Once, my paranoid love

Obin, having just concluded his conversation with Robert, made his way to Derek’s chamber.

“Boss,” Obin began, his voice composed, “Mr. Robert has agreed, and I have told them what you asked me to tell them.”

Derek regarded Obin with a cold, unwavering gaze. He had orchestrated this elaborate scheme, and now it was unfolding according to his plan.

“If you want to talk, I can arrange for you to meet his daughter now,” Obin suggested, his willingness to execute Derek’s orders apparent.

Derek, however, showed little interest in a personal encounter. His priorities were clear, and his ruthless determination was evident in his response. “There’s no need for it. His daughter does not pique my curiosity. His property comes first, followed by his daughter. And after I have all of her property, I’ll divorce her.”

Obin nodded in agreement with Derek’s plan and replied, “All right. Then tomorrow is final for everything.”

The finality of their conversation hung in the air like a sinister omen. Tomorrow marked the culmination of their carefully laid plans, where Elena’s life and future were at stake.

As Obin contemplated the events that had transpired, a sense of unease settled over him. He couldn’t help but think about Elena, Robert’s daughter, and the role she had unwittingly been thrust into.

“His daughter is stunning,” Obin thought to himself. He couldn’t deny the beauty that Elena possessed, but it was overshadowed by the circumstances that now defined her life. “I feel pity for her; now her life is all about buying and selling products.”

Obin’s hope flickered like a distant beacon. “I’m hoping that the Boss will treat her as a wife with respect and affection. And she may change boss.”

On the other side of the spectrum, Derek, the architect of this elaborate scheme, found himself consumed by thoughts of that girl whom he saved.

“I didn’t ask her name,” Derek mused, his thoughts filled with a sense of intrigue and fascination. He had been drawn to Elena in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and her beauty had left an undeniable impression.

Derek’s concerns then shifted to another matter that had been nagging at him. “And that Lucy, the brat, had been missing for one day. She didn’t answer my phone. Then how will I find her?”

Derek’s eyes bore into Obin’s with a sense of urgency and determination as he issued a directive that carried an air of secrecy and hidden intent. “Obin, look into the incident from the previous night. I need her information as soon as possible.”

Obin nodded in acknowledgment, his commitment to his employer’s orders unwavering. He understood the gravity of the situation and the importance of swift action.

Derek was unaware that the girl he sought was right under his nose, destined to become his wife tomorrow.

**

I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking softly as I stepped into the room, seeking solace in the sanctuary of my own space. The weight of the day’s revelation hung heavy in the air.

Dad had sent Pom to inform me that Mr. Huston had requested to marry me tomorrow. The news had landed on me like a heavy stone, casting a long shadow over the already dark corners of my heart.

Tomorrow was a significant day, one that would alter the course of my life forever. But I wasn’t doing it for love or desire; I was doing it out of sheer necessity, a desperate attempt to escape the pain and frustration that had gotten from him.

I sank onto the bed, tears welling up in my eyes, and grabbed the pillow tightly as if it were my only anchor in a sea of uncertainty. With one hand covering my eyes, I let the tears flow freely, my heart heavy with the weight of my own despair.

“Why does this always happen to me?” I whispered to the empty room, my voice a fragile echo of the turmoil within. “Why did I ever fall in love with you? I hate you.”

My words hung in the air, a bitter lament for a love that had brought nothing but heartache and despair. I knew that I had to face a future that had been thrust upon me-a path I never wanted to tread.

In the midst of my tears and the memories of bad times, I didn’t realize that sleep overtook me. My tears had become my lullaby, and I slipped into an uneasy slumber, haunted by the ghosts of the past.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

But my sleep was abruptly interrupted by a stroke on my cheek-a gentle yet startling touch that brought me back to consciousness. The room was shrouded in darkness, and I blinked, disoriented and unsure of what had just transpired.

As my eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light that filtered into the room, I strained to make out the figure that had touched me. The intruder’s presence was both unexpected and deeply unsettling, casting a shadow of unease over my already troubled mind.

And then the identity of the man in the shadows became clear. It was Paul.

I blinked in disbelief as I saw him sitting on my bed and staring at me. The scent of alcohol hung heavily around him; his disheveled appearance was a stark contrast to the Paul I had known.

I cautiously perched on the edge of the bed, my apprehension growing with each passing moment. “What are you doing in this room?” I asked, my tone stern and tinged with anger. “My door was locked.”

Paul’s gaze remained fixed on me, his eyes clouded by the effects of alcohol.

If he had been with Nikita before coming to me, the realization filled me with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

I pressed my lips together, struggling to contain my anger. Paul’s actions had left me feeling vulnerable and violated. He had no right to intrude on my privacy, especially in the state he was in.

‘I am not his puppet.’

Paul’s presence in my room hung in the air; his eyes locked on mine with a mixture of longing and vulnerability.

“Get out of here, Paul!” I couldn’t contain my anger any longer, and my voice rang out in a sharp command.

But Paul remained unfazed, his expression inscrutable. He seemed unmoved by my outburst, and his next words only added to the confusion.

“Do you think it’s that difficult for me to get into your room?” Paul’s question held an air of mystery, as if he was hinting at something beyond the surface.

Paul’s voice took on a vulnerable tone as he continued, “Can a door separate us, Elena?”

His words left me at a loss about how to respond. The complexities of our history, the emotions we shared, and the pain of recent events seemed to converge in this moment. I had once loved Paul deeply, but the path he had chosen had driven a wedge between us.

Paul approached me slowly, and his touch on my hand was gentle, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. His lips met my hand in a soft kiss, a gesture that held a mixture of longing and regret.

I shook my head, and with a firm jerk of my hand, I implored, “Get out of here! I’m exhausted.”

Paul, undeterred by my request, remained in the room. His response, however, was laced with sarcasm as he muttered, “Tired, hmm?”

The atmosphere grew tense, and I couldn’t fathom why Paul had chosen this moment to confront me. His next question caught me off guard.

“Are you in love with Ron?” Paul inquired, suddenly placing his head on my lap. His tone was searching, and his gaze bore into mine with an intensity that made me uneasy. Paul’s actions and words left me bewildered.

“What nonsense, Paul?” I stammered, my voice wavering. Paul’s head on my lap made me acutely aware of our physical closeness, intensifying the discomfort of the moment.

His searching gaze never wavered as he continued, “Did you guys sleep together last night?” His eyes were misty, the vulnerability within them contrasting sharply with his usual confident demeanor.

I couldn’t help but gasp in surprise, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird. How had he figured it out? It was as if he had seen right through us, despite his inebriated state.

My mind raced as I contemplated my response. Should I deny it, or should I be honest with him? The room seemed to close in on us as I struggled to find the right words.

Paul let out a deep sigh, his breath warm against my thigh, sending shivers down my spine.

“Please, Paul, put an end to this and go to your room. I’m not in a good mood,” I urged, my voice tinged with nervousness. The room felt stifling, and Paul’s unsettling calmness sent shivers down my spine.

Paul, still reclining with his head on my lap, responded with a mocking laugh. “Mood!” he exclaimed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His demeanor had shifted from vulnerability to a disconcerting coldness, leaving me on edge.

I struggled to maintain composure as his questions persisted.

“So it’s true. You were with him last night,” Paul pressed, his misty eyes now filled with suspicion.

“No, it’s not,” I replied firmly, my heart racing. Denying the truth seemed to be the only way to shield Paul from the painful reality of the situation, at least for now. But I couldn’t ignore the growing unease in the room.