Page 25 of Sinful Obsession

Phase three. My legs burned. My chest ached. The world pulsed and twisted around me. Heat shimmered like a wall. I charged forward anyway—

And my foot slipped.

I was going to die.

The ring of fire swelled before me. My legs gave out. The ground tilted beneath my feet—

And then—

A force slammed into me, hard and sudden, knocking the air from my lungs. My body hit the ground, pain exploding in my ribs, and darkness swallowed me.

I woke in a bed.

My fingers curled into unfamiliar sheets—too soft. I blinked at the ceiling, the air cool against my skin. This... didn’t feel like the DEN.

Where the hell was I?

I sat up slowly, disoriented. My limbs felt heavy. The room was sleek, too clean for the underground.

My heart pounded as I slid off the bed, my green-and-white uniform wrinkled, my boots gone. My bare feet sank into a thick rug as I moved to the door, flashes of déjà vu hitting.

This hallway... this view... I’d been here. I’d lived here. Maybe.

The marble beneath my feet gleamed. This was no training ground.

I stepped into a grand living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a sprawling estate—manicured lawns, a fountain, two sleek black cars parked beside a marble driveway.

This wasn’t the underground fortress; this was the outside world.

My breath caught, confirming I’d been torn from the House of Devils.

A figure sat on a leather sofa, glass in hand, newspaper open, reading with regal calm.

My heart skipped as I approached, the silhouette sharpening into focus. “Sir... ?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the paper. “Go take a bath.” He said, his voice laced with that familiar menace.

I glanced around, disoriented. “Where am I?”

“In my house,” he said, finally lowering the newspaper. “Right where you belong.”

My jaw clenched. “Right where I—?”

His eyes finally met mine. “You think I’d let you burn? If that was some twisted plea for freedom, you’ve miscalculated.

My stomach churned—not from fear this time, but fury. Twisted plea for freedom?

I stepped forward. “I was doing it for my team. I didn’t have a choice—”

He cut me off, rising smoothly. “You always have a choice.”

My throat went dry.

“Am I still in the House of Devils?” I asked, though everything around me said no. But I needed to hear it from him. I didn’t want to believe that one of the House’s bosses, especially the one who seemed to hold a grudge tied to a past I couldn’t remember, would pull me out without my consent.

Cassian’s gaze was sharp. “You’re in my house,” he said, his tone dark. “Which, trust me, will be far worse than the House of Devils.”

Worse?