From Savior to Obsessed Stalker

The passcode to Conrad Ellison' s private villa was my birthday, a gesture I once thought was the most romantic in the world. Now, it felt like a key to a gilded cage. I walked through his silent mansion, a cold knot of unease growing in my stomach.

Then I heard it-a low moan from his bedroom. The door was ajar, revealing Conrad on his knees, clutching a lavender silk scarf. He was touching himself, breathing one name: "Kassidy." My stepsister.

My blood ran cold. The man I loved, the man I thought was pure, desired her, not me. As I stumbled back, his phone buzzed. It was Kassidy. "Conrad? You sound... out of breath." He snapped, "What do you want?" She asked if the rumors of our marriage were true. His reply hit me like a physical blow: "Never. She' s a delusional, pathetic woman. I wish she would just disappear."

He admitted he only tolerated me to get closer to her, to win her father' s approval. My three years of foolish love felt like a giant, humiliating joke. I remembered how my father brought Kassidy and her mother home after my mother' s funeral, how they made me a villain, and how Conrad, my supposed savior, had stepped in to protect me from bullies.

I had been so blind, so stupidly arrogant, believing I was special to him. He wasn't a saint; he was just obsessed with the wrong woman.

I ran until my lungs burned, collapsing on the lawn. A hard, sharp resolve formed in the wreckage of my heart. I called Helene, my voice torn with sobs. "I'm done. I don't want him anymore." I was leaving this city, my father, Kassidy, all of it. I was starting over. I was never coming back.

Chapter 1

The passcode to Conrad Ellison's private villa was my birthday.

I used to think it was the most romantic gesture in the world. Now, it just felt like a key to a gilded cage.

I walked through the silent, starkly minimalist mansion, the cold marble floors chilling me through my thin shoes. I wasn't supposed to be here. Conrad was on a business trip, and I was supposed to be at my own apartment.

But a nagging unease, a cold knot in my stomach, had been growing for weeks. It was a feeling I couldn't shake, a suspicion whispered by the city's top gossips and confirmed by the pitying looks from my own friends.

I needed to know the truth.

I headed upstairs, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. I was aiming for his home office, the one place he kept strictly private. But as I passed his bedroom, I heard a sound.

A low moan.

The door was slightly ajar, pushed open by a draft from the open French doors leading to the balcony. I froze, my hand flying to my mouth. Another gust of wind nudged the heavy oak door wider, giving me a clear view.

The room was a mess, which was unlike the meticulously clean Conrad I knew. Clothes were strewn on the floor, and the air was thick with the scent of whiskey and a faint, sweet perfume I didn't recognize.

And there was Conrad.

He was on his knees by the bed, his back to me. His tailored shirt was unbuttoned, his usually perfect hair a mess. He was the image of a man undone.

A silk scarf was clutched in his hand, a soft lavender one I'd never seen before. He brought it to his face, inhaling deeply.

He was touching himself.

A soft, choked sound escaped his lips. It was a sound of pure desperation, of agonizing pleasure.

"Kassidy," he breathed, his voice rough with a longing that terrified me.

My blood ran cold.

Kassidy. My stepsister.

He was calling her name.

I stared at the lavender scarf in his hand. I knew that scarf. Kassidy had worn it to a charity event last week, bragging about how it was a limited-edition piece.

The cold in my veins turned to ice. It spread through my chest, freezing my heart, my lungs, everything. I couldn't breathe.

The man I loved, the man I thought was a saint, pure and untouchable, was not without desire.

He just didn't desire me.

My body swayed, and I gripped the doorframe to keep from collapsing. I needed to get out, to flee before he saw me, before this nightmare became even more real.

I started to back away, one silent step at a time.

Then his phone, lying on the nightstand, buzzed to life.

He snatched it, his movements jerky. He answered and put it on speaker.

"Conrad? You sound... out of breath." It was Kassidy's voice, sweet and cloying.

"What do you want?" Conrad's voice was suddenly sharp, cold, completely different from the desperate sounds he'd been making just moments ago.

