Captured Obsession (Insidious Obsession #5)

1. Sienna

SIENNA

T he asshole who’s been trying to get my attention all night bumps into me yet again.

I’m so tempted to turn around and throw my drink in his face.

But that would be bad for my family’s reputation.

I’d know because it’s happened before. The first and only time I did it, just after I turned twenty-one, it blew up in our social circle and marred my father’s name.

I’ve learned since then that anyone can be watching at anytime, and to be careful how I conduct myself publicly.

Now, I’m really regretting coming back to London, that nagging sense of homesickness coming in a nauseating wave so forceful, even the heavy beat of the music is struggling to keep it away.

“Go back to London,” my best friends in New York had encouraged. “Show your ex-fiancé you can make it without him.” And with all the hate of any woman finding her fiancé cheating on her, I bundled that fury to do exactly that.

At least that was the objective. But, somehow, I’ve ended up on another dance floor, drunk yet again, extremely over men, and trying my hardest to drown out the pain that hasn’t lessened in the last three months but instead has turned into visceral rage toward anything with an appendage hanging between their legs.

The girlfriends I came with, whom I met shortly after arriving in London, have suddenly disappeared, and if I’m being completely honest, I’m not too fazed about it.

My true friends—Romi, Ara, and Elanee—are all back home in New York, where part of me feels like I should return.

I wish I were out dancing with them instead.

At least my friend Lily is in Italy, which is closer.

Maybe I should go visit her instead of letting my stubborn dignity hold me back.

I can’t help but feel lonely without them.

What people don't tell you about surprising your fiancé is the chance of walking in and discovering that he's been cheating on you. Or the fact that it takes a lot of time to heal from something like that. Considering I’d moved from New York to London to branch out in my modeling career and try my hand at acting while remaining close to him, I feel nothing short of a fool.

I thought I'd be okay coming back here. Admittedly, I’m driven by proving to both him and myself that I can do this without him.

And although I was in love with him, perhaps we didn't really know one another as well as I thought.

Even thinking about it now makes me so mad my teeth grind at the vivid memory of limbs tangled with one another, in our fucking bed.

I’m bumped into yet again, and this time I turn around and shoot a death-glare at the guy. The look on his face quickly changes as he realizes I'm not in the market to play his little games. He backs away in a hurry, and it doesn’t fill me with even the slightest bit of satisfaction.

I turn around and begin to sway my hips, letting the music take over, trying to let it take me and my souring mood with it.

I've always gotten anything I could ever want.

My father spoils me. I have the best friends anyone could ask for.

And I can travel all over the world whenever I want.

My modeling career has always been fruitful.

But I can't help but think there’s more to life than what I've settled for.

More specifically without having a man in it.

My jaw clenches. Why did I give him such power over me?

My hands roam over my hips as I lose myself in the crowd.

I'm wearing a short black dress that accentuates my long legs and that has enough padding to push up my ample breasts.

I'm not here for men's attention; I don't need their validation.

I'm here for me, to remind myself that I'm sexy as fuck no matter what.

With my thoughts turning to my ex, Michael, I decide it's time for another drink. I push through the tightly-packed crowd as couples dry hump one another on the dance floor. As I make my way to the bar, I can't help but think maybe I should call it a night.

When I get to the bar, I tap my nails on the smooth edge of the bar top, admiring the exclusive club.

It’s in an old building that was recently refurbished, and has high ceilings with lights flashing across the masses.

Solid pillars keep the building erect, also offering hidden pockets of darkness for those who are feeling more promiscuous.

A few booths look over the dance floor, and I scan the many faces I recognize, from up-and-coming celebrities to socialites.

This is the place to be, which is precisely why I come here.

A cold chill runs down my spine, and every hair on my arms pricks to attention.

My gaze immediately locks on a pair of dark eyes that watch me from across the bar.

My next breath comes in short from the intensity of his stare.

I can't look away from the stranger whose gaze reminds me of a snake’s, as if I’m ensnared by his otherworldly hold.

