Page 2 of Shadows of Obsession

I hesitated. Every true crime podcast I'd ever listened to, every warning my mother and aunt had ever given me about strangers, flickered through my mind in rapid succession. But his expression was open, his stance relaxed. He wasn't crowding me or moving too fast. He was just… there. Waiting.

And I was freezing, stranded, and bleeding from a cut I hadn't even noticed above my eyebrow.

I took his hand. His palm was warm and unexpectedly soft, the smoothness enhancing his polished appearance, and the contact grounded me. Real. Solid.

"Anna," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His grip tightened just slightly, reassuring. "Let me help you, Anna."

And in that moment, standing in the glow of his headlights with blood on my face and my whole body shaking, I believed him. I believed he was exactly what he seemed: someone who'd stopped to help a stranger in need. Someone kind.

If I had known then what that moment would cost me, I would have run.I would have stumbled into the woods and taken my chances with the cold and the dark and whatever else was out there.

But I didn't know. I couldn't have known.

So I just stood there, holding the hand of the man who would save me… and destroy me.

Six Months Later

I'd packed faster than I thought I could. Every minute felt stolen, every sound a threat I couldn't afford to ignore.

Daniel was passed out on the couch downstairs, an empty whiskey bottle resting against his leg, his phone facedown on the floor beside him. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep,but I knew better than to trust it. I knew better than to trust anything about him anymore.

His calm never lasted long.

My hands trembled as I shoved the last of my things into the old duffel bag I'd found in the back of the closet. The one he didn't know I had. Clothes, toiletries, the few personal items I'd managed to keep hidden. Not much. Just enough to start over.

The bruises on my wrists had already started to yellow at the edges, fading from deep purple to a sickly green, but they still ached when I tightened the straps of the bag. Everything ached these days.

I'd gotten good at moving silently, at making myself small, at reading the shift in his mood before the first blow landed. But tonight, I wasn't shrinking. Tonight, I was leaving. For real this time.

The first time I'd tried to leave, I'd made it as far as the driveway before he'd caught me. The second time, I'd gone to my aunt's house, but he'd found me within hours. Had charmed his way inside, convinced everyone I was confused, that I'd overreacted, that we just needed to "work things out." And I'd been too ashamed, too exhausted, to fight him in front of witnesses.

This time would be different. It had to be.

It had taken me months to admit that what I'd once thought was love was nothing but a cage. The charm, the tenderness, the devotion he'd shown me in those first few weeks after the accident, all of it had turned into something dark. Something hungry and possessive that had wrapped around me so gradually I hadn't noticed until I was already suffocating.

He'd been my savior. He'd called the tow truck, driven me to the hospital, stayed with me while they stitched up the cut above my eyebrow. He'd checked on me every day after. Bringing food and flowers and that warm, easy smile that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, something good could come from that terrible night.

I'd fallen fast. Too fast.

By the time I realized what he was really like, it was already too late.

Sam was the only reason I was still alive. My best friend, my lifeline, the only person who'd seen through Daniel's mask when everyone else had been fooled by his charm. She'd been my anchorwhen I was drowning, even when I'd pushed her away, too ashamed to admit what was happening, too afraid of what he'd do if he found out I'd told someone.

Her voice echoed in my head now, quiet but firm, repeating the same words she'd said over and over during our last phone call: "Go to Connor's ranch in Wyoming. He'll take you in. You'll be safe there."

Connor. God, I hadn't seen him in years. Hadn't even talked to him since I'd been with Daniel. Would he even remember me? Would he still care? The hope for his help was a desperate plea in my mind.

As I crept down the stairs, I clutched the slip of paper with Connor's address in one hand and my truck keys in the other. My pulse hammered in my throat so loud I was sure Daniel would hear it and wake up. The keys felt cold against my palm, the metal edges digging into my skin as I squeezed them tighter, willing them not to jangle and give me away.

Every creak of the floorboards made me flinch. I'd memorized which steps were safe and which ones groaned, but in the dark everything seemed louder. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. One step. Two. Three. I focused entirely on the movement: Just keep moving.

But I couldn't help it. I glanced toward the living room as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

Daniel was still there, sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over his face. He looked almost peaceful like this. Almost like the man I'd thought I'd fallen in love with. It was easier to pretend when he was sleeping.

I tore my gaze away and moved toward the door.