"I just heard a rumor," Kassidy said, and I could practically hear the fake concern in her tone. "They're saying our dear Abby is telling everyone you two are getting married. Is that true?"

A raw, guttural sound of disgust came from Conrad's throat.

"Never."

The word hit me like a physical blow.

"She's a delusional, pathetic woman," he spat, each word a dagger. "I'm sick of her pathetic attempts to chase me. God, I wish she would just disappear."

"Oh, Conrad," Kassidy cooed. "Don't be so harsh. You know you only tolerate her to get closer to me. And to get my father's full approval. Once you have that, you won't have to see her again."

"I know," he said, his voice flat. "I can't wait for that day."

"Don't worry," Kassidy purred. "You'll get what you want soon. Good luck."

The call ended.

Silence filled the room, broken only by my own ragged breathing.

I stumbled backward, my legs refusing to hold me. My father. My stepsister. The man I loved. They were all in on it. They had all betrayed me.

Conrad's tolerance, his occasional kindnesses that I had clung to like a lifeline-it was all a lie. A tool to get to Kassidy.

My entire life, my three years of foolish, desperate love, felt like a giant, humiliating joke.

I remembered the day my father brought Kassidy and her mother home, just a month after my own mother's funeral. My mother had died from a sudden heart attack, the shock of seeing her husband publicly parading his mistress and illegitimate daughter at a major city gala was too much for her fragile heart to bear.

Suddenly, I was no longer the cherished daughter of the Collier family. I was an obstacle. A nuisance. My stepmother, a master manipulator, spread rumors about me being wild and promiscuous. Kassidy, her perfect daughter, played the victim, making me the villain in our home.

I was bullied at school, ignored at home. My life was a gray, hopeless fog.

Until Conrad Ellison appeared.

Three years ago, at a party, a group of Kassidy's friends had cornered me, spilling wine on my dress and mocking me. Conrad had stepped in. He didn't say much, just stood there with his cold, imposing presence, and they scattered like rats.

He was like a beam of light cutting through my darkness.

I became obsessed. I learned everything about him. He was a tech mogul from an old-money family, but he'd famously spent his early twenties in a monastery, a devout Buddhist who had only returned to secular life to take over his family's empire when his father fell ill. He was pure, disciplined, a world away from the filth of my own family.

The irony was so thick I wanted to laugh.

A hysterical giggle escaped my lips, sounding alien and crazed in the silent hallway.

He wasn't a saint. He was just a man obsessed with the wrong woman.

I remembered every desperate attempt I had made to get his attention. Learning about tech, attending boring industry conferences, even trying to dress in a way I thought he'd like. I once wore a revealing dress to a party, hoping to tempt him. He had looked at me with such revulsion, his eyes cold as ice. He'd told me to have some self-respect.

I had been so ashamed. I thought he was above such carnal desires.

He wasn't. He just wasn't tempted by me.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. I turned and ran. I didn't know where I was going, just away. Away from that room, that house, that man.

I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out, collapsing in a heap on the manicured lawn outside. The perfectly trimmed grass felt like needles against my skin.

I lay there, gasping for air, the world spinning around me.

Then, a resolve, hard and sharp, formed in the wreckage of my heart.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking. I found Helene's number.

She answered on the first ring. "Abby? What's wrong? You sound terrible."

"Helene," I sobbed, the sound torn from my throat. "I'm done. I don't want him anymore."

There was a pause, then Helene's voice, fierce and protective. "Good. He never deserved you. Where are you? I'm coming to get you."

"No," I said, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. "Book me a flight. To Miami. The earliest one."

"Miami? What-"

"I'm moving there," I said, my voice gaining strength. "I'm not just leaving him. I'm leaving this whole damn city. I'm leaving my father, Kassidy, all of it."

"Abby, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I said, a strange calm settling over me. "I'm starting over. I'm never coming back."

I was done being a joke. I was done being a victim.

I didn't leave immediately. There was one last thing I had to do.

