His Ruthless Obsession

It's been a day since the accident happened in the kitchen. The sting of my burned skin pulsed like a cruel reminder—a constant echo of the boiling water that nearly scalded me. If Damien hadn't moved so fas. The memory replays in my mind—his sharp focus, the way his hands moved with precision as he snatched the boiling pot away before it could scald me further. His quick thinking saved me from a severe injury, and for a moment, I thought I'd glimpsed something more—a flicker of concern beneath his usual coldness. But that moment vanished as fast as it had come.

But Damien, true to his usual self, returned to his cold, distant attitude afterward, continuing to ignore me. Despite his actions during the accident, his behavior toward me remained unchanged. It was disheartening to see that his selflessness didn't extend beyond that moment, leaving me feeling neglected and unimportant once again. Yet, underneath the irritation, there was something else—confusion. One moment he was saving me, and the next he was shutting me out. Did I mean something to him? Or was I just another obligation—a burden he tolerated out of duty? I tried to tell myself I didn't care, but his constant shifts in attitude stirred emotions I couldn't sort out—frustration, disappointment, and something else I was too afraid to name.

In my life, there's only one person who has always loved and cared for me—my dad. He's been my rock, my guide, and my best friend. Growing up, he wasn't just a father; he was my comfort in sadness, my strength when I felt weak, and the one who always believed in me when I lost faith in myself. My father is my everything—and right now, that everything feels like it's slipping away. The thought makes my chest tighten, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I cling to memories of him—his warm laughter, his steady voice—desperate for the comfort they once brought me. But today, those memories feel like shadows, impossible to hold.

Today, I miss him more than usual. I can't explain why, but something feels wrong—wrong in a way that clings to my skin and tightens my chest. A strange, persistent feeling gnaws at me, whispering that something isn't right. My mind kept circling back to him, memories flashing behind my eyes—his smile, his steady voice—but they felt distant, like echoes from another life. I tried to shake it off, convincing myself I was just imagining things. Dad's okay. Everything's fine. He has to be.

To ease my mind, I picked up my phone and dialed his number. It rang several times, but there was no answer. My fingers trembled as I tried again—still no response. Maybe he's in the bathroom or outside. I called again. Nothing. Each unanswered ring hammered against my ribs, the silence between each tone stretching like a noose around my throat. A knot tightened in my chest, hot and searing, spreading like fire through my veins. My dad never ignored my calls—it wasn't like him. The unease twisted deeper, making my heart burn with dread.

I grabbed my coat and was about to leave when my phone rang. Relief surged through me, a cool breeze against my burning chest—but the moment I saw the unfamiliar number, it vanished, replaced by a sharp jolt of anxiety that knotted my stomach. My heart thudded painfully, like it was trying to break free from my ribs.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice brittle and uncertain, anxiety twisting through me like a wire pulled too tight.

"Is this Ms. Stewart?" the person asked in a professional, serious tone.

"Yes," I replied warily. "Who's calling?"

"We're sorry to inform you, but your father is at the hospital."

The words struck me like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. My breath hitched, and my fingers clenched around the phone, desperate for something to hold onto as my world seemed to tilt beneath me.

"Wha... what happened?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper, each word scraping my throat like glass. The burn in my chest twisted deeper, a sharp ache that tangled with the fear gripping me.