Page 29 of Possessive Mr. Pen

“You’re losing her,” my uncle says.

Terror grips my heart.Every response I come up with sounds like an excuse.

As though sensing my spiral, he speaks more words in one conversation than I’ve heard him say in the past several years.

“I won’t ask for specifics.I don’t need them.The kind of pain I saw in her eyes on Friday never goes away.A lesser person would’ve ended their life already, but she has no quit.”

I hang my head and breathe.Shame and guilt war within me.

I knew this path would make me a villain.Revenge isn’t noble.But hurting the woman who saved me is unforgivable.

Neither of us attempts to break the silence as I work through my failure.

After running through hundreds of scenarios in my mind, only one has a positive outcome.I lift my head.Mr.Carter stands less than two feet away from me.

“It’s time, nephew,” he states.

I nod.

He scowls.

“You’re right, Uncle Levi.I’ll tell her,” I vow.

He grunts and shuts himself in his office.

The clear dismissal prompts me into motion.I suffer in silence when putting on my shoes proves to be an agonizing experience.My entire midsection feels pulverized, raw, and swollen.

I deserve every ounce of pain and discomfort.

Despite how soon I must be at the office, I walk past the best place to hail a cab and ignore the nearest subway entrance.Uncle Levi made a point by not offering me water or pain management before kicking me out, so he believes I deserve to suffer, too, so I walk several miles before taking the bus.The bumpy, swerving ride is every bit as excruciating as receiving the original beating.

I stop by my townhouse just long enough to shower, swallow an anti-inflammatory, and don the suit Hilary placed at the front of my walk-in closet.I pause at the sight of the empty hanger dangling from the hook.

From her perspective, her work is invisible to me.She doesn’t know I keep my eyes glued to the security feed every time she enters my home.She doesn’t know I track her every move.She doesn’t know my day-to-day life revolves around her.I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my obsession with her a secret.

Now is not the time to reveal it either.She’ll quit before I finish explaining.

I wince as my attempt to sigh sends shocks of pain through my chest.

As much as Uncle Levi means well, I can’t tell Hilary everything.I can’t risk her quitting.I need her by my side.

Only one thing will keep her within reach.My uncles may skin me alive when they find out—because they will—but I’m willing to accept the punishment if this doesn’t work.

I solidify my plan during my commute.

The office seems cold and colorless without Hilary.I throw myself into work and call my best attorney to the executive conference room to prepare for my new approach.True to the business ethics I admire him for, he helps iron out several topics without asking the questions looming in his curious eyes.

Once I complete the work Hilary lined up for me, I leave without much fanfare.Despite the never-ending responsibilities, I reach my vehicle earlier than usual.When I drive out of the parking garage, the sun has yet to set.

Unable to face my quiet townhouse with such a pivotal moment on the horizon, I park my car in its normal spot and head toward the bus stop.

Every instinct demands I text Hilary, but I refrain.Her phone is off anyway.

I need to know she’s okay, though, so I ride the bus to the nearest subway station and walk the few blocks to her apartment.Without an ounce of shame, I stand on the corner most visible to her building and call the number she included in her employee information as the emergency contact.

Even though I’ve never called it before, I know it belongs to Aisha Thompson, one of the girls she informally adopted when she was still a child herself.Except for a few stints in new foster care homes before Aisha ran away—Hilary was labeled a runaway years before the others—they’ve lived together ever since.

I force myself to breathe normally as the phone rings and rings.Half a second before it goes to voicemail, a woman answers.