Conrad's grandmother, the formidable matriarch of the Ellison clan, was celebrating her eightieth birthday in two days. It was an event I couldn't miss. Not because I wanted to see Conrad, but because Mrs. Ellison was the only person in his world who had ever been kind to me. And more importantly, because my mother had left me a significant block of shares in her company, which were being managed by my father and would only be transferred to me upon my twenty-fifth birthday-an event that was still months away. The birthday party was the perfect, and perhaps final, opportunity to appeal to Mrs. Ellison for help in securing my inheritance before I disappeared for good.

Mrs. Ellison had a soft spot for me, a fact that both Conrad and Kassidy detested. She had personally invited me, and refusing to go would have been an insult.

The night of the party, I dressed carefully. Not to impress Conrad, but to arm myself.

The Ellison estate was dazzling, filled with the city's elite. I found Mrs. Ellison in the garden, looking regal.

"Abby, my dear," she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look lovely."

I handed her my gift, a hand-carved sandalwood prayer wheel I'd spent a month searching for.

Her face lit up. "Oh, this is exquisite. You always know just what I like." She patted my hand and then motioned to Conrad, who was standing stiffly nearby. "Conrad, be a good host and get Abby a drink. Don't leave her standing here all alone."

Conrad's jaw tightened. He looked at me as if I were something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"She's not a child, Grandma. She can get her own drink."

"Conrad!" Mrs. Ellison's voice was sharp.

But he was saved by his phone. He glanced at the screen, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before he turned and walked away without another word.

Mrs. Ellison sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into that boy."

"It's alright, Mrs. Ellison," I said, forcing a smile. I appreciated her kindness, but it couldn't change the reality of her grandson's feelings for me.

A few minutes later, a murmur went through the crowd. Conrad was back.

And Kassidy was on his arm.

She was dressed in a shimmering white gown, looking like an angel. A very fragile, delicate angel.

Mrs. Ellison's face hardened. "What is she doing here? I didn't invite her."

Kassidy clutched Conrad's arm, her face pale. "Conrad, I... I don't feel so well." She started coughing, a small, theatrical cough.

Conrad immediately went into protective mode, his arm wrapping around her waist. "What's wrong?"

The guests whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between me, the rumored-but-despised fiancée, and Kassidy, the beautiful woman on Conrad's arm. It was obvious who they thought the real lady of the house was.

I just stood there, a bitter taste in my mouth, trying to make myself invisible.

The whole night was a performance. Conrad never left Kassidy's side. He fetched her drinks, held her hand, and laughed at her jokes, a sight so rare it was like seeing a statue come to life. I watched them, a strange detachment settling over me. I saw it all so clearly now-every time he'd been cold to me, it was because Kassidy was nearby. Every time he'd shown me a sliver of kindness, it was because she wasn't.

My love had been so blind. I had been so stupidly, arrogantly sure that I was special to him.

Suddenly, Kassidy gasped, clutching her throat. "I can't... I can't breathe."

Conrad went pale with panic. "What is it? What's happening?"

He held her as she swayed, his eyes scanning the room frantically.

Kassidy looked at me, her eyes wide and innocent. "The... the gift Abby gave your grandmother. Sandalwood. I'm... I'm allergic."

The accusation hung in the air, thick and poisonous.

Conrad's head snapped toward me. His eyes were no longer cold; they were blazing with a murderous rage.

He moved so fast I didn't have time to react. In two long strides, he was in front of me. His hand shot out and clamped around my throat.

"You did this on purpose," he snarled, his fingers digging into my skin, cutting off my air.

Panic flared in my chest. I clawed at his hand, but his grip was like iron. Black spots danced in my vision.

"Conrad, no!" I choked out, my voice a useless rasp.

Kassidy let out a faint cry in the background. "Oh, no... don't be mad at her, Conrad. I'm sure she didn't know."

Then, with a delicate sigh, she slumped against him, fainting gracefully into his arms.

That was all it took.

Conrad's focus snapped back to her. He released me so abruptly I staggered back, gasping for air, my throat burning.

