Darling Obsession

Prologue

Harlan

I walk into my brother Graysen’s opulent living room at the Vance Bayshore resort with a familiar lump in my throat. It tastes like dread, and sticks like something sharp that I can never quite swallow.

The sun is high and bright through the towering windows, and my feet are hot in my shiny black shoes. I truly detest summer. Give me smothering low-cloud ceilings and pissing rain any day. Bad weather keeps people in their boxes and the hell away from me.

“Where the fuck is Jamie?” I grumble, tearing off my jacket.

Graysen, my oldest brother, stands at the wall of windows behind his desk, gazing out over the water of Coal Harbour. He’s dressed as always in a three-piece suit, somber gray, not one dark hair out of place. “Harlan,” he greets me with a frown. “Always a pleasure.”

I grunt a hello. Our brother Damian smirks as I join my twin sister, Savannah, at the bar cart. She pokes me with her elbow in greeting as I start fixing myself a Manhattan.

“I see you’re in a black mood,” Graysen says as I add a dash of bitters to my drink. He’s the only one of us without a drink in hand. He works here, lives here, does most everything here—instead of spending time with his fiancée. I assume he fucks his secretary here, too, but maybe that’s because I find it rather soothing to underestimate people. It’s a far better bet than hoping they’ll surprise me.

“When is Harlan not in a black mood?” Damian quips.

I ignore them all as I cross the room to my favorite chair, pausing only to raise my glass to the wedding portrait of our grandparents over the fireplace. It’s still there, the sharp thing in my throat. And now comes the burning in my esophagus, the acid reflux that kicks up every time I see Granddad’s face.

Stoddard Vance, our billionaire grandfather, died only a few months ago. Stoddy . I was the only one of his grandkids who called him that. My granddad was the last soft spot I had left.

I pop open the top button of my shirt, trying to clear my throat of that sharp thing as I park myself in the big wingback chair I used to sit in while Granddad and I talked finances over drinks. I’d love to tear off my shoes, but that might reveal how uncomfortable I am, and I can feel my brothers watching me.

“Anything in particular piss you off today?” Damian inquires. He lounges on the sofa across from me in a stylish graphite-gray suit, suave as hell, but taking himself way less seriously than the rest of us.

“Can’t stand that bodyguard of yours, Savi,” I deflect. I don’t need anyone digging into my private business, and that includes my mood. “Haven’t we retired him yet?”

Savannah looks affronted and pauses in her stroll across the room, drink in hand. “What’s your problem with Peter? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“The man’s losing his hearing. What kind of bodyguard doesn’t even hear me approaching in time to open a door? I could’ve mugged him if I wanted to.”

She scoffs. “It’s not my bodyguard’s job to open doors for you.”

“Don’t take it personally, Savannah.” Jameson saunters into the room, last and borderline late, like the prince he truly thinks he is; impeccable designer suit, wavy sun-kissed hair, magazine cover perfect. “You know Harlan hates everyone.”

“Present company included,” I mutter.

Jamie just smiles at me. He takes a seat next to Damian, not bothering with a drink. He’s been in such a good mood lately, it’s kind of revolting.

“Anyway, this isn’t an employee review,” Savi says crisply, annoyed with me, as she sits down. “We’re here to play the game.” She raises her glass to Jamie, and Damian follows suit. “As we all know, we have reason to celebrate. Jameson completed his challenge.”

“How thoughtful of him to show up on time, then,” I remark.

Savi frowns and sips her drink.

“Well played, Jameson.” Damian shakes Jamie’s hand in congratulations, eyes twinkling. “We all knew you could do it.” We knew no such thing. But I genuinely think Damian’s enjoying this bullshit. He always has loved a game, especially one he thinks he can win. Just like Granddad. “One down, four more to go.”

“Yup,” Jamie says. “Time to draw a new name from the box.”

Granddad’s cigar box sits on the coffee table between us. I’m trying to ignore it. But the straight edges of the box don’t line up perfectly parallel to the edges of the table, and I’ve been itching to straighten it since I sat down.

We’re here to play the next round of the game that we’ve been forced to play according to our granddad’s will. We each need to complete a personal challenge, devised in secret by our siblings, that will “test what we’re made of,” in order to earn our inheritances, one by one. Today, the name of the next player in the game and their challenge will be drawn randomly from the box.

The stakes of the game are clear: win—or lose everything.

