Obsessive Messages Read online

  Obsessive Messages (Captive Writings #2)

  Copyright © 2022 by M.L. Philpitt

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-7774731-8-1

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Warning: This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

  * * *

  Cover Designer: Cat Imb, TRC Designs

  Editing and Proofreading: Rebecca Barney, Fairest Reviews Editing Services

  Formatting: M.L. Philpitt

  “Every Breath You Take” by Chase Holfelder

  “On My Own” by Ashes Remain

  “The Devil Within” by Digital Daggers

  “Disturbia” by Rihanna

  “Stockholm” by Bianca

  “Almost Touch Me’” by Maisy Kay

  “Marionette” by Antonia

  “Hush Hush” by Asher Monroe

  “Please Take Me” by Beth Crowley

  “Wonderland” by Taylor Swift

  “Love Me Like You Do” by Ellie Goulding

  “Twisted Games” by Night Panda & Krigare

  “Monster” by Beth Crowley

  “Irreplaceable” by Madilyn Paige

  * * *

  Listen here

  Obsessive Messages is the second book in the Captive Writings series, which must be read in order. Ruthless Letters, book 1, is available for purchase on all retailers.

  * * *

  Obsessive Messages is a grey/dark (depending your definition) stalker romance with content some readers may find triggering.

  * * *

  This series gets dark. Very dark. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. By books 3 and 4 you’ll be questioning how we even managed to get there.

  * * *

  Since some retailers don’t like to see warnings on the purchase page or even within the initial pages of the book’s file, if you are concerned about triggers, please visit my website for a list or contact me.

  For everyone who found love in unconventional ways

  NATALIE

  * * *

  He ensured I would pay for my brother’s sins by claiming me for himself. A few messages are all it took before I fell down the hole his web of lies formed. One that seemed impossible to climb out of and could easily bury me alive.

  It started when Tristan Pence first snuck inside my house, at a seemingly random point in my life. He’s as beautiful as he is a villain—my villain—and with every pretty word, every stroke of his finger, and every consuming orgasm, he claimed more of me for himself. But with every visit, with every touch and kiss, I chose to hand more of myself over to him until I lost myself completely.

  In the daytime, he’s someone entirely different. At night, he plays the ultimate game with my sanity, and guess what—he wins. But it’s both versions I end up craving.

  Until the night it all changes. When he reveals his true self and the plot he’s orchestrated, making my role one I never saw coming…

  There’s a true villain in this story, and it’s not Tristan.

  NATALIE

  * * *

  Life’s predictability sucks sometimes. For other university students, it means going out with friends. Or perhaps simply curling up on the couch and watching a movie while gorging on unhealthy snacks. Or for those like me, who prefer to remain focused on their studies, it means keeping up with the mountain of school work professors feel we would benefit from having in our lives.

  Or it used to be like that for me, anyway.

  Until two months ago, when the strange phone call came, providing me with a date, time, and location—that was it. It was something like fiction, but for some stupid-ass reason, I went. Curiosity, fear… something drove me to follow the instructions.

  And then my life changed in ways I only ever dreamed about.

  Which is why, instead of studying, I’m standing on the front step of my now paid-for townhouse, waiting for the fancy black sedan to arrive, as it does every Friday evening since that life-altering day.

  I cross my arms, blocking the evening chill from touching my bare chest, thanks to the lowered neckline of one of three dresses I own. I wear them on a cycle each week, and it’s this one’s turn. I ought to go shopping soon, before he notices my lack of diversity in elegant clothing and tries to fill my closet with more.

  When the black car pulls up to the curb, the typical turbulent reaction I get each week flows through me. Nerves, per usual. I’ve never felt at ease in his company; the unknowns and newness of it are too anxiety-triggering, but there’s also a slight excitement at the disbelief that this is my life now.

  Billy, the driver, steps out and, like a well-practiced machine, he opens the back door, gesturing toward the darkened cabin.

  The first time he did this, I almost shit myself.

  The second time, it was just as scary, but I knew it wouldn’t result in anything fatal, such as my dead body being tossed into a dumpster.

  The third time, I felt less afraid and was able to say, “Hi, Billy,” which has become my usual greeting.

  Like every other time since then, he grunts his reply, but his lips twitch, telling me he’s okay with my acknowledgement. I figure, make friends with the driver because if this ever does go south, he’ll be the one to drive me far away and leave my body somewhere no one will find me. The other month, one of my literature classes studied the original tale of Snow White, and I suppose her plan inspired mine.

  Billy shuts the car door behind me, confining me in the dark back seat. The only light present comes from the streetlights and the glow of my cellphone, which I use to keep my mind busy during the hour-long drive, mindful that, upon arrival, I’ll need to shut it off. My host is a tad paranoid about people hacking phones and listening in on conversations.

