Page 44 of Shattered Obsession

It might love me back.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

-Thalia-

As I gaze into the mirror, I hardly recognize the person staring back at me. My hair is elegantly curled, and my makeup is soft yet bold enough to accentuate the brightness of my eyes. I wear a dress that hugs my curves in all the right places, an outfit that embodies the essence of who I used to be before I learned to hide my body away. This time, when I look at my reflection, I don’t dissect myself. Instead, I see a woman who is not just beautiful but also strong.

I linger in front of the mirror longer than I should, fingers ghosting over the collar of the dress as if the fabric could stitch me back together.

The girl looking back is both familiar and foreign, soft shadows mixing with the tiredness at the corners of her eyes. I tilt my head and study the small freckle beneath my ear and the faint line at the corner of my mouth when I half-smile, trying to pretend everything is fine. Each tiny detail becomes a reminder. A jawline, the slope of a shoulder, the way the light catches the hollow beneath my collarbone. I practice a smile until it feels like mine and not the shape I borrow for other people.

I tell myself tonight will be ordinary. Saying it feels like an act of faith. Ordinary is brushing on mascara, breathing, stepping out the door. Ordinary is not a white flag. Ordinary is a small weapon. I imagine the night but if fear were a distant thing. Laughter, loose and real. A touch that steadies instead of claims. A voice that asks before it takes. The imagination tastes like oxygen. I tuck that tiny world away inside my ribs and walk out; I will carry both versions of me tonight, the cautious one and the one who wants to open. Maybe that is bravery enough.

When Xander knocks on the door, my heart flutters with nervous excitement. I open it, and his reaction is instantaneous. His jaw drops, eyes widening in sheer awe.

“Holy…” He catches himself and breaks into an exasperated laugh, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You look… Thalia, you look incredible.”

Heat floods my cheeks at his compliment.

He doesn’t just glance; he takes me in like someone cataloguing a secret he can’t wait to keep. His gaze slips over the curl that has escaped from my bun, the smudge of lipstick at the corner of my mouth, the way the dress hugs my hip. He breathes a soft, astonished sound, like he’s surprised the world made something this exact. When he reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, it’s so sweet that I want to laugh, but the laugh catches and becomes something tender in my chest instead. His hand is warm and solid and assured. It’s a tiny permission, one human acknowledging another, and in that small permission, I find a moment of ordinariness.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I tease, noting his dark jeans and button-down shirt. He exudes a charm that makes my heart skip a beat just by existing.

With a mock bow, he extends his hand. “Ready, princess?”

I roll my eyes, but the grin on my face betrays my amusement. “Ready.”

We walk under strings of lights that make the sidewalks look like rivers of gold. The air smells faintly of jasmine and popcorn, and a street vendor laughs in the distance. Xander points at a mural and tells me the artist’s name like he’s been saving it for me. I press my hand against his arm, an anchor I don’t want to let go of, and he squeezes back, a small, sure thing.

People drift past, a blur of coats and voices, and I match my pace to his. A breeze lifts the hem of my dress, and his eyes soften, not possessive but careful, like he’s measuring where my edges lie and promising to close the space only if I want him to. Each step chips away at a small part of the anxiety; there’s artistry to learning how to be steady around someone steady enough to hold you.

The evening unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. He takes me to a charming Italian restaurant where candlelight flickers and dances between us, casting a warm glow on our faces. We share a plate of penne pasta, laughing over silly childhood stories and work mishaps, and for a precious span of time, the shadows that usually haunt me fade away. It’s just him, just us, together in this blissful moment.

The restaurant hums, plates chiming, the low chatter like a distant tide. Somewhere in the periphery, a fork clatters, and something in my head tightens like a snare. Tiny noises that used to be neutral carve hollows where panic can creep. Xander leans closer; he watches my face, patience in the lift of his brows. He asks something silly, my favorite cereal as a child, and I find myself answering, ridiculous and earnest, because the mundane steadies me.

After dinner, we stroll through the park, the crisp night air brushing against my skin. Xander pulls me closer beneath a canopy of twinkling lights, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve nights like this, to be reminded how beautiful and loved you are.”

The warmth of tears pricks at the corners of my eyes, but they feel light, almost liberating. “Thank you,” I whisper, leaning in to press my lips against his. “For everything.”

His hand tightens around mine, the reassurance palpable. “Always, Thal. Always.” Even after dinner, the laughter lingers in the air, a sweet reminder of the warmth I just experienced. I should feel nothing but contentment, nothing but the glow of happiness. And I do, mostly. Yet, there’s an unsettling prickle at the back of my neck, something I can’t quite shake off.

As we stand outside the park, a car rolls by—a silver sedan with tinted windows. My chest seizes for a beat. The car looks familiar, too much like the one Damian drove. A surge of panic washes over me, but I quickly quash it, reminding myself that it couldn’t possibly be him. The city is full of silver cars, after all. But still, the worry stubbornly clings to my thoughts. My hands go cool, and I feel small and wrong.

Xander must sense the change in my demeanor. “You okay?” he asks, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand as we walk. “Yeah,” I reply too quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired.” I lie by omission because part of me wants to keep this from him—the weight of a memory, the thread of paranoia that makes shadows look like threats—but keeping things in has a cost.

Walking home, I promise myself I’ll tell him soon—saying it aloud will make it less monstrous. The promise steadies me. He studies my face, able to read the small cracks in my facade. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll press further, but instead, he simply squeezes my hand, offering me the comfort of silence as we walk the rest of the way.

Back at the apartment, part of me yearns to confide in Xander. To voice my fear that I think I might have seen Damian, that I suspect he’s still out there, watching. But the words stay lodged in my throat, a tight knot of uncertainty. What if I’m wrong? What if I ruin this beautiful night? Ruin the happiness we’ve struggled so hard to hold onto?

So, I swallow it down. I plaster on a smile when Xander emerges from the bathroom, wrapping his arms around me, his warmth enveloping me like a protective shield. But when we go to bed, and the lights dim and his breathing evens out beside me, I remain wide awake, staring into the darkness. No matter how safe I feel in his embrace, the lingering sense that Damian’s shadow is still lurking, waiting in the wings, remains impossible to shake.

The unease that has haunted the corners of my mind for days still lingers, but tonight, I make a conscious decision to push it away. Tonight is ours, a moment tucked away from the chaos.

Xander lies sprawled across the bed, his shirt cast aside, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, golden skin catching the dim light. His green-brown eyes, flecked with something warm and inviting, fixate on me as though I’m the only thing in the world worth his gaze.

With a playful smirk tugging at his lips, he beckons. “Your move, Thal.”

My heart races with an intoxicating thrill that sends a light shiver down my spine. I crawl up the bed, feeling the soft fabric beneath me before I straddle his hips, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest, mapping the warmth and strength he offers.