My Obsession
Power. Desire. Blood.
Lauretta Owens has everything-money, beauty, and power that makes even Alphas step back. As CEO of LuneArt Studios, she rules her world with poise and precision. But beneath her confidence lies a secret hunger-to have a little baby of her own though she doesn't care about men or relationships.
One wild night in Manhattan changes everything when she meets Savior Hunt-a devastatingly handsome stranger whose aura screams danger and dominance. Neither of them knows that their encounter will awaken an ancient feud buried in blood.
Lauretta is the daughter of a banished wolf family. Savior is the only heir of the pack that destroyed them.
When passion turns to obsession, and obsession turns to destiny, both must face the truth: they were never meant to love each other... yet they can't stay away.
Torn between duty and desire, loyalty and love, they risk everything to be together-even if it means defying the moon itself.
My Obsession is a dark, seductive werewolf romance filled with explosive chemistry, pack politics, and forbidden passion.
Two powerful souls. One cursed bond.
And a love so dangerous, it could start a war.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
Silvercrest City rose beneath the clouds like a kingdom carved from steel and ambition. Neon reflections glimmered off the river, skyscrapers pierced the sky, and the streets hummed with restless life - human and wolf alike.
Lauretta Owens stepped out of the airport terminal, her red coat flaring behind her like a cape. She inhaled the air of her birth city - crisp, electric, tinged with the faintest scent of pine and moonlight. The scent of a place that remembered her family... and had not forgiven them.
She straightened her shoulders. Let the city remember all it wanted. She was not the same girl who left in shame.
She was a CEO now.
She was powerful.
She was dangerous.
And she had a secret blooming in her belly she wasn't ready to name.
---
LuneArt Studios
The elevator doors opened to the top floor of LuneArt Studios, her artistic empire - modern black marble floors, illuminated moon-themed sculptures, walls showcasing rotating exhibitions. The place felt alive, pulsing with the creativity she commanded.
Her employees immediately straightened. Even the air seemed to tighten under her dominance.
"M-Ms. Owens!" her assistant, Mara, stumbled forward, holding a tablet and a triple-shot latte like they were holy offerings. "Welcome back! We weren't expecting you this early!"
"I don't like being predictable," Lauretta replied, slipping out of her coat.
Mara nodded frantically. "I'll alert the team! And your best friend has called - five times."
Lauretta sighed. "Let me guess - she said it's urgent?"
"She said," Mara cleared her throat and imitated Angela perfectly, "'Tell that woman to call me back before I break into her office with pastries and violence.'"
Lauretta actually laughed. "Sounds like her."
---
Inside her private office - all glass walls, clean lines, city skyline - Lauretta finally allowed herself a moment to breathe.
Except her mind wasn't quiet.
Her fingers drifted subconsciously to her neck, remembering Savior Hunt's breath on her skin. His hands gripping her hips. His voice whispering her name as if he owned it.
She clenched her jaw.
She did NOT have time for this.
She was here to rebuild her family's reputation.
She was here to lead an empire.
She was NOT here thinking about a man she'd known for only a few hours.
...even if those hours still pulsed under her skin.
What have you done Savior?
Her phone buzzed. Angela. Again.
Lauretta groaned and answered. "If this is about brunch-"
"Don't you dare," Angela snapped. "Lauretta Owens, don't play with me. You think you can disappear for a whole weekend and act like you didn't leave a piece of your soul in Manhattan?"
Lauretta rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic."
"Oh, am I?" Angela hissed. "Let me refresh your memory, Miss Selective Amnesia. You called me at two in the morning whispering - WHISPERING - about some man named Savior Hunt!"
Lauretta slapped a hand over her face. "Angela-"
"No, no, shut up. I'm not finished." Angela inhaled deeply like she was preparing for battle. "You described him like he was carved by the moon goddess herself. You said he smelled like firewood, whiskey, and sin-"
"I did not."
"You did! And I quote: 'Angela, his voice alone could get me pregnant.'"
Lauretta sank into her chair, mortified. "Okay, that sounds like me."
Angela cackled. "So who is this man? Where does he live? Do I need to stalk his social media?"