  I play along, because it’s how the rich think, and it’s not like I ever had the opportunity to know if it’s a thing or not—being as I didn’t grow up wealthy. That, and because he’s paying for my education, living arrangements, and other bills, funding my aunt’s centre, and oh, because I’m terrified of him.

  So, why do I go? Why am I leaning back against the rich, textured leather of the vehicle, sighing as I stare out at the town? Because I’m scared of what happens if I say no. We’ve always lived two different lives, and while I’m grateful for his new place in mine, I’m too petrified to test what will happen if I turn him down. So far, it’s been fine—new and weird, but fine.

  Even a little bit nice. If this works out for the best, he may be able to take away some of the loneliness in my life. It’ll be enjoyable to have someone else in my life. Someone to just listen as I talk, and maybe spend time with outside these dinners.

  They say blood is thicker than water, so I can only hope he believes the sentiments behind the phrase as well.

  After a while, I glance up from my phone, noting how the town’s lights have faded away, leaving behind the dark walls of trees lining the highway. Our destination is Cortville, the city nearest Bridgetown—also known as, home. Or, more specifically, outside of the city, because it’s the only area a house the size of his has the land for, while still remaining near the city and his company’s downtown office.

  With Billy’s approach to the mansion’s property, the two wrought iro
n gates, ones the height of my townhouse, creak and slowly open, allowing us passage into the otherworld—a place no mere mortal goes, simply because they cannot afford it.

  He claims the company is a multi-million-dollar business, and when he inherited it, he got everything that went along with an income of that magnitude, such as this house and the land it occupies. I’ve never inquired further, because it’s not exactly something you come out and ask a newcomer in your life.

  Billy continues up the long driveway, past the perfectly manicured lawns, past the fountain I’m sure is the size of a coffee shop, and parks in front of the grand entranceway, less than ten feet away from a staircase belonging outside Cinderella’s castle.

  I lock a deep breath in my lungs, knowing it’ll be the only one I take for the rest of the night as I sit uncomfortably on the edge of knives, waiting for the truth to be revealed. It’s bound to be divulged eventually. It’s not that I want to think badly of him and the improving financial situation he’s gifting me, but it’s strange how he’s known about me for a while but is choosing only now to reconnect. Or… connect, since I never met him before. For Aunt Jolene’s sake and my own self-preservation, I smile and nod, and wait for him to eventually disclose if there’s a more sinister purpose for bringing me into his life or if it’s simply what he’s claiming—to try to resolve old mistakes.

  Billy immediately climbs from the driver’s seat and comes around to my door. I learned on day one, only Billy opens the vehicle’s doors. Not me, even if I’m not helpless like his staff assumes I am. As I climb out, steadying myself on the rich cobblestone, Billy’s attention drops to my hand.

  “It’s already off and inside my clutch.” I hold up the tiny purse.

  It only took two visits before he had Billy stop checking my phone. Two visits for him to trust me, but this is coming from the guy who believes my phone may be listening in on our non-secretive and boring, all-about-life conversations. Yet another fact I lodge away for another day; another piece I’ll use to crack the case of what is happening in my life.

  “Very good, Miss Miller.”

  Pretty sure I’ve only been referred as that by, like, professors and such. I’m not an elite person, and no matter how hard I try, no one here calls me by my first name.

  “Natalie!”

  Except him.

  I smile, his joyous tone wiping away all the previous worries. Like usual, my concerns seem to only exist during the car ride here, and then later, when Billy takes me home. Once I’m in his soothing presence, nothing else matters. So what if all this is a bit sketchy, strange, and even eccentric? There’s no concrete proof of anything menacing, therefore I have no actual reason to fear him. Not when he’s simply being a good guy.

  A good brother.

  Alex Miller, my never-known-about-until-two-months-ago biological brother, skips down the dozen steps and is by my side quickly. Despite wearing a suit that belongs in a boardroom, boyish charm rolls off him, and it’s instantly energizing, uncoiling my nerves and easing my tightened back muscles with his beaming expression.

  Billy steps back against the car, his attention lowering to his feet. “Sir,” he greets, but Alex ignores him and stretches his hand toward me.

  “Good drive here?”

  Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s respect. Perhaps a bit of yearning to be cared for. Either way, I lay my palm in Alex’s waiting hand and allow him to lead me up the stone steps, and through the double glass doors that are propped open and waiting for us to enter.

  If I’m honest with myself, the entryway doors are my favourite element of this house because of what they represent—as though anything is possible once you broach them. They stand taller than two normal-sized doors stacked on top one another, resulting in me feeling even smaller than I am. They’re entirely made of glass, with black iron filigree between the panes.

