, suffocating silence.

He turns. Slowly. And the full force of his controlled fury hits me. My carefully prepared explanations, my pleas for him to stay out of it, evaporate. I’m left speechless, pinned by the storm brewing in his eyes.

He doesn’t speak immediately. He moves, pacing the small space, circling me like a caged tiger, deliberately avoiding my gaze. The silence stretches, scraping against my raw nerves.

I fidget with the stupid ribbon on my blouse. It feels flimsy, inadequate.

“You don’t think I matter at all, do you?” His voice is low, rough with suppressed anger. “My opinion, my help… it means nothing to you.”

“What? What the hell are you saying?” My hands drop to my sides.

He shakes his head, a gesture of sharp disbelief, then slaps the stack of confiscated documents hard against his thigh.

The sound cracks through the tension. “Maybe you’re a secret Krav Maga expert, Diana,” he snaps, finally looking at me, his eyes blazing.

And God help me, even his anger sends a ridiculous jolt of warmth through me.

Just seeing that fire directed at me. “Got a black belt tucked away somewhere? Because you were expecting those apes, weren’t you? Just waiting for them to show up?”

“You saw them! They weren’t aggressive! We had an arrangement—”

“You were waiting,” he cuts me off, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping him. “Just like I suspected. And you shut me out. Lied to my face. I am so unbelievably pissed off right now, I can barely speak. How could you not call me? How could you think you could handle this alone?”

“I had agreed.” I try to explain, desperation making my voice thin.

“Anya signed over her share before… before… This is the debt. I don’t have the money.

I give them my half, they leave me alone.

There’s nothing left for them to take after this!

” I can’t tell him about Kozar. Can’t tell him this might not be the end.

Can’t tell him Frez himself is tangled in the same web that destroyed my family.

Frez slaps the papers against his leg again, tilting his head back, exhaling sharply through his nose. He nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. Like a general committing to battle.

“You’ll have to trust me on this, Diana. The apartment stays yours. They mentioned a meeting tomorrow? With a notary?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”

“Mykola,” I start softly, trying to regain control. “Thank you. Really. But you don’t understand the whole picture. I’m moving anyway. We need a new arrangement for work—”

“Well, I don’t know the whole picture because someone refuses to tell me!” he snaps. The feverish gleam I saw yesterday dims slightly, his mouth relaxing fractionally. “Just trust me,” he repeats, softer now.

“This isn’t about trust, it’s about survival!” I insist, twisting the ribbon. “They’ll find me later if I don’t cooperate now, and it will be so much worse.”

His voice is a low, guttural vow. “Over. My. Dead. Body.” He steps closer, invading my space with burning eyes. “No one finds you. No one touches you. No one hurts you again while I’m still breathing.”

And for the first time, disappointment cuts through the fear and the unwanted attraction. Even on that day , the day he hurt me, it wasn’t like this. Making impossible, theatrical promises.

It sounds impressive, sure. Frez excels at dramatic pronouncements. But this is my life.

“Let’s… let’s just have coffee,” I sigh, defeated for now. “I still have pastries.”

“No.” He tilts his head, scrutinizing me, that intense focus back. “Don’t try to distract me with pastries, Diana. Delicious as they were. Promise me. You are not going anywhere tomorrow.”

The silk ribbon feels cold, alien against my skin. The hallway is drafty. I feel trapped between his immovable will and the crushing weight of my reality. What choice do I have?

“If you just pay them, they’ll take the money, sure. But they’ll still come for the apartment, Mykola. They want this.”

“Leave. That. To. Me.” His voice cracks like a whip again, loud in the enclosed space, making me flinch.

He visibly forces himself calm, leaning in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow resonates louder, vibrating through my bones.

“Trust me, Diana. Please. I understand why you might think… everything I do… is some kind of joke at your expense. My behavior has been… less than rational. But trust me on this.”

I try. I try to reconcile the man who kissed me with bruising intensity last night, the man whose touch sets my skin on fire, with the idea that it wasn’t a joke. It’s easier now, after last night, after the way he looks at me, like I’m a puzzle he’s desperate to solve.

But how long will this last? This intense focus, the kisses, the impossible job offer, the possessive protection? It’s his classic pattern: throw himself into a new obsession with all-consuming intensity, only to grow bored and discard it just as suddenly.

It feels like a dream, a dangerous, intoxicating dream I need to wake up from before it shatters.

Honestly? I’d trade the job, the money, all of it, for more of those kisses. God, I’m pathetic.

“Alright. I will do as you say,” I whisper finally.

We stand frozen, facing each other across the narrow hallway. It feels like miles, an unbridgeable chasm. And yet… with that single word, the chasm seems to shrink, the air thickening, charged with unspoken things.

Frez swallows hard, his gaze flickering briefly towards my bedroom door, then snapping back to my face. He looks at me like he’s memorizing me, like he’s starving and I’m the only sustenance in sight.

I have no idea what’s swirling in those chaotic blue depths, but I want him to keep looking. Just like that. Forever.

“Say it again,” he rasps.

“W-what?”

“The last thing you said.”

“I will do as you say,” I repeat, softer this time.

He’s vibrating with suppressed energy now, coiled like a spring. Ready to launch his plan. When Frez gets like this, obsessed with a new project, he’s a force of nature, dragging everyone into his orbit.

He scrubs his nose carelessly, almost angrily, with the sleeve of his expensive blazer, but his eyes never leave my face. He looks like he’s about to pounce.

“There’s a draft,” he says suddenly, his gaze shifting past me towards the bedroom again. “Strong one. Is your window open?”

My face flames, then goes ice cold. The air rushes from my lungs. He takes a step towards the bedroom door.

“No!” The word rips from my throat, sharp with panic.

He glances back at me, confused by my reaction, then pushes the bedroom door open wider and steps inside.

And the world tilts.