"There is NO social media to stalk," Lauretta snapped. "I checked."
"Oh my god, you checked?!"
Lauretta froze.
Angela screamed, "YOU'RE OBSESSED!"
"I am NOT obsessed."
"You are! You looked for him online! This is phase three obsession!"
Lauretta groaned. "Angela, it was one night. I went to that club with a mission, and he happened to fit the criteria."
"And the criteria was what? Hot, intimidating, and guaranteed to make your knees tremble?"
Lauretta glared at the wall. "I needed a baby, remember? You told me to just... find someone suitable."
"Yes, but I didn't say find a man so fine he'd haunt your dreams AND your hormones."
Lauretta said nothing.
Which only encouraged Angela.
"So?"
"So what?"
Angela grinned through the phone. "So when's the second round?"
"There isn't going to be a second round."
Angela scoffed. "Mhmm. And I'm the queen of France. Girl, your wolf has been pacing since last night."
Lauretta closed her eyes. Because yes - her wolf was pacing.
Restless.
Agitated.
Searching.
But she wasn't about to admit that.
"I have work to do."
"You can ignore it now but not for long" Angela laughed like a villain. "Call me later, Lovergirl."
She hung up before Lauretta could protest.
---
The Pull
The day rolled on - meetings, deadlines, two gallery arguments, and a designer crying because gold paint looked "too gold." Lauretta handled it all with precision and ice.
But every quiet moment felt invaded by memories of Savior.
His heat.
His hands.
His scent.
The way her wolf reacted to him - not just attracted but recognizing.
"You really need to chill out" she mutters to her wolf.
"If I need a man to warm my bed I can always find one "
"Nothing special about him "
By evening, the office was empty except for her.
She exhaled slowly... then suddenly winced.
A wave of nausea.
Followed by heat spiraling through her blood.
Then - a tug.
A warm, magnetic tug deep inside her body.
Lauretta pressed a hand to her abdomen.
"...no."
But another pulse answered under her palm.
Soft.
Alive.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened.
"Oh my god..."
She wasn't imagining it.
The connection was real.
She was pregnant.
Already.
Her wolf hummed in satisfaction.
Lauretta stared at the floor, stunned and speechless.
She had wanted this.
She had planned for this.
But the reality - the immediacy - the intensity - shook her.
Savior Hunt's child.
No.
Mine.
Her chest tightened.
Her throat warmed.
And she whispered to the empty office:
"...this is insane."
"Though I wanted it, I wasn't expecting it to be this fast"
She stares at the air.
---
Across the City
At that exact moment, in a high-rise suite on the opposite side of Silvercrest, Savior Hunt jolted awake at his desk.
His heart hammered.
His wolf snarled.
He pressed a hand to his chest, breathing hard.
Something had changed.
Something vital.
"Damn it," he whispered. "What are you doing to me, Lauretta Owens?"
He had no idea where she was now.
No way to reach her.
Not even her last name.
But he could feel her.
In his blood.
In his bones.
In every restless breath.
He leaned back, staring at the moon through the window - silver, sharp, unforgiving.
And he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Their night wasn't over.
Their story hadn't even begun.
You may also like
7.3
She was sent to destroy him.
A man feared in the shadows, a mafia lord whose name alone commanded power and blood. Serafina Dunes had one mission: send Rapheal Dekoms to hell.
Murdered by her husband's mistress, Yuanita Serra was ripped from life before her time-only to be reborn as a missionier, and her first task was to kill Rapheal Dekoms. But fate had other plans. What was meant to be a deadly mission became a dangerous game of desire and hate, where every glance and every touch ignited a fire she couldn't control-and threatened to unravel everything he had ever built.
8.6
Found you
8.6
Naomi Nelson thought her life was ordinary.
A quiet high school student trying to survive exams, friendships, and the confusing emotions of teenage love. But everything changes the night she receives a mysterious message attached to a bracelet she doesn't remember owning.
"I found you."
Soon Naomi discovers that the bracelet belonged to her late father-and it holds the key to a powerful company he helped create before his mysterious death.
