Page 4 of Obsessing Over His Favorite

She frowned at his tone, but the man continued, his words laced with irritation.

“Even if you threw yourself in front of a train, a man like Lucas Cantrell wouldn’t spare you a second glance to see if you were dead.”

Emily’s brows furrowed. ‘Who the hell is Lucas? And why would I ever jump in front of a train just to get his attention?’

What the hell were these people talking about?

The man who had just entered—Taylor—was one of Lucas’s close friends. By now, like Lucas and Dillon, he seemed completely used to Emily’s ‘antics’.

Sometimes she’d burn her hand because Lucas didn’t get home fast enough.

Sometimes she’d cause a scene at the club when he ignored her

Then she’d threaten to break up, only to chase him down minutes later, begging him not to leave.

To them, she was a constant storm. A woman obsessed with making Lucas’s life hell—and ruining Amelia’s along the way.

All because Amelia was Lucas’s childhood friend.

Burned hand? Supposedly Amelia poured boiling water on her.

Created a scene at the club? Amelia told her that Lucas was in bed with her.

Breakup threats? Amelia claimed Lucas was using her to make Amelia jealous.

And each time, Emily had insisted Amelia was behind it all. She would repeat it like gospel—Amelia said this. Amelia did that.

Emily never stopped accusing Amelia, even after being proven wrong—again and again. Amelia was always somewhere else, always with others, and yet Emily insisted. As if obsessed.

And now, apparently, she’d jumped in front of a car. Just to frame Amelia. Just to make Lucas hate her.

Taylor exhaled, shoulders straightening as he walked toward her bed. One hand slipped into his pocket. The other pushed up his glasses from the bridge of his nose. He stared at her with cold detachment.

“Ms. Crawford,” he said icily. “As Lucas’s best friend, here’s a little advice—don’t do this again. Hurting yourself won’t make him love you. He doesn’t like this kind of emotional blackmail. Lucas will never love a woman who threatens him with her own death.”

Dillon looked even more annoyed, like being in the same room as her was beneath him. He scoffed, folding his arms, his tone sharp.

“You’ve been Mr. Cantrell’s girlfriend for over five years. Don’t you understand him at all?” His gaze cut into her like a knife. “Why don’t you try fixing yourself? Look at your own behavior for once. Be a better person instead of…this.”

But Emily just stared at them, completely blank.

She didn’t recognize either of them.

Her head throbbed violently. She blinked a few times, dazed. Then, without a word, she turned her face away from them and slipped out of the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor as she rushed across the room, ignoring the two men.

She burst into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Her eyes landed on the mirror.

She stepped inside what looked like a luxury bathroom—warm lights, polished tiles, subtle hints of lemon in the air.

But Emily saw none of it.

Her mind was a void.

“I have a boyfriend… for five years?” she whispered, staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked back at her—wide, confused, haunted. Her fingers trembled as they lifted toward the bandage around her head, stained slightly with blood.

“Why don’t I remember anything?” she murmured, her voice echoing faintly off the walls. “Where was I? How the hell did I end up in a hospital? I don’t even remember having a boyfriend. Haven’t I always been single?”