He scooped Kassidy up as if she weighed nothing.

Mrs. Ellison rushed forward. "Conrad, what are you doing? Put her down!"

He paused, his body rigid with fury. He didn't look at his grandmother. He looked at me.

His voice was a low, terrifying promise.

"This isn't over, Abby. You will pay for this."

Then he turned and strode out of the party, leaving me standing there, humiliated, terrified, and utterly alone in a room full of staring eyes.

I fled the party, shame burning my cheeks hotter than the red finger marks blooming on my neck. I just wanted to get back to my apartment, lock the door, and wait for my flight out of this hell.

But I never made it home.

As I turned onto my quiet street, a black van screeched to a halt beside me. The side door slid open, and two large men jumped out. Before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth, and another arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet.

I was thrown into the back of the van. The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. A sharp blow to the back of my head, and then, nothing.

I woke up to the shock of icy water hitting my face.

I sputtered, gasping, my eyes stinging. The world was a blurry, dim mess. I was in some kind of abandoned warehouse, the air smelling of rust and decay. My hands were tied behind my back to a metal chair.

A low, sleazy chuckle echoed in the vast space. "Well, look who's finally awake."

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Two men stood before me, their faces obscured by the shadows.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

"You pissed off the wrong person, lady," the first man said. He was holding a long, thin whip. He ran it through his grubby hands. "And now, it's time for your punishment."

Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through my daze.

"This is kidnapping! It's illegal!" I tried to sound strong, but my voice came out as a pathetic squeak.

The second man laughed. He dipped the end of the whip into a bucket of what looked like saltwater. "We're just following orders. A little lesson for a jealous bitch who tried to harm our boss's girl."

My heart stopped. "Your boss?"

The whip whistled through the air before I could process his words. It struck my back with incredible force.

A scream ripped from my throat. The pain was immediate, a searing, white-hot line of agony. The saltwater they'd doused the whip in made it a hundred times worse, a chemical fire spreading under my skin.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming again, tasting blood.

"Who sent you?" I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "Was it... was it Conrad Ellison?"

The man holding the whip grinned, a flash of yellow teeth in the gloom. "The boss is a smart man. He knew you'd try to play the victim after your little stunt. This is for hurting Miss Leonard."

The world tilted. Conrad. He had ordered this. Because he thought I'd hurt Kassidy. The man who had been my light, my savior, had just hired men to torture me.

The whip came down again, and again, and again. I lost count. My back was a shredded mess of raw flesh. Each lash was a fresh wave of agony, pulling me under.

They recorded it. One of them held up a phone, the flash blinding me. "Scream louder," he taunted. "The boss wants to hear it."

I screamed until my throat was raw, until I had no voice left.

At some point, the pain became too much, and my body gave up. I slumped forward in the chair, my consciousness fading into a blessed, black numbness.

I don't know how long I was out. When I came to, I was on the cold concrete floor, untied. The men were gone. They had just left me there, a broken heap in the darkness.

I was burning up. A fever was raging through me, my body's desperate attempt to fight off the infection that was surely setting into my wounds.

Then I heard it. A faint, tinny ringing.

My phone. They'd left my purse on the floor a few feet away.

A desperate surge of adrenaline shot through me. I had to get to it.

I began to crawl. Every movement sent lightning bolts of pain up my spine. The torn skin on my back scraped against the rough concrete, and a fresh scream tore from my raw throat.

But I kept going, my eyes fixed on the purse. It was my only hope.

My fingers, clumsy and shaking, finally closed around the strap. I pulled it toward me, fumbling inside until I felt the cool, smooth surface of my phone.

The screen lit up with Helene's face. She was calling me.

With a sob of relief, I swiped to answer, my hand leaving a bloody smear on the screen.

"Abby? Where have you been? Are you okay? Did you book your flight?" Her voice was a torrent of worried questions.

I opened my mouth to answer, to scream for help, but only a weak, croaking sound came out.

"Help... me..."

And then the darkness swallowed me whole.