  Aunt Jolene tried to give me a good life, but given her career, it was only enough to sustain herself. She never counted on the addition of me in her life, so money was tight for a while. The second I was of a suitable age to be hired, I began working my first part-time job in the evenings and on weekends to help with the house’s finances and save whatever free cent I could for university. Jolene always wanted me to attend and make something of myself so I won’t struggle when I’m older.

  When you own a house like Alex’s, with doors like these, it screams wealth, and wealth means anything is possible. The world becomes bigger when you have the money to afford more, and Alex can clearly afford everything.

  Jealousy gave me a splitting headache the first time I came here because I should have had access to this lifestyle, and not have had to place extra stress on Jolene, but after one dinner with Alex, I decided my life was better than his. As elaborate and lovely as his existence is, it’s too distanced from the rest of the world—figuratively speaking.

  While this may seem like the life, it’s not for me. This is a world where wearing a dress and heels for a nice Friday night dinner with your brother is normal. Where staff wait on you hand and foot. Where trying to put your own plate away gets you reprimanded. Where climbing in and out of the car isn’t allowed until the door is opened for you.

  If I was raised in this life, I’d be an entirely different person—rich, spoiled, and probably more worried about making it to my nail appointment than finishing an essay assignment. The distaste this possibility brings causes me to shudder.

  Alex leads me down the silent hallway, past the sitting room, the piano room, the hallway that eventually connects with the kitchen, and into the dining room. Before Alex, I believed dining rooms to be only a room attached to kitchens. Here, it’s a separate room with a table that can easily seat at least fifty people. Candles line the centre of the table, stretching up to the two place settings at one end.

  “You know,” I call out, “I’m fine eating at a smaller table. This is a lot of work for your staff to set up.” Not even counting the electricity bill he’s paying to light this entire room for nothing.

  Alex scoffs, continuing to our places. “You’re cute, Natalie. You need to get used to the better life. One day soon, this could also be your home.”

  Interest. Piqued. “Yeah?” I squeak, surprised he’s finally giving me a hint of what he sees our future as being.

  He says nothing more and pulls out my chair. My hand swoops beneath my bottom, ensuring my dress is tucked properly for when I sit. He pushes in the chair and then takes his own seat.

  Staff are immediately by the table, pouring red wine into our glasses. This is one of the best parts of the evening. When Aunt Jolene would buy wine, it was the cheap, grocery store kind, and it was usually only to celebrate something. I never enjoyed the taste though—too bitter—but the stuff Alex serves is plain magic. It must be from another world entirely and I take a large sip, uncaring if it’s improper etiquette.

  His attentive gaze watches my large gulp, but he says nothing and leans back against the chair. “Natalie, how was your week?”

  His question forces me to put the glass back in its place on the shiny tabletop. “It was good.”

  “Do anything fun?”

  I shrug. “Fun and me don’t really get along. I mainly studied and watched TV.”

  “Hmm.” Alex’s hand comes up and props his chin. His eyes scan me—study me, is more like it—and under the weight of his scrutiny, I wither into the padded chair.

  I’m not pretty by any means. Not like the women he brings around here, I’m sure. My plain, brown hair falls limp down my back, the curls I spent an hour meticulously creating are already unraveling. The power behind perfectly, natural straightened hair is a curse at times. I’m average height, taller with these three-inch heels clasped to my feet. My dress is simple, cheap, mid-thigh length, and plays nicely with the additional weight I can never seem to get rid of—I think, anyway. My face is done with minimal makeup, enough to heighten my features, but nothing over-the-top or unnatural.

  Alex is classically hand
some. His dark hair remains trimmed to the top of his head, his facial features similar to mine, but much more symmetrical. No stress mars his face. Up close, you spot the similarities in our appearances, but in times like now, it’s obvious we’ve had entirely different lifestyles.

  Self-conscious under the weight of his stare, I touch the tips of my hair. “What?”

  “Next Friday, I was thinking we could do something different than our usual dinner. I’d like to host a party in your honour.”

  “A party?” The word comes out more like a surprised squeak than I mean it to. “Like… here?”

  “Where else?” His lips curl into a polite smirk—not mocking, just amused. “I’d like to introduce you to influential people. Business partners, and the like. You know how it goes.”

  More people in his life. I straighten, dropping my hands in my lap, and murmur, “I guess it could be fun.” My fingers knot together, so I don’t rub at my skin where my nerves are making it itch.

  His eyes, brown like mine, sparkle under the candlelight, telling me he believes my lie. “Good. I know this is overwhelming, Natalie, but I do want to give you everything you’re owed. Helping Jolene, your housing situation, and paying for your education is only a fraction of what you deserve. I also have personal and political connections I can share with you. I want you in my life completely. I want my colleagues to meet the sister I continue to mention in my calls.” He smiles. “I can further your future in ways you won’t even believe. Plus,” his hand falls from his chin, “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”

  I jerk at the new fact about himself he’s sharing. “You have a girlfriend?”