The Sweetest Obsession (Dark Hearts of Redhaven Book 2)
The Sweetest Obsession: Chapter 22

I’m asleep on the sofa when the door bangs open with a crash loud enough to stop my heart.

I bolt up with a startled scream, my eyes snapping open.

The look on Grant’s face when my vision clears doesn’t stop the panic slashing through me.

What happened?

What is it now?

I stare at him, standing in the doorway with his face ash grey, his brown eyes stark, his chest heaving like every breath is cement.

“Ophelia,” he snarls roughly. “We have to find Ros. Right fucking now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” I clutch my throat, trying to tame my rabbiting pulse. I’m already scrambling for my phone with my other hand. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“No, not exactly, I don’t—oh, fuck.” He swipes a hand down his face and steps into the house, moving with a weariness that seems to have aged him a thousand years.

My heart slows to the dull thump of the door slamming shut in his wake.

Grant sinks down on the sofa next to me and fully buries his face in his hands.

Holy hell, what happened?

“Grant?”

“I don’t know how to fucking say this, Philia. I don’t. But I can’t keep this from you,” he rumbles.

I shake my head painfully.

“Keep what?” I’m frozen, phone pinched in my hand, thumb hovering over Ros’ contact. Cold dread squeezes me like a snake. “Grant, you’re scaring me…”

He slowly lifts his head, looking at me with haggard eyes.

“We found letters,” he says slowly, wetting his lips. “They were buried at the scene where Mason Law showed you the body. He hid them there.” Grant’s eyes are almost pleading. “They’re from Angela, Philia. Addressed to Montero Arrendell.”

“…what?”

I am so, so confused the world goes fuzzy.

My phone drops into my lap as I brace myself against the back of the sofa. What else isn’t he telling me?

Grant looks at me miserably and shakes his head. He’s wearing the same face I imagine he uses as an officer when he has to show up to someone’s doorstep with the very worst news.

“I don’t understand. What… what are you saying?”

Deep down, I’m scared that I know.

At least, I have an inkling.

I can guess what he’s implying, but my mind won’t wrap around the words. The very idea feels like a foreign language, something I can’t understand taunting me.

Ice knifes through my heart as it all comes flooding back.

The questions about the past Mom always dodged.

How secretive she was about our little family.

About our dad.

What Janelle Bowden said about my mother and the flipping Arrendells.

“He’s your father,” Grant clips, reaching for my shoulder, the only point of warmth grounding me to a reality that’s just flipped upside down. “You always wondered. Montero Arrendell is your old man—and Ros’. That means—”

“No! Oh my God…” If it wasn’t for his steady hand, I’d throw up right here. I clap both hands over my mouth, staring at my knees, wretched bile climbing up my throat. “Aleksander, he’s—”

My throat clamps shut.

I can’t even say it, to speak aloud the full insanity lodged in my throat.

“If it’s any comfort, Lucia said they haven’t—y’know. Not yet.” Grant clears his throat.

“Holy shit. Holy balls. Are you sure? Grant, you’re sure she’s been holding out?”

That’s definitely the Ros I know, a sweet, old-fashioned, shameless romantic at heart.

But with the way she is now and that leering creep all over her, I figured there was no way he hadn’t lured her into his bed.

“Yeah,” Grant agrees grimly. “We have to find her before that twisted prick does something she can’t take back. Before he makes this worse than it already is. You understand?”

Sickeningly, I do.

And I don’t blame him one bit for dancing around saying it.

My sister and Aleksander Arrendell. Engaged when they’re half siblings.

I rake my nails over my thighs, grounding myself with the stinging sensation.

“God.” It’s the only thing I can say coherently, but after a moment something clicks. I lift my head, staring at him. “You think he knew? He knew and… but why?”

“Considering his own fucking brother said he liked murdering women because being rich was boring before he died, tricking his half sister into sleeping with him is probably a parlor game. That whole family is completely fucked in the head—” Grant stops and stares at me. “The ones who know what they are, I mean.” His voice drips with disgust as he sighs. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, I’m not, but—oh God, it’s too much.” But I can have a breakdown later.

