His captive, His obsession

XANDRA'S POV

The night swallowed me the moment I stepped into the club.

Bass thundered through the floor. Red and violet lights cut through the dark, catching faces, expensive clothes, and people pretending their lives were more interesting than they were. The air smelled of perfume, alcohol, and trouble.

My kind of night.

Heads turned as I walked in. Whispers followed. They always did.

My name is Xandra Leo. Eighteen. Ocean-blue eyes, long dark hair, and a face that had earned me more attention than I'd ever asked for. Some called me an angel. Others called me a heartbreaker. Personally, I preferred trouble. At least trouble didn't pretend to be innocent.

I had a twin brother, Xander. He'd left home to start his own life, and honestly, his absence was the closest thing to peace I'd had in a long time. He had a terrible habit of treating me like I was made of glass. Where are you going? Who are you meeting? Why are you home so late? Questions. Rules. Restrictions.

I loved him. I always would.

I just wouldn't admit that the apartment had been very quiet since he left.

Now nobody watched over my shoulder, and I intended to keep it that way.

"Xandra!"

Charlotte waved at me from the VIP section, surrounded by our usual crowd. I crossed the floor, heels clicking, and dropped into an empty seat.

"You're late."

"Yet you survived. I'm impressed."

The table laughed. People expected me to be entertaining. At school I was the girl everyone talked about: player, flirt, heartbreaker. I'd heard them all. The funny part was that most of them had never spoken to me properly. People loved inventing stories about things they didn't understand, and I'd stopped correcting them long ago.

"Truth or Dare!" Charlotte announced.

Groans and cheers.

"Please. Try something original."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I have something special planned."

I knew that smile. It meant someone was about to regret being born.

A bottle appeared. The first few rounds were harmless: embarrassing confessions, ridiculous dances. Then the bottle spun again, slower, slower, until it stopped.

Pointing at me.

"Truth or dare, Xandra?"

"Dare."

Charlotte's smile widened. "I dare you to give Harrison a lap dance for five minutes."

The table exploded. Harrison, the boy every girl wanted and every guy secretly competed with, sat across from me with an amused look, waiting for me to back down.

I tilted my head. "That's the big dare? I expected better."

I stood. "Start the timer."

For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely surprised.

Good.

I settled onto his lap, placed his hands at my waist, and moved with the rhythm, aware of every eye on us. His confident smile faltered.

"You look nervous," I murmured.

"You're imagining things."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

When the timer went off, I returned to my seat without a second glance. Someone joked that Harrison had forgotten how to function.

"What can I say? I'm unforgettable."

"You're insufferable," Charlotte said.

"And yet you love me."

"Unfortunately."

For a while everything was exactly as it should be: music, friends, freedom. No rules. No one asking me to explain myself.

Then the room tilted slightly.

The alcohol, probably. Did that stop me from heading to the bar? Of course not.

I straightened my dress and slipped into the crowd. I didn't notice the man on the balcony above me. I didn't notice the dark eyes following every step, or the way the air around him seemed to change.

I was too busy enjoying my freedom to realize someone had just become interested in taking it away.

WYATT'S POV

I hated clubs. Too much noise, too many idiots who thought money made them untouchable.

Yet there I stood on the VIP balcony of a place I'd never have visited under ordinary circumstances. The mafia meeting earlier had been a waste of time: too many excuses, too many men forgetting that loyalty wasn't something I asked for twice. I'd come looking for a distraction.

Instead, I found her.

She didn't look extraordinary at first. Just another beautiful face in a room full of people desperate to be noticed. Then I watched her. She had a confidence that bordered on recklessness. She moved through the crowd as if everyone else were background noise, and she wasn't trying to impress anyone.

That was what caught me. Everyone wanted something from me: money, protection, power. My name alone could make people forget how to breathe.

She didn't even know I existed.

Not that I hadn't known hers for a long time.

I watched her accept a dare and settle onto some boy's lap. He looked pleased with himself. She looked bored. When it ended, she walked away as though he were an item crossed off her evening.

"Heartless devil!"

I didn't turn. Only a handful of people were stupid enough to call me that within earshot, and one of them worked for me.

"Sebastian Wyatt!"

I closed my eyes briefly. "Derry. What?"

"That's a lovely greeting."

"Do you want a better one?"

"No, sir." His amusement vanished. "We've located the man who leaked information to the rival organization."

Finally. Something worth my attention.

"Keep him alive. I'll deal with him myself."

I handed him my glass and headed for the stairs. That should have been the end of my evening.

Halfway down, someone collided with me. A glass shattered. Cold alcohol soaked my black shirt.

I looked down at the stain, then slowly raised my eyes.

The girl from the dance floor. She stared at me for about two seconds before a small, drunken laugh escaped her.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, sir."

She sounded anything but.

Most people knew better than to touch me without permission. This girl had ruined an expensive shirt, laughed about it, and now rested her hands on my shoulders to steady herself.

"I'm not myself right now, so please don't take it personally."

"You're drunk."

"Very observant."

Derry made a strangled sound beside me.

