A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 92 - 91

Chapter 92: Chapter 91

I couldn’t stop my eyes from flickering back to the cats, curled up so peacefully on his desk. They looked perfectly content—three little troublemakers completely at ease in the presence of someone who was anything but comforting. It was strange, really. My cats were usually skittish around anyone unfamiliar, yet here they were, as though they belonged.

His Majesty caught my lingering gaze, and without missing a beat, he turned slightly toward the corner of the room. "Sabastine."

Almost instantly, the door creaked open, and Sabastine entered, silent as a shadow. He bowed his head slightly.

"Take the cats away," His Majesty ordered smoothly. "She’s gotten better, but there’s no need to keep them here."

"No!" I blurted before I could stop myself. Swallowing hard, I quickly tried to compose myself. "I mean, I’ve recovered enough, haven’t I? There’s really no harm in letting them stay."

For a moment, His Majesty didn’t respond. He merely leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lazily on the armrest while the other tapped lightly against the desk. The corners of his lips twitched, as if he found my protest amusing. "You’ve gotten better, yes. But fully recovered?" He tilted his head. "Not quite."

I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. "They’re just cats," I muttered under my breath, though I doubted it would go unnoticed.

His Majesty’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Those ’just cats,’ as you call them, have a mana-draining nature. Did you forget that little detail?" He arched a brow, the smirk playing on his lips growing more pronounced.

I bit my lip, the taste of frustration bitter on my tongue. Of course, I hadn’t forgotten. But it wasn’t as though they would drain enough mana to actually harm me—at least, not anymore. Still, arguing with him was like trying to convince a stone wall to move.

Sabastine didn’t wait for further instructions. With a swift, practiced motion, he gathered the cats into his arms. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with an unsettling finality.

I stared at the now-empty space where my cats had been, a hollow ache settling in my chest.

This wasn’t fair.

They were mine, my little comfort in this otherwise overwhelming world, and he had taken them away as if it meant nothing.

"Go have your meal," His Majesty said, interrupting my thoughts. He gestured toward the table set near the window, the light from the setting sun casting a warm glow over the perfectly arranged dishes.

I hesitated, my gaze shifting between him and the table. For some reason, I had expected—hoped—that we would be eating together. The idea of dining alone hadn’t even crossed my mind.

When I didn’t move right away, he raised a brow, a faint smirk on his lips. "What’s the matter?" he drawled, voice laced with mock concern. "Surely you’re not expecting me to join you."

I bristled at his tone, the warmth in my cheeks returning with full force. "Of course not," I muttered, more to myself than to him. Still, I forced my feet to move, each step feeling heavier than the last.

By the time I reached the table, my appetite had all but disappeared. The food looked exquisite—perfectly roasted meat, sauce, fresh bread, an assortment of vegetables—but none of it seemed appealing. I picked up the fork anyway, if only to avoid giving him the satisfaction of knowing how unsettled I felt.

Behind me, I could hear the faint scratch of his quill against parchment, the sound oddly rhythmic in the otherwise silent room. I risked a glance over my shoulder, only to find him fully engrossed in his work once again, as though I wasn’t even there.

It was infuriating.

How could someone be so maddeningly arrogant, so utterly insufferable, and yet... so fascinating? Even now, despite my irritation, I found my gaze lingering on him longer than it should. The way the light caught the sharp angles of his face, the way his fingers moved deftly as he wrote—it was unfair how someone so cruel could also be so captivating.

I forced myself to look away, stabbing a piece of meat with my fork a little harder than necessary. This wasn’t the time to get lost in thoughts about him. Not when he had just taken my cats away without so much as a second thought.

Still, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder—was he truly concerned about my well-being, or was this just another one of his games? With him, it was always hard to tell. He was cunning, cruel, and entirely unpredictable. And yet, despite everything, I found myself wanting to understand him.

I had barely touched my food, but I was still forcing myself to take small bites. Honestly, the meal was too good to waste, even if my mind was elsewhere—on him, on my cats, on everything that had happened recently. The silence in the room felt thick, only interrupted by the occasional scratch of his quill against parchment. I tried to focus on the roasted meat in front of me, but my appetite seemed to have vanished into thin air.

After a while, I couldn’t resist the urge to glance over my shoulder again. And that’s when I noticed it—he was staring at me.

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth, my heart skipping a beat before resuming at double the pace. His crimson eyes were locked on me, unblinking and intense, like he was trying to see past my skin, straight into my soul. His quill was still in his hand, though unmoving, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, looking far too amused for my liking.

Heat crept up my neck, blooming across my cheeks, and I quickly looked back down at my plate, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement I made.

I cleared my throat, trying to ease the tension I felt. "Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" I asked without looking up, trying to keep my voice steady as I pushed a piece of roasted vegetable around my plate.

"No," he replied smoothly, the faintest trace of a smirk in his tone. "Why do you ask?"

I glanced up again, narrowing my eyes. He looked entirely too entertained by this whole situation, and for some reason, that irritated me. So, before I could think better of it, I blurted, "Jealous?"

Silence. For a moment, I thought he might not respond. But then, in that maddeningly calm tone of his, he asked, "Jealous?" As though the very idea was absurd.

I set my fork down, forcing myself to meet his eyes even though it made my stomach flip. "Yes. Jealous that I’m eating while you’re over there drowning in paperwork."

His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, and it took everything I had not to groan aloud.

I had walked right into that one, hadn’t I?

"Jealous of you?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. "No, Darling. The only thing I’m jealous of..." He paused, his voice dropping to a low, almost lazy drawl. "...is your heart."

My fork clattered against my plate as my brain tried—and failed—to process his words. "My... heart?"

His smirk deepened, and he leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "Yes. Because it’s pounding inside you..." He tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the moment before delivering the final blow. "...while I’m not."

Oh goddess.

The fork slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the plate as heat exploded across my face.

I tried to come up with something, anything, to say, but my brain had apparently decided to take a vacation. All I could do was sit there, mouth slightly open, while he watched me with that infuriatingly smug expression.

"You—" I started, but the words stuck in my throat. What was I even supposed to say to that? My heart was practically trying to beat its way out of my chest, and I knew he could hear it. Stupid enhanced senses.

Somehow, I managed to tear my gaze away from him, focusing intently on my plate as if it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. I tried to calm my racing heart, but it was no use. His words kept echoing in my mind, each repetition making my blush deepen further.

I could feel his eyes on me still, and it only made things worse. The air between us felt charged, like a taut string waiting to snap. I hated how easily he could unsettle me, how effortlessly he could turn me into a flustered mess with just a few words.

"You’re insufferable," I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself, but loud enough that I knew he heard. I didn’t dare look at him, though. I wasn’t ready to see that smirk again, not when I was already struggling to keep my composure.

From the corner of my eye, I saw his smirk deepen, clearly pleased with himself. He didn’t say anything further, thankfully, though the tension in the room didn’t lessen in the slightest.