Montero, Montero, why would my mother ever…?

Why is he my father?

Why can’t my dad be any other man on Earth?

But if I think about it, I can see it.

Terrible little hints of him in my face, in Ros’, in our striking green eyes.

When I swallow, it’s like sandpaper, and I shake myself loose from my circling thoughts.

Ros has to come first while there’s still time to help her.

I shoot to my feet, legs wobbling.

“We have to find her. I’ll call, you go get Nell. I left her doing her homework in her bedroom,” I tell him.

Grant nods sharply, standing as well.

There’s a fraught moment when he starts to reach for me, and I’d have fallen into his arms in a second, desperately needing comfort, damn the complications.

But then he stops, hesitates, pulls back.

There’s one last forlorn look between us before he pivots and thunders upstairs, his voice echoing back as he calls, “Nelly-girl?”

Meanwhile, I stab at my phone, lift it to my ear, and listen to the ringtone shrilling horribly. It’s too much like horror-movie violins ramping up my nerves with every scraping sound.

Three rings.

Four.

Five.

Then a lonely click—

“Ros?”

—before her voicemail message chirps at me cheerfully. “This is Ros! You know what to do, I’ll call you back when I can.”

Crap.

Crap crap crap.

“Ros, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. Please. Make sure you’re alone when you do.”

I hang up, staring at my phone.

Endless horrible images rush my brain, starting with the slimy way Aleksander touched her, looked at her, kissed her right there in front of me, his eyes swirling with so much hunger—

No, we’re not going there. But if I think about my sister alone with him for even another second, I really will puke.

I fire off a text instead.

SOS call back NOW it’s life or death please please please Ros this is beyond serious

As soon as I hit Send, I try calling her again.

While the phone rings dumbly in my ear, Grant comes tearing down the stairs again and thrusts a crumpled piece of paper written in screaming red colored pencil at me.

“We’ve got another problem,” he grinds out.

The sound of Ros’ voicemail trills at me in the distance as I read Nell’s loopy handwriting.

And my heart has a new reason to plummet.

Gone To Find Miss Ros: Dont Try To Find Me

“Oh, no,” I breathe, dropping my phone.

When I look up, there’s a direct mirror of my confusion, my pain, my disbelief in his face.

Grant’s eyes darken like never before, swirling with worry and a cold determination I wish I had.

We run through the house.

We search high and low.

We pray silently—even if I can only hear it in his footsteps and loud, lonely calls for her—because this shit cannot be happening right now.

Oh, but it is.

No sign of Mr. Pickle.

Nell’s backpack isn’t in her room or anywhere in the house.

She’s not answering the little kiddie phone Grant uses to keep up with her, and the tracker signal on it doesn’t show. It’s like the battery’s dead.

My house is locked up tight, the little play area where Nell ran away before untouched. Empty.

She’s truly gone.

I want to blame myself, falling asleep and losing track of her, but there’s no time for that right now.

Grant’s truck roars wildly as we pile in and floor it, heading for the Arrendell house.

The engine churns, fighting the steep incline of the hill.

I try Nell’s phone over and over and over again, but she’s not picking up.

“Grant,” I whisper, and he clenches his jaw, staring ahead at the house with a hard gaze.

“We’ll find out where they are, and then we’ll find Nell. We’ll put a stop to this bullshit.” There’s a dark certainty in his voice, something I shouldn’t find so reassuring.

But I do.

Grant Faircross doesn’t let any horror slow him down.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t grieve. He doesn’t curse his atrocious luck.

He just springs into action, becoming courage incarnate, and right now I wish that were me.

Listen to him. It’s going to happen, I try to tell myself. No matter what he has to do, he’s going to bring her home.

And you’re going to get Ros away from that smiling freak before it’s too late.

Soon, we’re roaring through the gates.

The tires screech as Grant swerves into the roundabout at the foot of the stairs of that big white mansion. The engine barely has a chance to die before Grant leaps out of the truck, slamming the door hard enough to shake it.