She blinked up at me, unaware she was speaking to a man whose name could turn a room cold. "Are you always this quiet?" I said nothing. She tilted her head. "Okay. Mysterious. I see you."

Derry turned away, shoulders shaking.

There was no fear in her eyes. No recognition. No desperate attempt to charm me. And for reasons I couldn't explain, I found that refreshing.

"Move," I said quietly.

She stepped aside, still smiling. "Have a nice night, mysterious stranger."

I walked past her without a threat, without demanding an apology, without looking back. But something had changed, and I disliked things I couldn't control.

Derry caught up. "Well. That was unexpected."

"Speak again and you'll walk home."

He lasted three seconds. "Who is she?"

I stopped. "Do you have a death wish?"

"Just curiosity."

"Find something else to be curious about."

In the car, the leather smelled of cologne and rain. Derry waited until the driver pulled away before opening his mouth.

"So."

"No."

"You don't know what I'm going to say."

"I know you."

He sighed. "Fine. Who was the girl?"

"My mother."

Derry stared at me, then laughed, not politely, like a man who had forgotten what his employer could do with one phone call.

"Finished?"

"Almost." He wiped his eyes. "I've watched you stare down men twice your size. And tonight a random girl spills a drink on you, laughs in your face, and you don't even raise your voice."

"Perhaps I'm becoming a better person."

"You're becoming something." He studied me. "You like her."

"No."

"You want to know her name."

I said nothing.

His grin widened. "Oh, that's even better."

I didn't believe in fate. I believed in decisions, consequences, and the fact that every weakness eventually became someone else's weapon. Interest in a stranger was a weakness, and I had no intention of letting it grow.

"Forget her," I ordered.

"Of course."

He wouldn't. Neither would I.

XANDRA'S POV

Two days later, Harrison had a problem, and the problem was me.

Ever since the club, he'd been asking me to be his girlfriend. At first it was amusing, then flattering, now just annoying. He was attractive and charming when he wanted to be. I could have said yes and played the role everyone expected.

But I didn't want someone checking my phone or questioning my whereabouts. I'd fought too hard for my freedom to hand it over because someone had a crush.

My phone buzzed.

Harrison: Meet me by the pool after class. We need to talk.

Me: Fine. But this is the last time we're discussing this.

He was waiting when I got there. "You came."

"You invited me."

"You're always this cold?"

"Would you prefer dishonest?"

That shut him up. I stopped a few feet away. "Harrison, you're a good-looking guy, and half the school would fight for you. But I'm not interested in being your girlfriend. I have a job, my own plans, and a life I want to enjoy."

He looked away. "What if I wait?"

"Then you'll be waiting for something I never promised."

It came out colder than I meant, but it was true. I could see I'd hurt him.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

I hesitated. "I'm sorry you're hurt. I'm not sorry for being honest."

I walked away without looking back. Some called that heartless. I called it knowing what I wanted.

Still, crossing the courtyard, one thought settled in. Why is it so easy for people to fall for me? And why do I feel nothing when they do?

I pushed it aside. I wasn't looking for love. I wasn't looking for trouble. And I certainly wasn't looking for a mysterious man in an expensive black suit.

My life was exactly where I wanted it: simple, uncomplicated, mine.

That was about to change.

XANDRA'S POV

Saturday. For once, the world left me alone.

I made breakfast, scrolled my phone, and called Wendy Tris.

"Come to school."

"Good morning to you too, Your Majesty."

"I need to collect a document. After that, we find something entertaining."

"Something legal?"

"No promises."

An hour later, I'd collected my document and gone outside. No Wendy. Typical. Before I could call her, a hand caught mine.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting?"

Wendy stood there, wearing a look of exaggerated annoyance. I blinked. "I called you less than an hour ago."

She waved it off. "Whatever. Are we doing something fun or not?"

Something about that nagged at me, but before I could place it, a group of students shouted from beside a black Mercedes. "We're going out! Everything's on us. You coming?"

Wendy was already smiling. "We're going."

She dragged me toward the car, and I let her. I wanted a few hours of forgetting: Harrison, school, the strange feeling that life was getting predictable.

Then something caught my eye.

A black car near the school gates, its windows tinted too dark to see inside. I slowed. The driver's window lowered a few inches, and a man sat behind the wheel in black clothes, with sharp features and a stillness that had no business in a busy schoolyard.

He wasn't looking at the road. He was looking at me.

My smile faded. I couldn't see his eyes, but I felt the weight of his attention, cold, deliberate, unsettling. It was the same feeling I'd had in the club when I spilled my drink on that stranger.

Was it him?

"Xandra! Are you coming?"

When I looked back, the window was rising. The man disappeared behind the glass.

"Coming."

Wendy pulled me toward the Mercedes, talking about where we were going. I tried to listen, but my mind stayed on that car. I didn't know his name, why he was watching me, or what he wanted. But a quiet instinct whispered that I should stay away from him.

I should have listened.

The most dangerous people rarely look dangerous. Sometimes they wear tailored black suits and speak in quiet voices and watch you from behind tinted glass. Sometimes they don't chase you at all. They simply wait.

And by the time you realize you're part of their game, the door has already closed.