Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

As Simpson stepped over the body of the last bodyguard and entered the guest room on the second floor, all he saw was a scene of chaos akin to a tornado ravaging through. All the decorations and furnishings in the room were strewn across the floor, tables and chairs overturned, and the grey shag carpet stained with blood.

Joseph’s neck had been slashed open, and fresh blood gushed out from the ruptured artery, soaking half of his sky-blue shirt. He stared ahead in disbelief, his dying body writhing like a stranded fish, the damaged throat emitting a wheezing sound of extreme defiance.

Joseph never imagined he would meet his end at the hands of Alajos in this manner. Alajos kicked him away, struggling to get up from the floor. His entire body was covered in injuries.

Quickly rushing to support him, Simpson prevented him from falling to the ground, “Alajos, are you alright?”

“Get out of here,” Alajos tossed aside the blade in his hand. Due to the force, the wound in his palm was deeper than he thought, with the white bones visible among the bloody mess. But there was no time left for him to bandage it-Joseph was dead, Bryson still unconscious, and chaos was imminent in Los Angeles. They could not stay here any longer.

Alajos’ condition was truly dire. Before he could step out of the room, everything began to blur before his eyes. The blows Joseph inflicted on his back were throbbing, and the metal piece embedded in him from the chair had possibly punctured his ribs or even his organs.

He heard the sound of Luzia running towards them, hearing her speak to Simpson in a panic and embrace him. With great effort, he opened his eyes, trying to force a smile. He wanted to tell Luzia that it was all over, Joseph was dead, and he could finally bring Vivian home.

“Alajos?” Simpson was the first to notice something amiss with Alajos. Reaching out his hand to grasp him from behind, he touched something warm and wet.

Simpson looked down at his hand, now covered in blood. Startled, he turned to see a large pool of blood on Alajos’ back, drenching him entirely.

Almost shouting, “Quick, get out of here, find a doctor, hurry!”

…

This was a standalone villa situated on a private island in Hawaii. The ground floor housed the butler, chef, and a Filipino maid in separate rooms, while the only guest of the villa resided on the second floor.

Humming a rural tune, Camar approached the guest’s room, lightly knocking on the door three times. With no answer from within, he raised his voice, “I’m coming in.”

With a click, Camar twisted the door lock and pushed it open. Inside, the room was pitch black.

Taking a glance at his costly Patek Philippe wristwatch in the faint hallway light, displaying ten twenty in the evening, Camar admitted his tardiness in visiting the patient. It didn’t matter, he assumed the patient would–

“Ugh!” A table lamp flew past him, crashing into the door behind him, scattering its components on the floor.

Camar, with a sigh of relief, patted his chest. Thank God, thank his boss for honing his reflexes in this shark tank of a job, allowing him to narrowly escape this unwarranted incident.

Not daring to be distracted any longer, his first action upon entry was to flick on all the room lights, exposing the guest hidden in the darkness.

“Hi, Vivian!”

The response to Camar was a tossed alarm clock.

Ducking and covering his head, Camar tried to explain, “Listen to me, Vivian!”

“Who are you people, and why have you taken me? Where is my child? Give him back to me!”

Vivian couldn’t describe the fear within her. She was getting used to waking up from unconsciousness in different places each time, but this time was different-she had gone into premature labor.

She remembered everything from that day at sea-the shards of porcelain piercing her palm, Tabdon’s terrifying gaze, and narrowly avoiding a miscarriage before being taken to the hospital for an early delivery. Then she slipped back into unconsciousness until ten days ago.

She didn’t know where she was now, not allowed to leave the bed or the room. Besides the doctor administering medication and the maid in the villa, she had no other company. Initially weak and unable to resist, her spirits gradually improved, only to be told her wound was infected, preventing her from getting out of bed. But no one told her where her child was. Any emotional outburst was met with a sedative injection.

Vivian had had enough of these days.

“Please, give my child back to me.” Sobbing uncontrollably, she clutched onto a decorative vase tightly, ready to strike if Camar made any move towards her.

Equally helpless, Camar had only brought Vivian to the island to recuperate. It was his first time setting foot on the island, and whatever happened to Vivian or her child had nothing to do with him-it was all his boss’s doing. Why should he now bear the wrath of a mother?

Camar felt like crying too.

“Vivian, do you not recognize me? Have you ever felt that I look familiar?” Camar ran his hand through his hair, recalling their encounter in the streets of Houston. “Your bodyguard even beat me up.”

Clearing his throat, Camar remembered his tone of voice from that time, “Beware of where you’re going.”

She looked up, meeting Camar’s eyes.

“It’s you…”Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.