Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

The realization was not very kind to Vivian, for it sparked a budding fear within her, and she began to doubt whether her action was correct.

However, the allure of Alajos’s room was greater than she had imagined. Vivian had already pushed open the door, and the strong, masculine scent that greeted her was unmistakable – it was the fragrance of Alajos’s cologne.

Vivian took a deep breath and slowly walked into the room.

A plush carpet lay on the floor near the entrance, and a wooden lounge chair was adorned with a cushion and a gray blanket, next to a fireplace capable of warming the coldest of rooms.

One could only imagine the comfort of lying in that chair by the fireplace on a snowy winter day, sipping coffee and eating mousse cake.

From the chair, one could also see the glass door on the opposite side, leading to a balcony that overlooked the entire city. The balcony was furnished with casual tables and chairs, making it an excellent spot for an afternoon tea.

Yet, the most attention-grabbing feature in the entire room was the large bed in the center, which Vivian noticed the moment she entered. It was exceptionally big, even larger than the one in her Los Angeles mansion, and significantly higher Vivian had to step on a footstool to climb onto it.

The bed was covered with a silk duvet, the cover sea-blue in color, soft and warm to the touch, like a cloud. His pillows were neatly arranged at the head of the bed, with pillowcases of another shade of blue, devoid of any particular pattern.

Vivian did not stay on the bed long, for it was Alajos’s private space, and lingering there brought an inexplicable sense of shame. It was this very feeling that hastened her to leave Alajos’s bed quickly, and as she jumped down, she accidentally knocked over something on the bedside table, hearing the sound of items being toppled inside.

She hurriedly opened the drawer of the nightstand, worrying that she might have damaged something inside. To her surprise, she found condoms and lubricant inside the drawer!

She was embarrassed and didn’t know whether to close the drawer immediately or just turn around and leave. Nonetheless, she noticed that the boxes of condoms and lubricant were already open, and upon inspecting the lubricant, she found that more than half of the bottle had been used.

Vivian realized that Alajos had used these items – naturally, no one would buy such things to simply leave them lying around their room for no reason. Okay, the most important question now was, with whom had Alajos used them? They must have shared the bed right here.

This realization made Vivian a bit unhappy, even depressed. After all, Alajos was her fiance in name, and she would mind and feel unhappy about him being with any woman.

Vivian began to wonder who the woman could be. Was it the friend Luzia had mentioned? Or Shelley? Or perhaps one of Alajos’s past female companions?

She felt a strange emotion swirling in her chest, feeling oppressed and heavy. Alajos was that kind of man; he was charming and manly, no woman could resist being enchanted by him. Alajos could have any woman he wanted, but none could possess his love.

Vivian intended to put the lubricant back into the drawer, but as she looked down, she couldn’t avoid seeing the box of condoms and the ‘XL’ size printed on it.

Heavens!

Vivian gasped, XL-sized condoms!

“Alajos was the most valiant and enduring man she had ever encountered, not only in his leadership qualities,” Luzia’s words echoed in her mind, leaving Vivian shocked and shaken, even unconsciously sizing up the ‘XL’ in her thoughts.

Unfortunately, her father’s traditional and strict upbringing did not allow her to explore these matters. Apart from her brothers, her opportunities to talk to men were extremely rare, and the private all-girls high school she attended would not openly teach them about such topics.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Vivian was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hallway until Simpson was behind her, asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah!” Startled and feeling guilty, Vivian nearly jumped. She didn’t actually jump because her feet had gone numb from squatting, and she lost her balance, sitting down hard on the floor.

Simpson let out a timely laugh, turning Vivian’s cheeks red. She scrambled to stuff the items back into the drawer and closed it with a snap, “I… I was just looking at my future room.”

“Is that so? Are you satisfied with it?” Simpson walked over to the bedside table, ignoring Vivian’s embarrassed attempts to block him, and opened the drawer, “I’m sure now you’ve seen them.”

Vivian’s face flushed, and Simpsonoffered his hand in a gentlemanly gesture, pulling her up from the ground.

Vivian adjusted her clothes, her cheeks still flushed, “It’s beautiful, more so than I had imagined. So beautiful it doesn’t seem like it belongs to Alajos.”

“Of course,” Simpson replied.

Vivian wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with her about the room’s beauty or affirming that it indeed didn’t seem like Alajos’s room. But soon she got her answer.

“The decor of this apartment was designed by our mother, including his room,” Simpson explained as he showed Vivian around the room, pointing at the long-furred carpet in front of the fireplace, “Mother loved these fluffy things.”

“The styles our mother liked were always elegantly simple: white, beige, pink, these light and plain things, as well as Alajos’s preferred shade of blue.” Mentioning their late mother, Simpson’s expression softened, “Alajos often says that Mother’s designs don’t really suit him, or the entire Hargrave family for that matter – too pure for the sunlight.”

What kind of a mafioso would be pure as sunlight? Darkness and danger were more befitting colors for them.

“But Alajos never changed the apartment’s decor,” Simpson added. Their mother had passed away four years ago.

“Yes,” Simpson said, “perhaps because it was designed by Mother.”

“He must have loved your mother very much,” Vivian commented.

“She was our mother,” even Simpson couldn’t admit to love.

Vivian watched him in silence.

Simpson smiled and said, “I heard you’re reluctant to marry Alajos, that you’ve attempted to escape a second time.”

Vivian couldn’t decipher Simpson’s purpose for the visit today, but it didn’t hinder her honesty, “Yes.”

“Why? Just because Alajos doesn’t love you?”

Vivian looked at him, knowing how childish her reason must seem to everyone, “Can’t that be enough?”

“Of course, it can be,” Simpson said, looking into her eyes, his bearing a similar hazel to Alajos’s, “It’s your freedom, Vivian.”

Vivian’s heart skipped a beat, and she dared not meet Simpson’s eyes any longer.

“But you should also be aware, Vivian, that a marriage without love can also be a form of protection,” Simpson’s voice was deep, his breath roaming around Vivian as if weaving a seductive spell, “Love is a weakness. Anyone can easily grasp your love and then torment it, destroy it. Even if you are always vigilant, you might not be able to protect it because you never know where your enemies might be hiding. Could it be your servants? Nanny? Chef? Or even your driver? It’s all possible.”