His Forbidden Obsession

EVA.

I must be insane.

Completely insane. What was I thinking? Quitting my job, I packed my bags and returned to this place.

I had left my home because I wanted to be free, only to get stuck in a life that was slowly suffocating me.

And here I am.

Back in this goddamn house.

With the man I had wanted to escape.

My father.

“Eva.”

His voice echoed the second I stepped through the grand entrance of the family manor as if he had been waiting for me.

It's not a greeting.

Not a ‘Welcome home.’

Just my name.

Clipped and impatient. Like, he is already exasperated with me.

I roll my eyes before I even turn around. “Hello, Dad. Miss me?”

My father, Edward Hartwell, is standing near the grand staircase, looking every bit the powerful businessman he is. Sharp suit, polished shoes, that familiar air of control radiating off him like a second skin. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone commands attention.

“You are back.” He says, his tone is neutral, but there is something else underneath it.

Disapproval.

Wonderful, isn't it?

I haven't been home for almost 6 years, and the first thing I get is disapproval.

No hugs.

No, how have you been?

Nothing.

Honestly, I should be used to this by now.

“I live here,” I remind him dryly, dropping my bags by the stairs. “For now, anyway.”

He ignores that. Typical. Instead, he glances at the camera bag slung over my shoulder. “Still playing with that thing?”

My teeth grind together. “It is called a career. My God, Dad. It's been years we have had this argument, can't we—”

“I need you at the charity gala tomorrow.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I have a gala event. Tomorrow night. It's for some new charity case our company is sponsoring. You will be there.”

Unbelievable.

“You ‘need’ me there?” I ask as I let out a sharp laugh. ”Since when?”

“Since it’s important,” he replies smoothly, already moving past me like the conversation is over. “Damian and I have spent months planning it, and since you are back, I expect you to be useful as the only woman in this house.”

And there it is—the real reason.

Damian Cross.

My father’s closest friend, his right-hand man. The one person he trusts more than anyone. The man who is always around, always watching, always composed.

I cross my arms. “So you want me to be your little assistant?”

He stops near the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “You will oversee the media team. Make sure everything is handled correctly.”

I scoff. “You mean, make sure it’s perfect so you look good as the perfect businessman and father.”

His jaw tightens. Just a fraction, but I notice it. “This isn’t up for discussion, Eva.”

“It never is, is it?” I mutter, shaking my head.

He doesn’t respond. Just leaves. Like always.

The gala is everything I expected.

Extravagant. Elegant. Overwhelming.

Crystal chandeliers. Classical music. Waiters in crisp uniforms weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne. The air is thick with wealth, power, and quiet competition—everyone here is trying to outshine the person next to them.

I hate it.

But I’m here.

Dressed in a gown that hugs every curve, and deep red satin that pools around my feet. It’s bold. Scandalous by my father’s standards. And that’s exactly why I chose it.

If I am going to be forced to attend this thing, I am going to at least do so in my own way.

And as expected, people stare.

I can feel their gazes the moment I step inside. Some whisper. Others pretend not to notice, but their eyes linger.

Good. Let them look.

The more they do, the more they will whisper, and the sooner my father gets wind of it, the faster he will regret his order to make me attend.

I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not because I want it, but because standing here without something in my hand feels vulnerable.

Then I feel it.

A different gaze.

It’s not curious. It’s not judging. It’s something else.

Something heavier.

I don’t have to look to know who it is.

Damian Cross.

I turn slowly, locking eyes with him across the room.

He’s standing near the bar, engaged in conversation, but his attention is not on the man speaking to him. His sharp blue eyes are focused on me.

Watching.

Measuring.

I lift my chin slightly, refusing to be the first to look away.

Damian.

He is my father's age, and yet I cannot help but feel drawn to the man.

It's insane.

How can I be attracted to my father's best friend?

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t frown. He just holds my gaze with that unreadable intensity, like he is seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Like he’s assessing a problem he’s not sure he wants to solve.

