Page 29 of Sinful Obsession

I need answers. I’ll find a doctor. Get my memory back. Because none of this will make sense until I know what the hell happened to me.

I stepped outside, the estate’s grandeur a stark contrast to the House of Devils’ iron hell.

The air was scented with roses and fresh-cut grass, the driveway lined with sleek cars and a single black motorcycle that sparked a flicker of memory:me, clinging to its seat, wind whipping my hair, a man’s voice. Was it Cassian’s?

The image dissolved, leaving me grasping at shadows.

Cassian leaned against the bike, his dark suit tailored to his frame, his head lowered, hair glinting in the sunlight.

When he looked up, his eyes narrowed, “I told you to wear black.”

“I think pink suits me better,” I said evenly.

He doesn’t get to command me like I’m his subject. And when I uncover the truth about the three years I can’t remember—I’ll decide whether to run... or to destroy him.

His jaw ticked. “You chose to defy me this early?”

He checked his watch with deliberate slowness, then looked back at me.

“Take off your pants.” A pause. “Right here. Now.”

My eyes widened.

I glanced around—the estate was isolated, woods and distant houses shielding us from view, but the demand was unthinkable. “I can’t do that,” I said, my voice trembling.

He pushed off the bike, that wicked, soul-curdling smirk stretching across his face. Every step he took toward me was slow, deliberate—like a predator savoring the fear.

I backed away, pulse thundering.

Then my back hit the wall of the house. No escape.

“I’ll just... I’ll go change into the black,” I stammered, voice cracking, panic rising like bile. I wasn’t ready to be crushed by him—not like this.

“Too late,” he murmured.

His hand clamped around my arm. A brutal, effortless grip.

His strength was suffocating.

He leaned in, his frame closing in around me like a prison. The scent of something darker filled my nose. He didn’t need to touch me; my body had already betrayed me, trembling, retreating.

“Please...” I breathed. “Don’t hurt me.”

He dragged me from where I stood and slammed me against one of the sleek black cars in the driveway.

Metal met my chest with a harsh thud.

His hands moved with brutal precision, yanking down my loose pink trousers and tearing my underwear away in one swift motion.

The fabric ripped, the sound sharp in the quiet air, leaving my lower body exposed.

I thrashed, my hands clawing at the car’s surface.

“No—” I struggled, but his body caged mine, his hand pinning both my wrists to the hood like I was nothing. My ass was exposed. Shame burned hotter than fear.

“Let me go!” I cried, my voice breaking as his hand struck my bare ass, a stinging slap that forced a moan from my lips—not of pleasure, but of pain and humiliation.

Another strike followed, the burn spreading across my flesh, and I gasped, “Stop!” My plea was desperate, but he struck again, the third hit leaving my skin raw, my cheeks undoubtedly red. “Please—” but he didn’t listen.