Obsessive Revenge

Chapter one: Meeting you

The chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars above the ballroom, scattering golden light across silk-draped tables. Waiters hurried in silence, fixing last touches before the night began. At the center of it all stood Evelyn Valentino, clipboard in hand, her gaze sharp but her smile sweet.

She wasn’t a guest tonight—she was the planner. Every table, every flower, every flicker of candlelight carried her effort. At twenty-six, she had worked years to prove her worth, and tonight’s gala could make or break her reputation.

“Perfect,” she whispered to herself as she adjusted the last bouquet of roses. Their crimson petals gleamed beneath the chandeliers. They gave the room passion, warmth, elegance.

The double doors creaked. Guests began flowing in, dressed in glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos. Evelyn greeted them politely, her posture poised, her nerves hidden beneath professionalism. She walked through the hall discreetly, ensuring glasses sparkled, chairs aligned, servers attentive.

Then the room shifted.

The doors opened again, and he walked in.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit—Ashton Miller. Twenty-eight years old. CEO of Miller Enterprises. The youngest and most powerful bachelor in the city. His name alone carried weight; his presence silenced the hall.

His gaze swept across the ballroom, cold and commanding. Conversations hushed, breaths held, as though everyone had instinctively bowed to an unseen crown. Evelyn’s breath caught without reason. Their eyes locked for a single moment. His stare was piercing, sharp enough to cut. Her chest tightened, heat rising to her cheeks.

Then, just as quickly, he looked away and moved toward his table.

Evelyn pressed her clipboard to her chest. Focus. He’s just another guest. This is work.

The orchestra began a soft melody. Waiters circled with trays of champagne. For a moment, the gala flowed perfectly. Evelyn exhaled slowly, relief loosening her shoulders.

Until Ashton stiffened.

He shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening. His hand brushed his throat. His glare flicked to the roses in front of him. With a sharp movement, he shoved the vase away, the glass nearly toppling. Guests gasped. Evelyn froze.

“Allergic reaction,” someone whispered.

Her stomach dropped. The roses…

She rushed forward, but Ashton was already on his feet, his chair scraping against the polished floor. His cold eyes locked onto her like a predator finding prey.

“You,” he said, voice low but lethal.

Evelyn’s hands trembled against her clipboard. “Y-yes, sir?”

His gaze darkened. “Do you think you get paid for a job like this?” His tone cut through the air like steel. “Careless. Incompetent.”

Her lips parted, panic rising. “I—I didn’t kno—”

“Waste of time.”

The words echoed, louder than the orchestra, louder than the murmurs of shocked guests. Evelyn’s heart shattered. She bowed quickly, muttered an apology, and fled through the side doors.

The night air hit her like ice. Evelyn leaned against the wall, her breaths uneven, tears blurring her vision. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to steady. She hated this. She hated crying. She hated him.

Why did his words hurt so much?

“Why are you crying?”

The voice was smooth, teasing, unexpected. Evelyn startled, wiping at her eyes, and looked up.

A man leaned against the wall, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His dark eyes studied her curiously, not with coldness, but with something softer—amusement, maybe even interest.

He stepped closer, his features catching the dim light. Striking. Handsome. His presence was different from Ashton’s sharp ice. This one was fire—subtle, dangerous, flickering with warmth and unpredictability.

“Someone this pretty shouldn’t cry,” he said casually.

Evelyn blinked, stunned into silence.

He pulled a crisp handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. After a beat, she took it, dabbing her eyes carefully. His lips curved faintly, satisfied.

“Better,” he murmured. Without waiting for a reply, he flicked his cigarette aside, turned, and walked back into the gala, leaving her stunned in the night.

She stared after him, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t name. Who was he…?

Evelyn gathered her composure, smoothed her gown, and returned inside. The hall was quieter now, all attention fixed on the stage.

Ashton Miller stood behind the podium. His posture radiated authority; his voice was deep, commanding, and precise. He spoke of business alliances, of charity, of strength. Every word carried weight, pulling the audience into his orbit.

From the shadows, Evelyn watched. Despite herself, she couldn’t look away. The same man who had cut her down minutes ago now spoke like a king. His confidence, his control—it was magnetic.

Applause thundered as he ended his speech. Ashton descended the stage, his gaze forward, his steps steady. He passed Evelyn without a glance, though the faint scent of his cologne lingered as he brushed by. Her throat tightened, but she forced her eyes down, fists curling at her sides.

Cold. Untouchable. And cruel.

The night ended. Guests departed in sleek cars and limousines, their laughter fading into the night. Evelyn stayed behind, ensuring staff cleared the tables, roses removed, glasses polished. When the ballroom finally emptied, exhaustion sank into her bones.

She stepped outside at last, her heels clicking against the wet pavement. The street was quiet, nearly deserted. She glanced down the road—no taxis. Her phone showed no rides available.

“Great…” she whispered, hugging herself against the chill.

Then the sky opened.

Rain poured in sheets, drenching her instantly. Her gown clung to her, hair plastered to her cheeks. She gasped, shivering, holding her clipboard uselessly over her head. The night blurred in silver streaks.

Headlights swept the street. A sleek black car pulled up. Ashton stepped out briefly, adjusting his cufflinks. His eyes flicked toward her.

For one suspended second, their gazes locked again.

Her heart skipped. Would he…?

He turned away.

Without a word, he slipped into his car. The engine roared to life. As the vehicle pulled out, the tires splashed water, drenching her further. Evelyn staggered back, breathless, stunned.

He didn’t care. Not at all.

Another car rolled up. The window lowered, and through the rain she saw him—the man from outside earlier. The smoker. The one with the soft smirk.

“Get in,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Evelyn shook her head stubbornly. “No… thanks. I’ll walk.”

His brow arched, amused. “In this storm? Not happening.”

He stepped out, umbrella in hand, and moved toward her. He was soaked within seconds, but his smirk remained. “Don’t be difficult.” His voice lowered, warm. “Let me drive you.”

Her body shivered, her resolve breaking. Slowly, she nodded and slid into the car.

The interior was warm, leather soft against her soaked gown. She sat quietly, clutching the damp handkerchief still in her lap. He slid behind the wheel, glancing at her with that same unreadable smirk.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, starting the car. “Ashton’s like that with everyone.”

Her chest tightened at the name. Ashton. Of course. This man had to be related somehow. But she stayed silent, staring at the rain streaking the glass.

When the car finally stopped at her apartment, she turned, her voice soft. “Thank you… for the ride.”

He gave her a small smile, one eyebrow raised. “Get some rest, Evelyn.”

Her eyes widened. “H-how do you—”

But before she could finish, he pulled away, the car disappearing into the storm.

That night, Evelyn sat alone in her apartment, rain tapping against the window. She clutched the handkerchief in her hands, her thoughts racing.

Ashton Miller’s cold eyes. His cruel words.

That man’s smirk. His warmth. His strange knowledge of her name.

Her heart refused to settle.

Meeting them tonight… feels like the beginning of something I can’t escape.

And she was right.

This was the start of an obsession.

And revenge that would burn everything in its path.