Fatal Obsession: The Death of Us

This was the thirty-third time I caught Vance and my stepsister stark naked in a hotel room.

He smashed a liquor bottle and drove the jagged glass toward his own groin.

Flying shards of glass sliced across my cheek.

He stared at me like I was a totally unreasonable lunatic. "Could you just let me go?"

Watching the blood instantly soak the bedsheets red, I felt a sudden, disorienting wave of blankness.

After all, during our most vicious standoff, I had floored the gas pedal and driven toward a cliff with my stepsister in the passenger seat just to force him to come home. His response? He dragged my mother in front of the car, standing right beside her, and sneered, asking if I still wanted him home.

Vance and I were like two beasts trapped in a colosseum, proving our existence by tearing each other apart. Neither of us would back down. Neither of us would let go.

But now, shielding my stepsister behind him, his eyes held nothing but profound exhaustion. "Don't hurt Lorna. I'm tired. Just let me go."

He was conceding. For my stepsister.

This tragic, belated surrender reduced my last five years of paranoia and obsession into an absolute joke.

My hand had been hidden inside my coat pocket the whole time. Now, my fingertips slowly relaxed their death grip on the crumpled ultrasound slip.

Staring at the blood-soaked bed and the way he protectively shielded her, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me.

I truly didn't have the strength to play this game with him anymore. It was time to end it.

...

I didn't storm in and smash every single thing in the room like I had the previous thirty-two times.

"Vance, come home with me. We need to talk." My voice was unnervingly calm.

Vance gritted his teeth, his body trembling slightly from the pain, but his tone was unspeakably cruel. "And if I say no? Sloane, do you have any idea that you're acting like an absolute psycho right now? Lorna is pregnant. She can't handle this extreme suffocation from you."

Pregnant. The word ground against my eardrums like a rusty saw.

I locked eyes with him, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Is she? So what. Vance, you are coming with me today. Or else, you know exactly what I'll do to her."

This used to be our most effective mode of communication—proving our control by threatening to destroy whatever the other cherished most.

Vance's expression instantly darkened. He knew me too well; he knew I had a hundred ways to make Lorna's life a living hell in this city.

Out of nowhere, he let out a laugh—a sound dripping with a chilling, hair-raising mania.

"You're always like this, Sloane. You really think you can control everything?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him that I was pregnant too. That I was two months along.

I had come here with the ultrasound in my pocket. I wanted to tell him that we finally had a normal bond, that we could finally stop this torturous game.

But right then, Lorna, still cowering behind him, suddenly clutched her stomach and let out a blood-curdling scream. "Vance... my stomach hurts so bad... save me, the baby..."

I knew her pathetic acting skills all too well. As a doctor, I could tell at a single glance that she was faking it.

But Vance couldn't see it. Or rather, he didn't want to.

Ignoring the blood spurting from his own leg, he turned and scooped Lorna up into his arms.

He rushed toward the door, where I stood blocking the way.

"Move!" Vance roared at me, his eyes bloodshot like a rabid beast.

I didn't budge. I looked at him, desperately trying to find even a sliver of feigned hesitation in those eyes that used to hold only me.

"And if I don't move today, Vance?" I heard my own raspy voice ask.

"Get the hell out of my way!"

He gave me zero time to react. Freeing up one hand, he shoved me back with brutal force.

It was the full, explosive strength of a grown man driven by sheer panic.

I stumbled in my heels, my entire body flying backward like a kite with a snapped string.

My abdomen slammed hard against the sharp edge of the marble console table in the entryway.

Agonizing pain instantly pierced through my stomach, as if multiple blades were frantically churning inside my womb.

I collapsed to the floor, my vision going pitch-black around the edges.

Vance didn't even pause to spare me a glance. Holding Lorna tight, he stepped right over my body and bolted out the door.

"Hang on, Lorna, I'm taking you to the hospital right now." His voice, brimming with anxiety and tenderness, faded down the hallway.

Curled up on the floor, I clutched my stomach. The pain made it impossible to even breathe. I could feel a warm gush of liquid slowly trailing down between my thighs, soaking through my dress and blooming into a dark red flower on the carpet.

It was my blood and Vance's blood, mixed together until you couldn't tell them apart.

With excruciating effort, I twitched my lips, trying to call for help, but all that surged up my throat was the sticky, metallic taste of copper.

I stared up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling as my sight slowly blurred out of focus.

I suppose I wouldn't need to tell him I was pregnant anymore. Because this was the answer he had given me.

I had once honestly believed that we could stay entangled in this sick psychological warfare forever. But now I knew—twisted, pathological love was always destined for destruction.

I stopped fighting it, closed my eyes, and let the darkness swallow me whole.