With the help of Ethan Cole, the intelligent and determined boy who has always stood quietly beside her, Naomi begins uncovering secrets buried deep in her father's past. But the closer they get to the truth, the more dangerous things become.
Strangers begin watching them.
Hidden enemies emerge.
And someone is willing to do anything to claim what Naomi unknowingly inherited.
As trust is tested and feelings grow stronger between Naomi and Ethan, one question begins to haunt her:
Is Ethan protecting her... or hiding something from her?
In a story filled with mystery, betrayal, and love, Naomi must uncover the truth about her father before the past catches up with her.
Because someone out there has been waiting years to find her.
And now...
they finally have.
9.4
My husband, the ruthless Underboss of the Ewing crime family, was terrified of one thing: his dead fiancée’s memory.
Or rather, her living sister, Ivana, who used that memory to turn my life into a living hell.
To "apologize" for humiliating me at a gala, Corbett brought me a peace offering: a green macaron.
"Pistachio," he promised. "Your favorite."
I took one bite, and my throat instantly seized. It felt like barbed wire tightening around my windpipe.
It wasn't pistachio. It was almond paste.
Corbett knew I was deadly allergic. He used to carry my EpiPen on our first dates.
As I collapsed to the floor, wheezing and clawing at my neck, a scream ripped from the guest wing.
"Corbett! Help! They're posting mean comments about me again!"
Ivana.
Corbett looked down at me, his dying wife, and then looked toward the hallway where Ivana was crying over Instagram.
He hesitated for only a second.
Then he pulled his leg away from my grasping hand.
"I'll be right back," he said, turning his back on me. "Just... use your pen."
He ran to comfort a healthy woman while I crawled across the carpet, vision tunneling, forcing the needle into my own thigh to restart my heart.
As I lay there shaking, listening to him soothe her, the last thread of love snapped.
I didn't call an ambulance.
I pulled a burner phone from behind the vanity mirror and texted the one man Corbett feared more than death—his rival, Don Kain Solomon.
"I accept. Get me out."
9.5
Eight days after my c-section, my husband left me and our hungry, premature newborn alone.
He rushed to his manipulative ex-girlfriend, Cassidy, who was faking another one of her "panic attacks," just as he always did.
His obsession with "saving" her had already caused our son's premature birth. This time, it got him killed.
In a jealous rage, Cassidy slammed her car into us, and my baby was gone.
But when I woke up in the hospital, Kevin was protecting her, not me.
He told me it was an accident, that her diagnosed mental illness made her not responsible. He even had our son cremated without my consent, erasing all the evidence.
He begged me to forgive them, to let it all blow over so we could be a family again.
I looked at the man who had destroyed my life and smiled.
"I called the police, Kevin," I said, showing him my phone. "And that medical certificate you're holding? It's a fake."
8.6
Kim had thought she could live without Ari. Without the laughter, the late night talks, the quiet warmth of someone who felt like home. But Ari returned changed, apologetic and impossible to ignore. Loving her once nearly Kim. Loving her again might just heal her. Some loves never really end...they just wait.
7.6
I pulled the perfectly baked Beef Wellington from the oven, its rich scent filling our Manhattan penthouse. For five years, I’d crafted this perfect life, but tonight, I’d discover my entire existence was a cruel, silent lie. The man I loved had built it all on betrayal.
Preparing our anniversary dinner, I reflected on five years of building a flawless home for Blake, a dream I’d never known.
Searching for a pen, I found a hidden compartment in Blake’s desk containing a cheap black USB drive—a significant secret for a man who despised anything less than perfect.
His MacBook unlocked with his birthday, not ours. The USB, after a near-data-wipe, revealed "The Archives": hundreds of photos of Blake with his college girlfriend, Isabelle, passionate love letters, and a wardrobe chosen to mirror hers. My name yielded "0 results found," while millions were wired to Isabelle.
I was a meticulously funded stand-in, a ghost he dressed up to play house. My non-existence in his world and his financial betrayal ignited a cold, burning rage.
Blake returned, dismissive, offering a delayed anniversary gift. I confronted him; he ripped the USB, snapped it, and stated, "Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." My obedience shattered: "I want a divorce," I declared, then destroyed dinner and packed my own bag.