I launch out after him without thinking, racing up the steps right behind him, but as we get to the door, I balk.

We’re about to go into the lion’s den, and if he’s there…

I’m part of this.

My God.

Part of this tainted legacy that’s poisoned Redhaven. But I shouldn’t think about anything but Nell’s safety right now.

Later, I’ll start to process my feelings, everything that comes with finding out you’re part monster.

For now, Grant is my shield, the wall between me and the valet who opens the door, lifting his chin haughtily.

“Sir, you cannot simply show up without a prior—”

“Unless you want to spend the night in county lockup, stand aside,” Grant snaps, flashing his badge. “Official police business. Missing child. Get the fucking Lord and Lady of the manor right now. Do not waste my time.”

There’s a stunned, offended sniff. Then the valet jerks his head and pulls himself back inside. “Follow me, please.”

We exchange tense looks and I follow him into Hades.

I feel so small here, even in Grant’s shadow.

This massive house always looms over the town like a giant fist of judgment.

Today, it feels like its shadow is meant for me personally.

I just stay close to him as the valet leads us through red-draped halls that make me think too much of blood.

Blood bond.

Blood relatives.

Blood—

I have to stop.

Imagine how much better this gets if I panic myself into passing out here.

The butler brings us to the big central hall with its massive chandelier and curving staircases.

Intimidating, but Grant stands tall and strong like nothing unnerves him.

His fists are clenched, his shoulders squared like he’s gearing up for a real brawl.

The valet leaves us alone.

I curl my hand against Grant’s arm. The muscle feels like stone under my palm.

I don’t dare say anything when it feels like the high ceilings would pick my voice up and carry it through the entire house.

My heart beats like a frightened, caged bird in the silence.

Still not as hard as it jolts when the double doors at the far end of the hall snap open.

Lucia and Montero Arrendell glide in like they’re making a grand red carpet entrance they’ve rehearsed a thousand times.

She’s as elegant as ever in a sleek grey sheath dress, her slim fingers brushing her blonde bob back from her sharp jawline, but I barely notice.

I’m staring at my father.

God help me.

He’s a dark cameo of old-school style and dashing, devil-may-care looks behind a smooth smirk.

Their eyes flick over us like we’re for sale and they’re just considering the price, but it’s when they look at me that I die inside.

They know.

There’s something strange in those haunted green eyes that match my own as Montero Arrendell—as my father—looks at me.

As his gaze lingers, weirdly distant, that remote smile fading and leaving something thoughtful and strange.

I might never notice, if not for the other pair of eyes burning like a laser.

But Lucia’s stare is all cold hatred.

To her, I’m a living reminder of how often her husband must’ve strayed, and now I’ve invaded her house.

My stomach sinks.

I shrink away behind Grant.

Especially when Montero won’t stop looking at me.

Like he’s trying to understand this fantastic new creature in front of him, oblivious to Lucia tossing her hair and eyeballing Grant like a judge ready to hand down a sentence.

“How many times must you barge into my home in one week, Captain Faircross?” she bites off.

“Don’t,” Grant growls. “Lady, I don’t have time for your offended bullshit. My little cousin’s missing. Pretty sure she ran off with Ros, and Ros is always with Aleksander. She’s not answering her phone. So I’d damn well appreciate it if you could tell me where your two lovebirds went.”

Lucia smirks. “I’m afraid they’re a little out of your reach. Come now, what are you worried about? If the little girl’s with them, they’ll take good care of her, certainly.”

The emptiness in her voice makes my heart fall out.

For the first time, I’m afraid for Nell and Ros both.

Grant’s knuckles strain in hard ridges as he stomps forward, baring his teeth.

I pull back on his arm, shaking my head with a whisper.

“Grant. Don’t.”

Meanwhile, Montero keeps staring at me like a statue, his gaze blank and impenetrable.

How could he?

How could they?

What the hell was my mother thinking?

And with Ros, if they knew—if they just stood back and watched and let it happen, let Aleksander play this sick game…

Grant goes stock-still.

“Don’t make me arrest you both,” he snarls. “And fuck the consequences to my career. Tell me where they are.”