Dissecting me.

Or… undressing me.

The moment stretches too long, too thick with something I don’t want to name. Then, just as smoothly as he locked onto me, Damian shifts his attention back to his conversation.

Like I wasn’t even there.

Bastard.

“Get a grip on yourself, Eva!” I mutter to myself. “You still can't be attracted to him!”

I exhale sharply, pushing past the sudden, unexplainable heat creeping up my spine.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.

Damian Cross is just like my father.

Controlled. Calculated. Unshakable.

And yet, all night, I feel him.

Watching me even when I’m talking to other guests, even when I’m moving through the crowd, his presence lingers.

Like a shadow, I can’t shake it.

Hours later, when the music has softened and the crowd has settled into quieter conversations, I hear it.

My father’s voice.

Confident. Sure.

A tone I’ve heard my whole life.

Also loud.

Loud enough to hear his boastful words.

“Well, you know that Damian is the only one I trust completely. More than myself.”

I freeze.

Something in my stomach twists.

I turn slightly, just enough to see them. My father, standing with a group of men, his posture relaxed, his words deliberate. And beside him—

Damian.

His expression gives nothing away. He stands there, composed as always, his hands tucked into his pockets. Like none of this matters to him. Like I don’t matter.

Of course.

Of course, Damian Cross is perfect in his eyes. The golden standard. The untouchable.

But did he have to boast about it in a place where I could hear it?!

Bastards Both of them All my life, I have been the last thought on his mind.

The afterthought.

It was always Damian this, Damian that.

Even when my mother died… he never turned to look at me.

It was Damian.

I needed comfort too.

And he has the gall to act confused when I say I want nothing to do with him and his company.

He might as well just put Damian as his heir rather than me.

Of course, that is if he hasn't done that yet.

“Idiot Eva,” I curse as I grip my champagne flute tighter.

I don’t know why it bothers me.

Maybe because no matter how hard I try to break free, no matter how much I fight to carve out my own life—

I’m always stuck in my father’s world.

I still want his damn approval.

And Damian Cross will always be watching.

“Fuck this,” I say as I turn and head for the exit. “I am done with this place.”

“Eva!!”

EVA.

“Eva!”

My father’s voice slices through the air, sharp and authoritative.

Commanding enough for me to stop, but I don’t turn around, my fingers clenching at my sides.

I should walk away. I should pretend I didn’t hear him. But I can’t. Because that’s not how this works.

I exhale slowly, already bracing for whatever comes next.

“Where are you going?” His tone was cool and measured, but there was an edge to it. “The charity isn't over.”

I finally turn to face him, and he is perfectly composed, his expression unreadable.

Behind him, the gala continues—soft music, clinking glasses, murmured conversations. A world I want no part of.

I square my shoulders. “Home.”

His jaw tightens. “The event isn’t over,” he repeats.

“I don’t care.”

I see it then—the flicker of irritation. The barely-there clench of his jaw. The way his eyes darken just a shade.

Yeah… he never could control his temper with me.

Not like the others “You are being childish.”

My fists curl at that.

“Oh, I’m the childish one? That’s rich, coming from the man who still thinks he can dictate my entire life and gets pissy when things don't go his way.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the weight of his disapproval settles over me like a heavy chain. “This isn’t about control. It’s about responsibility.”

My breath hitches, frustration burning through me like wildfire. “Responsibility?” I repeat. “You mean the responsibility to be your perfect daughter? To be useful to you?”

A few people glance our way. I don’t care. Let them hear. Let them watch.

He exhales through his nose, his patience thinning. “You were asked to be here because this event matters.”

“No. I was told to be here because you wanted me to play a part,” I snapped. “Just like always. That is all I am to you, a tool to pull out when necessary.”

His gaze hardens. “Lower your voice.”

“No.” I step closer, my pulse pounding. “I’m done pretending. Done being paraded around like some—”

“Eva.”

This time, the voice isn’t my father’s.

