Page 10 of Shared Obsession

Chapter Six

Alexander

Now that I'm home, I can't get the night out of my head. I keep replaying the scene—watching from the shadows as that piece of shit grabbed Ayla by her hair and dragged her back inside. Every detail is burned into my memory: the way he slapped her, how she went limp, as if her soul had just left her body while he was fucking raping her. She looked hollow, just surviving, her eyes dead and her movements robotic. The bastard didn’t even care enough to close the curtains—like he wanted the whole world to see him hurt her, like it was nothing. The bruises, the red handprint blazing on her cheek—I saw it all, every sickening mark. There’s no mistaking what’s happening in that house. He treats her like property, not a person, and it makes me livid.

Seeing her like that—broken, trapped—nearly pushed me over the edge. It took everything I had not to smash the door down and tear him apart. And she’s supposed to marry him? No fucking way. I know she pushed me away, but after seeing the truth up close, there’s no way I’m leaving her in that hell. I just got out of prison, and every muscle in my body is begging me to go back in there and rip him to shreds—but I can’t. Not now. If I lose control, I risk ending up locked away again, leaving Ayla trapped with that bastard. I saw the truth written all over her—every bruise, every flinch, every dead-eyed stare. There’s no denying it, not after witnessing it firsthand. She needs help, whether she admits it or not. And her fiancé? He’s at the top of my fucking shit list. I’ve gotta time this right.

I pace my apartment, the scene with Ayla and Derek playing over and over in my mind—her bruises, the way she looked at me, every piece of it burned behind my eyes. I can’t shake the rage or the sense of helplessness, but I know I can’t do this alone.

I pull out my phone and dial Dean. He picks up immediately.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“I need your help,” I say, cutting right to the chase. “Come over. Now. Please”

He doesn’t even ask why—just agrees, no hesitation. That’s Dean. The one person I trust to have my back, no matter how bad things get. Tonight, I need him more than ever.

Dean shows up fast. I let him in, and before he can say a word, I launch straight into it—every ugly detail of what I saw tonight, the bruises on Ayla, the way Derek manhandled her, everything. He listens, jaw tight, anger flickering in his eyes.

"I need to know everything about this motherfucker," I tell him, my voice cold and clear. "Where he works, where he drinks, who he talks to, what time he takes a shit—if he so much as changes a hair on his head, I want to know."

Dean just nods, already rolling up his sleeves. "Say less." He drops his bag and heads straight for my computer, fingers flying across the keys. I'm pacing behind him, restless, my mind racing.

"You ever seen her like this before?" Dean asks while code scrolls across the screen.

I shake my head, jaw clenched. "I've only seen her twice before this. But tonight—" I break off, frustration tightening my voice. "At the club and the gas station, there was this light in her eyes. Of course, that was a year ago now. She was fierce. Alive. But tonight, it was like she was already gone. I didn't see any of that. Just emptiness."

Dean glances up, brows drawn. "So he's breaking her down."

"Yeah," I say, voice low with determination. "And I'm not letting it go."

It takes Dean a few hours—digging, hacking, checking and rechecking everything, his concentration absolute. I've started dozing off by the time he finally leans back, cracking his knuckles with a satisfied sigh. "You're in. I've got his phone texts, his emails, his location, Ayla's too. As a bonus, you're tapped into the cameras inside their house." I snap awake. Damn, his skills still impress me.

His eyes narrow at the screen. "He works at Meyers & Bates Law—he's the Bates half. Big shot, famous lawyer. Handles some of the biggest cases in New York."

"So he's high profile," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Which means we have to play this smart. Discretion, Dean."

Dean nods, eyes serious. "I've got your back, man. We'll do this right."

I pull up the cameras and scroll until I see Ayla, asleep in her bed. Her thick, wavy, dark brown hair is braided down her back, catching the faint light—a striking contrast against the white pillow. She’s half-buried under a blanket, only her shoulders and the edge of her tank top visible. Derek is sprawled next to her, and just the sight of him makes me furious.

Through the grainy lens, I watch as Derek shifts, his hand sliding up her tank top to grope her in her sleep. Ayla’s eyes snap open in a flash of fear. She flinches, then pushes him off, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. She curls up tighter, yanking the blanket to her chin, her whole body tense. Fuck him. He is the worst kind of monster. The kind that seems perfect in the light.

I sit there in my chair for hours, watching her sleep. My heart aches with rage and helplessness at the sight of her curled in on herself, so small and alone. How did she end up here—with him, in this nightmare? I swear to God, I’m going to take her out of all this, even if she doesn’t want me to. Every instinct in my gut says she doesn’t think she deserves to be saved. But I know better. I can see it in the way she flinches, the way she shrinks under his hand, the way she never truly rests. She’s too used to surviving, too used to scraping by on scraps of affection and convincing herself it’s enough. I’ll drag her out if I have to. She might hate me for it, but I’d rather have her angry and safe than broken and alone.

“Hey, Dean,” I say, my voice rough. He stirs awake on my couch, blinking blearily at me in the blue glow of the monitors.

“We’ve gotta do something; I want to fucking kill him,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone steady, though I can feel a tremor in my hands.

Dean rubs his face, still half-asleep. “Alex, I get that you’re angry, but if you go nuclear, you’re just going to end up back inside. You sure this is the play? Maybe there's another way—something legal, or at least less permanent.”

I shake my head, jaw clenched. “You didn’t see her, Dean. She’s... she’s not herself anymore. He’s killing her slowly. I can’t just sit here and watch. I need to end this.I don’t care what lines I have to cross.”

Dean sighs, running both hands through his hair. “Look, I hate the guy too. But murder? You really want to throw your life away? You just got out. There’s got to be another option—evidence, blackmail, something. You’re not thinking straight.”

I stare him down, voice low and steady. “I am thinking straight. He won’t stop, Dean. And Ayla? She won’t save herself. Hell, I don’t even think she believes she deserves to be saved. I’d rather be the monster who saves her than the coward who walks away.”

Dean looks at me for a long moment, torn. “You know, man, I always thought you were the sane one in our crew.”