“On the coast by now,” Lucia answers haughtily, her lips curving smugly. “They’ve eloped. My dear son wouldn’t wait for a fairy-tale wedding. Since Rosalind’s practically family”—she pauses and sends me a cutting look—“and since I couldn’t be supportive enough of their little relationship, they’ve taken matters into their own hands, I’m afraid. There’s a priest waiting to marry them on Aleksander’s private yacht at Wrightsville Beach.”

Crap.

Aleksander must have pressured her.

Somehow, he must’ve known the clock was ticking, so he wants to bring this horrible game to its conclusion before it’s too late.

Marry her so she’ll stop resisting and he can have his way, and then he’ll get what he wants.

An abomination.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” I whisper before I can stop myself. I’m talking to Lucia, but I’m locked on Montero, eye to eye, searching for—

I don’t even know.

Something.

Some vague recognition of a man I could call my father, some hint of humanity or just regret.

I don’t find either as I clear my throat and force myself to speak.

“Why did you let them?”

Montero finally looks away.

He’s hiding his face from me now, looking to the side. Maybe there’s the faintest human conscience in there somewhere, or he’s just annoyed at getting caught.

But it’s Lucia who answers confidently.

“Frankly, I’m glad they decided to do it this way. Big weddings are such work, and who am I to get in the way of my son’s happiness?” she purrs.

“Get fucked,” Grant says bluntly. “Call him right now. Keep calling him until he answers. That yacht better not leave the fucking docks. And you call the wedding off ASAP. That’s not a request.”

He turns sharply then, stalking away.

“Grant?!” I pelt after him.

“Let’s go,” he snarls. “It’s a three-hour drive to Wrightsville Beach.”

I’m completely exhausted, running on total willpower.

Little Nell’s still not picking up.

The last few hours have been a whirlwind from hell.

Constantly calling Nell and Ros while Grant coordinates with both Redhaven and Wrightsville PD officers. He’s also sent Lucas and Micah and Henri up to the big house to make sure the Arrendells follow his orders. They report back in when Aleksander still won’t answer his phone.

My fingers work the screen furiously between calls, messaging my sister again and again, begging for an answer.

He’s our brother! You can’t marry him.

Mom had an affair with Montero Arrendell and he’s our father.

Wherever you are, run! The police are coming. Whatever you do, don’t let him pressure you into anything.

This is so not how I wanted this travesty to go.

But I don’t have the luxury of time anymore.

There’s no breaking the news to her gently.

Not when this could break her if he pushes her into going through with the unthinkable.

When that gets no response, I try Nell again, just as Grant swerves the truck onto the off-ramp for Wrightsville Beach. I’m just about to hang up and try again.

But the call picks up.

I jerk forward hard enough to snap the seat belt against my throat, gasping as someone sniffles out a whisper.

“M-Miss… Miss Philia?”

“Nell! Honey, where are you? Are you okay?”

“You got her?” Grant’s head whips toward me.

I shove a hand against his cheek, urging him to keep his eyes on the road. “Nell, sweetie, talk to me.”

“I… I can’t,” she whispers, her voice tiny. “They’ll hear me. And he’ll get m-mad…”

“Who, Nell? Who’s scaring you? Where are you?”

“It’s… it’s a big boat,” she manages. “I hid in the trunk. I didn’t think Miss Ros would m-mind, but then the scary man was there and he said mean things to her. He made her get in the car, and I followed them on the boat. But I’m scared. I think he’s gonna hurt her!”

“Stay where you are, sweetie,” I say, clutching my phone tight, making my voice level. “Stay hidden. We’re on the way. We’re almost there, and we’ll make everything okay, I promise.”

“Hurry,” she pleads. “H-he… he’s—”

My heart becomes ice as she breaks off.

Followed by the sound of my sister’s voice in a chilling scream.

Then Nell screams too, belting out, “Miss Ros!”

I reach out helplessly like I can grasp them both, letting out a hurt cry of my own, my heart splitting apart.

“Rosalind! Grant, we have to hurry.”

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