My Reborn Fiancé Has A Dark Obsession with Me

The phone call with Lachlan had left me shaking with rage and something darker—a creeping dread that settled in my bones like winter frost. I tried to focus on work, on the normalcy of reviewing contracts and returning client calls, but my concentration shattered every time I glanced toward the window. The paranoia from my past life was already seeping back, poisoning the safety I had fought so hard to build.

By evening, exhaustion weighed on my shoulders like a lead blanket. I gathered my things and headed home, my steps echoing in the empty parking garage. The familiar routine should have been comforting, but every shadow seemed to hide threats, every sound made me flinch.

I was fumbling with my keys at the apartment building's entrance when I saw it—a sleek black sedan parked across the street, its engine running despite the late hour. My blood turned to ice as I recognized the silhouette behind the wheel.

Lachlan.

He sat perfectly still, his dark form visible through the windshield, watching my building with the patience of a predator. The sight of him there, casually violating my sanctuary, sent fury blazing through my chest.

I marched across the street, my heels clicking against the asphalt like gunshots. The passenger window rolled down as I approached, revealing Lachlan's composed features bathed in the amber glow of streetlights.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the night air.

He turned to face me fully, and I was struck by how different he looked from our past life. Gone was the cold indifference I remembered, replaced by something infinitely more disturbing—an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Waiting for you to come home," he said simply, as if stalking me was the most natural thing in the world. "We need to talk."

"We talked this morning," I snapped, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill. "I made my position very clear."

"You hung up on me." His voice carried a note of reproach, like I was a child who had misbehaved. "That's hardly a conversation."

The audacity of his words left me speechless for a moment. He had destroyed Isaiah's career, threatened my happiness, and now he was acting wounded because I hadn't given him a proper goodbye?

"Get out of the car," I said through gritted teeth.

Lachlan's eyebrows rose slightly, but he complied, unfolding his tall frame from the driver's seat with fluid grace. Even in the dim lighting, he commanded attention—expensive suit perfectly tailored, dark hair styled with casual precision, every inch the powerful businessman who had once owned my life.

"Willow," he began, his voice taking on that soft, reasonable tone I remembered from our worst fights. "I want to apologize."

The words hit me like a physical blow. In all our years of marriage, through every humiliation and cruelty, he had never once apologized for anything. The closest he had come was suggesting that my expectations were unrealistic.

"Apologize?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "For what, exactly? For ruining my fiancé's career? For stalking me? For crashing my engagement party?"

"For everything." His dark eyes held mine with unsettling intensity. "For ignoring you. For hurting you. For not seeing what I had until it was too late."

The sincerity in his voice was almost worse than his past cruelty. At least then I had known where I stood—unwanted, unloved, dismissed. This new version of Lachlan, with his gentle words and burning gaze, was a predator wearing the mask of a penitent lover.

"You want to apologize?" I stepped closer, fury giving me courage. "Then leave me alone. Stay out of my life. Let me be happy with someone who actually values me."

For a moment, hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this obsession was just guilt talking. Maybe he would see reason and walk away, letting me build the life I deserved.

But then Lachlan shook his head, slowly and deliberately, and that hope died a swift death.

"I can't do that," he said, his voice soft but implacable. "I'll do anything else you ask—buy you houses, jewelry, give you the career you always wanted. I'll get on my knees and beg your forgiveness every day for the rest of my life. But leave you? No, Willow. That's the one thing I will never do."

The certainty in his voice made my blood run cold. This wasn't the declaration of a man in love—it was the promise of a captor who had found his perfect prisoner.

"You're insane," I whispered, taking a step back. "This isn't love, Lachlan. This is obsession."

"Call it whatever you want." His smile was gentle and terrifying. "But I won't make the same mistake twice. I won't let you slip away again."

The words 'slip away' hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. He wasn't talking about our divorce or separation—he was talking about my death. About losing me permanently to the despair he had created.

I turned and ran, my heels clicking frantically against the pavement as I fled toward my building. Behind me, I heard the car door slam and the engine purr to life, but I didn't look back. I couldn't bear to see his face in the rearview mirror, calm and satisfied, knowing he had delivered his message.

Once safely inside my apartment, I double-locked the door and leaned against it, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. Through the window, I could see his car still parked across the street, a dark sentinel in the night.

My phone buzzed with a text from Isaiah: "Hope you had a good day, love. Can't wait to see you tomorrow."

The simple message, so full of warmth and genuine affection, made my chest ache. How could I drag this good, decent man into the nightmare that was unfolding around me? How could I let Lachlan destroy another innocent person in his quest to possess me?

The answer came with crystalline clarity, sharp and painful as a blade through my heart. I couldn't. I wouldn't let Isaiah become collateral damage in Lachlan's twisted game.

With trembling fingers, I typed back: "We need to talk. Can you come over tomorrow evening?"