A scar runs down the left side of his face, splitting his eyebrow and going all the way down his cheek to his top lip. His lips are pressed in a thin line, and a light dusting of scruff shadows his jaw. He’s huge, easily six foot seven, towering over those who stand beside him.

My gaze snags on matching tattoos that skate up his neck on either side, peeking from the collar of his tight black shirt that barely seems to contain his muscles.

I’m pulled out of my shameless staring, trying to figure out the tattoos, when another man comes to whisper into his ear. I look away, as if the spell is broken, but take another peek. Is this man even real, or have I really had too much vodka?

His lips are moving as he speaks, but his gaze never leaves mine.

It's only then I consider that I haven't been with anyone since my ex. And maybe a stranger who looks that good could be the exception. No strings, no attachment, no expectation. Just your girl here trying to pick up what little dignity she has left after feeling like such a fool. Though I certainly know if I were to sleep with a man like that, I’d most likely end up in a body bag. He oozes a feral, predatory aura.

Yeah, that’s a no. Even for me.

The bartender stops in front of me, pulling my focus from the man at the other end of the bar. But instead of asking what I’d like to drink, he offers me a Cosmopolitan, which is my usual drink of choice, but not what I've ordered tonight.

My eyebrows dip in confusion as the bartender says, “This drink was ordered for you.”

“By whom?” I ask.

The bartender looks over his shoulder and points toward the vacant space where the man once stood. Despite his size, I can’t find him amongst the crowd. “He's gone now, but some big guy wearing all black. ”

I nod in thanks but push the drink away.

I'm certainly not risking drinking something a stranger purchased me. And as attractive as he might be, even as a mental fantasy, I'm not risking being taken advantage of or even worse. A man like that looks like he’s capable of kidnapping. I roll my eyes—okay, that’s maybe a little dramatic and judgmental.

I order a vodka and soda, and as I wait, I look over my shoulder, scanning the dance floor, trying to spot my friends.

And then I hear one of the girls I came out with tonight, talking nearby to the same guy that kept bumping into me on the dance floor.

They’re clearly oblivious to me standing so closely to them.

“Yo, Harmony, your blonde friend’s stiff. Think you could help me out with getting her back to my place?” My jaw clenches, knowing he’s referring to me.

She chuckles. “Good luck with that one. She's on a man-hating spree at the moment. She found her ex-fiancé cheating on her with another woman three months ago, and isn't showing a lick of attention toward men.”

“That's total bullshit. It always annoys me when some guys ruin it for the rest of us. Especially when it comes to the hot ones. I've seen her in magazines. Do you know how good it would look for me to hook up with a real model?”

“Shut up, Noel. Didn't you already go on dates this week?”

“Yeah, but I'm not a man who can be contained. I'm not ready to settle down yet, and I didn’t say anything about a date.”

Fucking asshole. I stop listening to the conversation as the bartender brings me my drink.

I give him my card and look down, throwing back half of it in one go, but it does nothing to help me forget about being so publicly humiliated or to shift the irritation unfurling in my heart.

I’m no longer interested in what it has to offer me.

Why is it that even in an exclusive club, somehow my pain becomes a conversation point when I'm just trying my hardest to move on from it?

I leave the half-finished drink on the bar and glance down at my phone screen, seeing it's five minutes to midnight. Well, so much for a Cinderella story since it seems all the men around me are toads.

I’m making my way to the exit, when a commotion between two men fighting over God knows what blocks the path. Instead, I opt for the second exit that I saw close to the women's bathroom at the back.

As I make my way through the crowd, I receive a text from Romi.

Romi: Hey, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. If you have time today, call me.

I can't help but smile. The flood of warmth in her message is exactly what I need right now. She’s a real friend.

This is the most she's been messaging me over the last few months because she was dealing with her own issues, and I didn't want to burden her with mine. But now that she seems to be healing from her grief from the loss of one of her friends, I think it’s okay for me to call her back. Just to hear her voice, and because I know she absolutely won’t let me return to New York with my tail between my legs.

Even if I am feeling horribly homesick right now.