And I’m dreading my turn to play, more than I’d ever admit to any of them.

Because I can’t even be sure that my siblings don’t actually want me to lose this game.

Losing people you love makes you break or it makes you hard. That’s what Grandma said years ago, just before she died, and I guess she thought it was fortifying wisdom. As if being hard is a virtue. My dad was already dead. Mom wasn’t dead, but she was pretty much dead to me. And maybe Grandma knew I wasn’t going to end up with some happily ever after. I wasn’t Jameson.

Maybe she knew I was already hardening and she wanted to make it okay.

But just because you’re hard doesn’t mean you’re not brittle as hell.

“So,” I drawl, stalling. “Jameson slept with a sweet, small-town girl, who just happens to be beautiful, for months , while engaged to her, but didn’t fuck her. This is the story he’s selling, and we’re believing it?”

“It’s not a story, Harlan,” Jameson informs me, his blue eyes cutting. “It’s not a lie. You can ask Megan. She’s an honest person, and she’ll tell you the truth.”

“No need. I’m sure your fiancée will tell the exact same story you do.”

“Because it’s the truth.” The look on Jamie’s face says he’d really love to punch me, if only he could. Kind of like when we were kids and I was still taller than him, and I’d hold his toys up high so he couldn’t reach them, and he’d squeal at me until I gave them back. Even I couldn’t resist giving him whatever he wanted.

Now he’s taller than me, by like an inch, and I’m sure he loves it.

He stares me down for a stupidly long waste of time during which I ignore him, Savannah sighs, and Damian says, “Can we get on with this? Some of us have businesses to run.”

I finally force out, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jamie mutters.

Savannah shakes her head at me.

It’s not that I don’t want to get along with our youngest brother. I just can’t. It’s chemical or something.

“Let’s just get this done,” Savi prompts.

“Let’s.” Graysen has joined us, and now looms over the seating area where the rest of us have gathered. As usual, everyone seems to be waiting for his lead.

I’ve always thought of our oldest brother as the mountain among us; solid and unmovable. Secure, right down to his molten roots and tectonic plates. Shaped by the forces that created him—our parents and our grandparents—Graysen is the glorious fruit of their best efforts.

I’m more like obsidian. Volcanic glass, jagged and hard, a scar coughed up on the landscape, forged in chaos and fire. Cooled. Solidified. Sharp. But weaker than you’d think.

Even solid black rock is vulnerable to the tides. To the smashing of other rocks against it. To all those forces beyond its control.

Paper and ink.

The will of those who want to see it break.

Graysen picks up the box. “Savannah. Do you want to select the next envelope? Might as well make it tradition.”

“Sure.” Our sister stands, and joins him on the far side of the coffee table. “Here goes.”

As she slips her fingers into the box with anticipation, I get a glimpse of Savannah as a kid. We shared a room until we were eight. As twins, we went through school together. Went away to boarding school together. Mom even dressed us alike, sometimes.

She was my best friend, until she wasn’t.

Sometimes I don’t even know the dark-haired powerhouse of a woman standing in front of me in the smart blue dress, looking so grown up.

As she draws a small gold envelope from the box, I want to look disinterested. Bored, even.

I’m terrified.

Because I can’t be the only one who loses this game. Who loses everything. My inheritance, my ownership in the family business, my place in the family. I’d no longer be Chief Financial Officer of Vance Industries.

My siblings could choose to hire me back, as an employee in their company. But really, would they hire me, if they didn’t have to?

I’m not beloved like Jameson.

I’m not a mastermind like Damian.

I’m not utterly dependable like Graysen.

And Savannah? She’s our only sister. Every one of us would kill for her. She’ll never lose her place among us, whether she realizes it or not.

She reads the name written on the envelope.

“ Harlan .”

Her eyes meet mine. I can’t even tell if that’s pure trepidation or sympathy I see.

I know Jamie’s smiling. I was merciless with him during his challenge.

“Go ahead, open it,” I say blandly. I refuse to appear fazed by any of this. “I’m sure we’re all dying to hear what it is.”

Savannah cracks the red wax that bears our family seal. V for Vance. Then she slips out the card inside. She reads it in silence. I don’t like the worry that etches across her features or the way she seems to deflate.

“Well, shit .” She blows out a hard breath. “You guys… I think we have a problem.”

“We have enough problems,” Damian says lightly, smoothing his tie, as if that changes anything.

