< Chapter 47: The Obsessio..
Chapter 47: The Obsession–1
Chapter 47: The Obsession
(Cassandra’s POV)
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“Knock, knock, knock-” I rapped my knuckles against the door of Ethan’s hotel suite, growing increasingly frustrated with each unanswered knock.
“Ethan, are you in there?” I called out, pressing my ear against the door. Nothing but
silence greeted me.
I frowned and pulled out my phone, quickly dialing his number. The phone rang and rang, eventually disconnecting on its own. This was ridiculous! Ever since we returned from Alexander Winters‘ estate, Ethan had completely disappeared–no texts, no calls, nothing. The front desk confirmed he hadn’t checked out, so where the
hell was he?
My patience finally snapped. I pounded on the door with both fists, no longer caring about disturbing the neighbors.
“Ethan Grey, open up! If you don’t open the door today, I’ll keep banging until
you do!”
Ten minutes of relentless knocking later, I heard shuffling footsteps approaching from inside. The door swung open, and I immediately recoiled as a powerful stench of smoke and alcohol hit me like a physical force.
“Why does it reek so badly?” I gagged, pinching my nose in disgust.
The sight before me was even worse than the smell. Ethan stood in the doorway, but he barely resembled the powerful, immaculate Alpha heir I knew. His eyes were sunken and dark, surrounded by purple shadows. His normally clean–shaven face was covered in several days‘ worth of stubble. His hair was greasy and unkempt, and his clothes were wrinkled and stained.
“How did you let yourself become like this?” I asked, unable to hide my revulsion.
Ethan’s eyes were completely empty, devoid of their usual sharp intelligence. His face
want?” was numb and lifeless as he muttered hoarsely, “What do
you
Without waiting for an invitation, I pushed past him into the suite. The room was
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Chapter 47 The Obsessio
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pitch black despite it being the middle of the day. All the curtains were drawn tight,
and not a single light was on.
I frowned and immediately flipped the light switch, illuminating the disaster zone that
was once a luxury hotel suite. Empty wine bottles littered every surface. Overflowing ashtrays spilled cigarette butts and ashes across the coffee table and floor. The bed was unmade, clothes were strewn everywhere, and room service trays with half–eaten
food sat collecting mold.
“This is disgusting,” I muttered, marching to the windows and yanking open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, causing Ethan to wince and shield his eyes.
I turned on the exhaust fan and opened the windows to let in fresh air. “Are you going to keep wallowing like this? What about Grey pack? Your mother has been calling me
non–stop asking where you are!”
Ethan remained motionless in the middle of the room, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His vacant stare was fixed on some invisible point in the distance, completely unresponsive to my words.
“Ethan! Are you even listening to me?” I snapped, growing increasingly frustrated.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
“Fine. Stay here and rot if that’s what you want,” I finally spat, turning on my heel and storming out. I slammed the door behind me with enough force to rattle the walls,
leaving him alone in his self–imposed misery.
(Ethan’s POV)
The slam of the door echoed through the suite, then faded into silence. I remained standing where Cassandra had left me, unable to summon the energy to move.
After days spent in darkness, the sudden sunlight made me dizzy. I staggered toward the window, nearly toppling over despite my tall frame. Bracing myself against the windowsill, I stared blankly at the bright world outside.
How long had I been in here? Three days? Four? Time had lost all meaning since that night at Alexander’s estate.
The image of Olivia in Connor’s arms flashed through my mind again, sending a fresh wave of pain through my chest. The way she looked at him, the way she smiled at
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him–it was unbearable.
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My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out mechanically, seeing dozens of missed calls and over 99 unread messages. None of them mattered.
Just then, Jason Mitchell’s name flashed on the screen. Something clicked in my
foggy brain–Jason was in France. I pressed to answer.
“Ethan, where the hell have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere,” Jason’s confused voice came through. “Did you see the messages I sent you?”
My throat felt raw from disuse, my voice coming out as a rasp. “Are you still in France?”
There was a pause on the other end. “Yeah, I’m flying back tomorrow. Why?”
“Buy something for me,” I said, my tone low and flat.
“Sure, just send me the details,” Jason replied, then hesitated. “Your voice sounds terrible, what happened?”
I stared at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, feeling a crushing weight on my chest. “She’s getting engaged.”
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