The Art of Obsession (Savage Stalkers #1)

48. “Acheron is not the only one who will punish you.”

48

“Acheron is not the only one who will punish you.”

Chapter Playlist:

“The Lovers” – Nine Inch Nails

“Haunting” - Halsey

EVERLEIGH

Dinner feels like a slow, torturous death.

The food is exquisite, the wine flows freely, and Dorian’s charm is suffocating. Every word he says is polished to perfection, every smile calculated. The pleasantries rot my stomach lining, but I force myself to endure it.

Afterward, Dorian suggests a walk along the beach. The moonlight glows over the sand, and the gentle crash of the waves would be soothing if I weren’t walking beside him .

“Isn’t this better?” he asks, his tone soft and almost genuine. “The open air, the sea. It’s freedom, Everleigh.”

I stop walking, the weight of his words pressing on me. “Freedom?” I repeat, my voice tight. “I don’t know if I can ever feel free. Acheron will come for me. He will never stop.”

Dorian’s expression darkens before smoothing into a placid mask. “He cannot touch you here. I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t know if I can ever feel protected or safe again…” I murmur, looking down.

“It will take time to heal. I will do whatever I can to aid in that process,” he says soberingly.

I look up, facing him, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. “I’m pregnant,” I say, the words heavy and raw. “With his child. He won’t stop until he finds me. Until he finds us .”

Dorian hesitates, his jaw tightening as if to restrain himself. Then, a slow, unsettling smile spreads across his face. “Acheron isn’t the only one prone to obsession, Everleigh.”

Suspicion gnaws on me, and I take a step back. “What does that mean?”

“Come with me,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, coaxing tone as he extends his palm to me. His fingers are calloused just like Cal’s but more tattoos. Less scars.

Before I can protest, he pulls a blindfold from his pocket. “It’s for security reasons,” he explains, though the glint in his eyes makes my skin crawl. “Trust me.”

I don’t trust him, but he takes my wrist, turns me around, and blindfolds my eyes before I can protest. He takes me by the waist, and I hiss at the touch. The blindness is staggering, and his grip is unyielding, pushing more fear through my veins. The sound of the waves fades, replaced by the echo of our footsteps on polished floors.

When the blindfold comes off, I’m standing in a room that overlooks the ocean, the walls made of glass. But it’s not the view that steals my breath—it’s the exhibit .

Everywhere I look, there’s me.

A colossal canvas dominates one wall, a painting of me in excruciating detail. A naked painting. My face, my body, captured with an intimacy that feels invasive. Surrounding it are collages of photographs—moments I didn’t even know were being captured. Me walking through the cemetery, the same one where Cal found me. Me at the club. Images

from the cabin….of Cal with me that night. And dozens more from the first exhibit, Cal’s exhibit.

There is also a King-sized bed, bookshelves, a writing desk, all copycats of Cal’s exhibit because Dorian isn’t original enough to select different ones.

My chest tightens, and I stagger back a step. “What is this?”

“This,” Dorian says, his voice brimming with pride, “is my masterpiece. My tribute to you.”

I don’t have time to process before movement from beyond the glass diverts me. My breath hitches as Elliot bursts into the room, his face a mask of fury. “This isn’t what we agreed to, Dorian!”

Dorian turns slowly, his calm demeanor unshaken. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, Carlysle.”

The sudden gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. Elliot collapses to the floor, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes wide and unseeing. The scent of gunpowder and smoke fills the air, and Dorian smirks, blowing upon the muzzle before eyeing me from the side.

Horror storms through me at the sight of my boss, the one man I trusted most, who was always kind, lying lifeless on the exhibit floor. The second I lunge for the open door, Dorian seizes my wrist and pins me against the nearest wall. I cry out, clutching my stomach as if I can shield my unborn child from the madness. My breaths come in short, panicked gasps.

With a sinister smile, Dorian cups one side of my face, his touch cold and possessive. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Everleigh darling,” he says, nostrils flaring as he breathes in my scent. “No one will take you from me now. You belong to me.”

