A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 100 - 99

Chapter 100: Chapter 99

I woke up with a gasp, choking on air as if I had been drowning in my sleep. My chest burned, my lungs struggling to take in enough oxygen. My hands clutched at the fabric over my heart, my pulse erratic, hammering against my ribs.

The room spun violently, the lingering traces of the dream clinging to me like cobwebs. My skin was clammy, sweat trickling down my temples, sticking my hair to my face. My breath came out in ragged, uneven bursts.

A soft, concerned meow reached my ears.

I blinked, trying to focus. One of my cats rubbed against me, nudging my arm gently, its warmth grounding me for a moment. I tried to push myself up, but the dizziness slammed into me with the force of a wave, and the world tilted. My legs buckled before I could even find my balance.

I collapsed, the cold floor meeting me in an unforgiving embrace.

The impact sent another jolt of nausea through me. My arms trembled as I tried to push myself up, but my limbs felt too weak, too heavy.

Then the door burst open.

The sound of it slamming against the wall rang through the room like thunder.

I lifted my gaze just in time to see him.

The Lycan King.

He stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, his piercing gaze locked onto me. Shadows clung to him like an extension of his own presence, his dark clothing blending into the dim candlelight.

His eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—scanned me from head to toe, narrowing slightly as they landed on my trembling form. But before he could utter a single word, I rasped out the question that burned on my tongue, raw and desperate.

"Did you kill James?"

Silence.

He took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "Are you—"

"I SAID," my voice cracked as I forced myself up on shaking arms, my body still betraying me, "DID YOU KILL JAMES?!"

His gaze remained steady.

Then, without hesitation, he answered.

"Yes."

A sharp inhale caught in my throat.

My nails dug into the floor beneath me, the cold seeping into my skin.

"Why?" I whispered.

No answer.

The silence stretched between us.

My lips parted again, my voice hoarse. "Why?!"

His expression didn’t change. "He irritated me."

Something inside me snapped.

A laugh—soft, breathless, and bitter—escaped me. It bubbled up, growing louder until it twisted into something raw and humorless. My shoulders trembled as I laughed, the sound hollow.

It felt insane. Because what else was there to do?

Of course. Of course, it was something as simple, as insignificant as irritation.

James was dead because of a mood.

I pressed a hand to my face, inhaling sharply. My fingers were still trembling.

"Elara," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "Were you the reason she no longer comes close to me?"

The Lycan King remained still.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Did you do something to her?"

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You saw how she reacted that day," he stated smoothly. "She doesn’t want you here."

That wasn’t an answer.

I clenched my fists. "That doesn’t mean—"

"She isn’t fit to serve you."

My breath hitched.

Not fit to serve me.

Not that she didn’t want to. Not that she made the choice. But that he decided.

Something inside my chest twisted violently.

I had been so blind.

I had spent so much time in this cursed tower, second-guessing my own thoughts, convincing myself that maybe—just maybe—I had found something worth holding onto.

I had ignored the signs. The way people disappeared. The way I had been isolated. The way he had ensured I had no one but him.

My laugh this time came out shakier, weaker. The room blurred slightly from the tears burning at the edges of my vision.

"The goddess was right," I whispered.

His expression darkened.

My lips parted. The words were barely there, almost too painful to ask.

"Do you... love me?"

The question hung between us.

And for the first time since I had met him, the Lycan King hesitated.

A flicker of something—Conflict?—crossed his sharp features, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Then, at last, he gave me his answer.

"No."

The breath left my lungs.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "I am not capable of such feelings."

Something inside me shattered.

The goddess had been right.

I had been a fool.

More tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless as they trailed down my cheeks, dripping onto the cold stone floor beneath me. My heart—if it wasn’t already shattered—felt like it had been ripped apart by his words. The weight of it pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I didn’t know why I had asked. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, I had hoped he would hesitate longer, that something in his expression would soften, that maybe—just maybe—he would lie to me.

But he didn’t.

Because he meant it.

And now, standing here, shaking and heartbroken, I felt stupid.

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself onto unsteady legs. My knees trembled, weak from the overwhelming emotions that swirled inside me like a storm, but I refused to stay on the floor. I refused to be small in front of him.

He watched me, his gaze unreadable, his face calm—too calm.

"I—" My voice cracked, my throat raw from everything I had screamed at him just moments ago. I swallowed, blinking back the tears, trying to steady myself.

"I reject you."

It was barely above a whisper, but it carried weight. A finality that even I wasn’t ready for.

His expression didn’t change. He simply watched.

The tears came faster now, slipping down my face as my entire body trembled. I staggered back a step, my breathing uneven.

"I reject you!" I choked out louder, as if saying it again would make it hurt less. As if saying it again would undo everything I had ever felt for him.

But nothing changed.

Nothing except the unbearable, crushing ache inside my chest.

The room spun violently, my vision tilting as the world around me became hazy. My legs gave out before I could stop them, and I collapsed, my knees slamming against the cold floor.

A sharp gasp escaped me as pain flared through my body, but it was nothing compared to the pain clawing at my insides, suffocating me from within.

Then suddenly, he moved.

He was at my side in an instant, his hand reaching toward me—

"Breathe," he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with something almost like urgency.

Breathe?

How could I when it felt like my lungs had been crushed? When the weight of everything threatened to suffocate me?

His fingers brushed my arm, trying to steady me, but I jerked away, my body reacting before I even realized it.

I slapped his hand away.

"Don’t. Fucking.Touch me!"

My voice was hoarse, broken, but laced with pure, unfiltered rage.

His eyes darkened slightly, not with anger, but something else—something I couldn’t place, and I didn’t care to.

I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to breathe the same air as him.

I dug my fingers into the floor beneath me, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the shaking.

A part of me had hoped—had prayed—that saying the words would bring relief, that rejecting him would somehow sever this unbearable pain.

But it didn’t.

It only made it worse.

The silence in the room was thick—suffocating, almost.

I was still on the floor, my body trembling, my breathing uneven. My chest ached like something had broken inside me, something deep, something that couldn’t be fixed with time or words.

And him?

The Lycan King stood there, unmoving, unreadable, his gaze heavy on me.

I didn’t look at him. I refused to.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered in my mind, but I heard it. Footsteps—calculated, steady—entered the room, then stopped abruptly.

A pause.

A hesitation.

"...Your Majesty?"

Sabastine.

His voice was careful, uncertain. He felt it too. The weight in the air, the tension that coiled around the room like an invisible force, thick enough to choke on.

No response.

I heard Sabastine shift, felt his gaze flicker between us, assessing the situation with sharp eyes.

Another pause.

A heavy silence stretched between the three of us, pressing down like an unbearable weight.

Then, finally—finally—the Lycan King moved.

His boots clicked against the floor as he took a slow, deliberate step back. He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp, controlled.

"Call a maid for her."

His voice was calm. Deceptively calm.

And then he turned.

Without another glance in my direction, he marched toward the door, his footsteps heavy, his presence suffocating even as he moved to leave.

I kept my eyes on the floor, forcing my breathing to steady, forcing myself not to react.

Not to let him see how completely, utterly wrecked I was.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And just like that, he was gone.