“We have one year, collectively, to complete our challenges, right? But with this…” Savannah holds up my challenge card by one corner, barely touching it, like the ink on it is poisonous. The blank side is to the rest of us. “I’m getting concerned that we’ll run out of time.”

“Well, Jamie’s challenge only took three months.” Damian gets to his feet. “We still have nine months left.” He moves to stand at her shoulder, reads the card, and chuckles under his breath. “Harlan could do that in one day. One minute.” He gives me a look. “He could do it tonight .”

“He could.” Savannah meets my eyes again. “But he won’t.”

I say nothing. I won’t bark at them to read me the damn card or hand it over, because that would suggest I care.

“The thing is…” Savi sighs. “The challenge I chose is going to be a long one.”

Graysen sets the cigar box down. “How long?”

“Six months.”

Jamie groans. “Savannah. What the fuck.”

“I didn’t know it would be used in this game, or that there would be a one-year deadline! Granddad never told any of us about the game before he died. How was I to know?”

“Does it have to be six months?” Graysen asks her.

“Yes. Just like Jamie’s challenge lasted for a ninety day period, and we had to wait it out to see if he completed it… the one I chose will last for six months.”

We all look at each other in the ensuing silence, wondering how fucked we are.

“Unless, of course,” Savi adds softly, “the person who receives the challenge fails along the way first.”

No one seems to know what the hell to say to that.

Savannah shows whatever’s written on the card to Graysen, then Jameson. Graysen’s jaw hardens at whatever he sees. Jamie kind of rolls his eyes.

And still, no one tells me what the hell it is. I slug down the rest of my drink in one go.

Damian eyes me, silently assessing.

Graysen’s gaze razors over us, like he’s deciding how best to wrangle a heard of wild animals who threaten to shit all over his living room. He has a habit of looking at us like that. “Okay, let’s just think about the remaining challenges,” he says. “This one, plus the three that are still in the box. Ask yourself, does the one you devised specify a length of time?”

“No,” Damian offers. “Mine can be finished quickly.”

“Mine, too,” I admit. “But knowing the person I chose it for… probably not.”

“Fucking great,” Jamie says. “Mine could be fast, but yeah. Probably not.”

“Well, Granddad gave us the one-year deadline, and he knew exactly what was on the cards,” Graysen reminds us. “So he believed we could do it.”

“If we put aside the ninety days for Jameson’s challenge,” Damian says, “and six months for whoever gets Savannah’s challenge, that leaves three months for the rest, in total. So let’s split it. One month each. That’s the fairest way. Anyone finishes faster, it just adds more time for the others.”

“Any objections?” Graysen asks.

No one objects.

Have they all forgotten that I’m the only one who hasn’t even seen the fucking challenge on the card that’s still dangling from Savannah’s hand like it’s dusted with anthrax?

They all look at me, maybe waiting for me to take the card.

I struggle to still my finger; the end of a stiff upholstery thread, not a quarter of an inch long, pokes out of the seam of the chair under my fingertip, and I can’t stop flicking it. Trying to run my nail over it in exactly the same spot with every flick. It’s impossible to do. The thread’s too soft. It just bends.

Does Graysen know about this thread? How does it not drive him crazy?

Because he’s normal.

He’s not like you.

“Anytime, Harlan,” Jamie grumbles. “It’s not like we have anywhere to be.”

It’s Monday afternoon. We all have places to be.

Graysen plucks the card from Savi’s fingers irritably. “Remember, there are rules here, Harlan. Like it or not, you have to play by Granddad’s rules.”

I’m aware. And it won’t be easy to cheat. Because ultimately it’s up to my siblings to decide if I’ve successfully completed my challenge, if I win or lose the game. This in itself is a no-win situation for someone like me. I value privacy more than I value my next breath.

I won’t live without it.

And having my brothers and sister all up in my personal business?

No.

“And even if it’s the hardest rule…” Savannah adds gently, “you can’t tell anyone about the challenge.” This time, the sympathy in her eyes is clear. “Even her.”

I swallow, the sick taste of dread gathering in my throat again. I don’t even know why.

I don’t know what “her” Savannah means. I barely talk to Mom. And whether my siblings realize it or not, I swore off love long ago. There’s no woman in my life.

Graysen thrusts the card at me. “One month,” he says gravely.

I take the card.

Then I lounge back in my seat to read it, striving to look unaffected, as if the one thing I value most isn’t about to be ripped away by a few handwritten words.