I flinch as his hand moves to my stomach, his palm resting over the life growing inside me.

“I’ll take full responsibility for the child,” he says, his voice low and almost reverent. “And I’ll make sure the babe never knows their unworthy father.”

Heart ricocheting in my chest with rage pulsing through me, I shove hard at Dorian and snarl, “Get the fuck away from me!” My fists tremble as he advances back to me with danger darkening his green eyes. “Only I get to decide who is worthy of me, Dorian. You’re nothing but a twisted coward hiding behind your obsession. You will never control me, and you sure as hell won’t touch my child!”

You’re a queen, Evie! Keep fighting. He will never own you!

Before I can move, Dorian grips my throat, growls, and squeezes, constricting my air flow until I’m thrashing and struggling against him. But he’s strong, his muscles flexing as he overcomes me. No matter how much I scratch and claw, my vision darkens. He tilts his head, his smile twisted, disturbed before he loosens his hold, letting me gasp for breath.

“You will think better of me in time, Evie darling.”

Oh, he did NOT just call you MY pet name for you! Cherry shakes her fist, her wings

vibrating with rage. She’s so loud and clear, I see her illusion, my figment trying to launch at Dorian, only to go right through him as a mirage does. She’s projecting what I want to do, but I can’t escape.

Nothing could prepare me for the kiss. Oh, god, he wrecks me! Not like Cal. He doesn’t explore and worship me. Dorian forces my lips open, tongue stabbing deep inside, controlling me with the steeled muscle of his jaw. My bones turn to liquid, and he grips my wrists, shoving them above my head. I choke on his tongue penetrating my throat. He dominates me, conquers me.

An icy, soul-crushing terror washes through me because Dorian proves how he’s in this forever. He will wear me down just as Cal did, ripping down my defenses, chipping away at any bit of resistance. I’ll have no choice but to submit. He will rape me. But not like Cal.

No matter how brutal Cal was, he was the God of Art worshiping his Muse, his Goddess. He beautified me, carved himself in my skin and in my blood, and treated me like his art, his obsession.

Dorian sees me as a prize…and revenge for his inferiority to the true God of Art.

I hate the way he tastes, how he smells. Too fresh. Too clean. A pretty disguise for the demon beneath.

His lips, his teeth roam along my jaw and down my neck. No, he doesn’t arouse me or ignite my blood like Cal, but my body still responds. A flush spreads along my skin. My nipples bud. And the asshole knows.

His dark chuckle confirms as he pushes the straps of the dress off my shoulders and rips it from my frame. I lurch, heart slamming against my chest from the violation.

He doesn’t let me cover myself.

“Hmm…I think we will keep these.” He touches a finger along my nipple, the red diamonds at each end of the barbell. I hiss, shutting my eyes from the action.

When he lowers his mouth to my breast, I buck, but he forces me against the glass, forbidding any struggle as he plants a tender, manipulative kiss upon each nipple.

A brush of his knuckles on my cheek has me cringing. Bile swirls in my stomach at his proximity, at the taste of him on my lips, and the countless degradation collages of myself.

His strong hand palms my pussy above the cotton underwear. Tears streak down my cheeks because…

“You’re wet, my darling.” He smirks, his green eyes gleaming.

His other hand releases my wrists, too assured in his effect on me. But the second I’m free, I swing my hand and strike him as hard as I can on his cheek. Oh, god…his head doesn’t snap back. Because if

there’s one thing he has in common with Cal, it’s his brute strength, honed from all his performances. But his gaze turns darker than ever upon me, the fury in his clenched teeth.

“You will regret that, Everleigh,” he growls, eyes narrowing. “Acheron is not the only one who will punish you.”

My heart sinks as he steps back, slowly…too slowly. I hold my arms over my chest, covering my flushed skin. That’s when I see it. He picks up a dress draped over the bed. White but sheer with a long lacy train.

My heart breaks. My stomach plummets. It’s a wedding gown. He holds it out to me, his smile widening.

“Put it on or I will do it for you,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re getting married.”