It’s deeper. Calmer.

Controlled.

I freeze. My eyes flick past my father’s shoulder, and there he is.

Damian Cross.

Standing a few feet away, watching me with that same unreadable intensity.

Of course, he saw all of this.

Of course, he’s here, hovering in the background like he always is. Silent. Unshaken. Untouchable.

Something inside me twists.

I hate that he sees me like this. Angry. Unraveled. Like a child throwing a tantrum.

I swallow hard, shifting my glare back to my father. “I’m leaving.”

I don’t wait for his response. I turn and storm out, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

I won’t stop until I’m outside.

The night air is cool, crisp against my flushed skin. I inhale sharply, pacing near the entrance.

The distant hum of traffic, the soft rustle of trees—it’s quieter out here, but my thoughts are still too loud.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily. “Damn it!”

I shouldn’t have lost it there. I shouldn’t have let my father get to me. But God, he makes it so easy.

“Are you done?”

My entire body stiffens.

I whip around, and of course, he’s here.

Damian stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, his suit still crisp and perfect like the night hasn’t touched him.

Unlike me.

I let out a sharp laugh. “Did my father send you?”

He tilts his head slightly, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s still trying to solve. “No.”

I cross my arms. “Then what do you want?”

“To know if you’re done acting like a child.”

Heat flares in my chest. “Excuse me?”

He steps closer, slow and deliberate. “You want to be taken seriously, Eva? Then start acting like it.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, screw you, Damian.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You storm out, make a scene, then run off to pout? What exactly are you trying to prove?”

My fingers curl into fists. “That I don’t belong in that world.”

“Then stop running from it,” he says evenly. “If you hate being controlled so much, then take control.”

My breath catches. I hate that his words hit something deep inside me, something I don’t want to acknowledge.

“I’m not running,” I say, but my voice isn’t as strong as I want it to be.

Damian’s lips twitch like he almost—almost—wants to smirk. “Aren’t you?”

I swallow hard. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.

I step closer. “And what about you? Always watching. Always hovering. Always doing my father’s bidding. What are you exactly? His slave?”

His expression doesn’t change. But there’s a shift. Something in his eyes.

“I do what needs to be done,” he says.

I arch a brow. “Even if that means following me outside like some kind of enforcer?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You think that’s what I am?”

“That’s exactly what you are,” I say, stepping even closer, just to push him. Just to see if he will crack.

“My father’s little enforcer. Always so composed. Always so perfect. If I didn't know you two, I would think you were his bodyguard.”

His eyes darken.

And then- he steps forward.

Close.

Too close.

My breath stutters as the air shifts.

His voice is lower now, smoother. “Are you trying to push me, Eva?”

My heart is pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. But I don’t move back. I refuse to.

I tilt my chin up. “Maybe.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a second. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

My skin burns even as my lungs forget how to work.

His jaw tightens like he’s holding something back. Like he’s fighting something.

And then—

He moves.

Fast.

One second, we are standing there, tension crackling like a live wire. The next, his hand is at the back of my neck, his grip firm but not rough, and then-

His mouth crashes against mine.

The world tilts.

Everything else disappears.

All the anger, all the tension, all the unspoken words—it all explodes the second his lips meet mine.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.

I kiss him back.

Hard.

Fierce.

Like I need to prove something. Like I need to break him the way he breaks me.

His other hand grips my waist, pulling me closer. I feel the heat of his body through his suit, the way he holds me like he needs this just as much as I do.

I don’t know who gasps first, him or me.

All I know is that I’m dizzy.

And that I hate how good he tastes.

How right this feels.

Damian is the first to pull back.

Barely.

His breath is warm against my lips. His fingers still press into my skin. His gaze—God—his gaze is lethal.

Like he’s just made a mistake.

Like he’s just crossed a line.

I don’t move.

Neither does he.

We just stand there, breathing hard, both of us fully aware that everything just changed.

And neither of us knows what the hell to do about it.