Page 72 of Sinful Obsession

The owner, a wiry man with grease-stained fingers and a cybernetic eye that whirred as it focused on me, raised an eyebrow at the bracelet. “This is high-grade Moretti tech,” he said, examining it under a magnifier. “Unremovable without the key code or a serious hack. How in the world did you get stuck with something like this? Looks like a lover’s chain—or a prison sentence.”

I brushed it off, my voice tight. “Doesn’t matter. Just get it off. I’ll pay whatever.”

He chuckled, pulling out a laser cutter and a decryption device. “Fair enough. Hold still—this’ll sting.”

The process took twenty minutes: a scan to bypass the locks, a precise cut along the seam, and a jolt of electricity that made my arm tingle.

When it finally snapped free, I rubbed my wrist, the skin red and raw, but the weight was gone. “That’ll be five grand,” he said, pocketing the cash from my wallet. “And lady, whoever put that on you? Don’t go back.”

From there, I headed to an ATM on a bustling street corner, the machine’s screen glowing in the night.

I inserted the black card, my fingers trembling as I transferred ten million dollars to my personal account—the maximum I could pull without raising flags.

The machine whirred, confirming the transfer, and I exhaled, a small sense of security settling in.

But the card was a tether to Cassian; he could track it.

Spotting a beggar huddled in a doorway, his clothes ragged, eyes weary, I approached. “Here,” I said, pressing the card into his grimy hand. “PIN is 0001. It’s your luck now—use it wisely.”

He blinked, clutching it like a lifeline. “Lady, you serious? This ain’t a joke?”

“It’s real,” I said, forcing a smile. “Take care of yourself.” I walked away, his stunned thanks fading behind me, hoping the card would lead Cassian on a wild chase if he bothered to look.

The hotel I chose was modest, a mid-range spot downtown, with clean rooms and anonymous guests.

I checked in under a fake name, paying cash, my suitcase thumping behind me as I rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

The room was simple: beige walls, a queen bed with crisp sheets, a small desk by the window overlooking the city lights.

I locked the door, my heart pounding, half-expecting Luca’s men or Artem’s shadows to burst in.

But it was quiet, safe for now.

I headed to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes under the fluorescent light.

The shower water cascaded hot over my skin, washing away the salt of the sea and the grime of the day.

I glanced at my reflection in the steamed mirror, my flat chest a stark reminder of old wounds—Cassian’s taunts, my insecurities.

But now, with the baby growing inside, it felt different, less a flaw and more a part of who I was.

I lathered soap over my body, the steam filling the air with lavender scent, my mind racing.

A fresh start, but how? I couldn’t stay here, vulnerable to the mafia’s reach.

Drying off, I slipped into pajamas and lay on the bed, the mattress soft but unfamiliar.

My phone glowed as I pulled it out, researching safe countries for a new life.

I scrolled through articles on my browser—Switzerland for its neutrality and strong privacy laws, Canada for its welcoming immigration and healthcare, New Zealand for its isolation and family-friendly policies.

Places where a single mother could disappear, raise a child in peace, away from the blood and betrayal. But doubt crept in:

How would I get there?

Visas, flights, starting over with no connections.

Cassian’s rejection echoed in my mind, his love confessions a bittersweet ache.