Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 100

A Meal For Family.

We stayed tangled in that quiet for longer than I thought possible, the warmth of his arms and the steady rise of his chest tricking me into thinking maybe the world outside didn’t exist. But eventually, the chill crept back into my damp skin, and Conner shifted, pressing a kiss into my hair.

“Come on, little ghost. If we don’t get dressed, Ma will send someone up here to drag us out by the ears.”

I groaned but followed, finding the pile of our clothes we’d abandoned in a wet heap. He tossed me a clean shirt from his drawer, black, too big, soft from years of wear. I tugged it on, the hem hitting halfway down my thighs, and then rummaged through the bag that I brought for some pants. I caught him watching me with that smug glint in his eye.

“What?” I asked, feigning annoyance.

“Nothing,” he said, pulling on his own jeans. “Just like seeing you in my clothes. Makes you look… mine.”

I rolled my eyes, but heat crept up my neck anyway. To distract myself, I glanced around his room again, really taking it in this time. The faded posters of half–naked women, the scuffed trophies lined up like little shrines to a teenage ego, the dusty football tucked in the

corner.

“You know,” I said, smirking as I pulled my damp hair into a knot, “for all your big talk about being terrifying, your room says otherwise.”

He froze, halfway through buttoning his shirt. “Excuse me?”

I pointed at the nearest poster, a blonde sprawled across a red car. “Playboy bunny? Very intimidating.”

He narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “That was-” He stopped, sighed. “Alright, fine, that was teenage me. Thought I was the king of the bloody world.”

“And the trophies?” I asked, stepping closer to run a finger over one. “Football? Really?”

He puffed his chest a little, clearly unable to help himself. “Captain, three years running.”

I laughed outright, shaking my head. “Conner O’Neill. Assassin, soldier, captain of the football team. I’ll never recover from this information.”

“Keep it up, sweetheart,” he warned, mock–serious as he pulled on his boots. “See how fast I pin you to that bed.”

I smirked but didn’t push further, mostly because my stomach growled at that moment and betrayed me. He heard it, of course, and his grin turned wolfish.

“Come on then,” he said, offering me his hand. “Let’s get you fed before Ma sends the hounds.”

We slipped out of his room together, laughter still hanging between us, and headed toward the food hall where voices and clattering plates already promised warmth, noise, and something dangerously close to belonging.

The food hall buzzed the moment we stepped inside, the low murmur of voices rising and falling like waves. Men filled the long wooden tables, shoulders brushing as they ate, laughed, and argued over scraps of bread or the last spoonful of stew. Women darted in and out from the kitchen at the back, carrying platters, swatting at hands that reached for food too early. The place smelled of roasted meat, fresh bread, and wood smoke, heavy and warm. I paused in the doorway, Conner’s hand on the small of my back, and let myself look. Really look. It was chaos, yes, but it was… good chaos. The kind that didn’t make my skin crawl. These men, killers, trained fighters, every one of

them, were smiling. Laughing Passing each other plates like brothers, teasing, bickering, even shoving good–naturedly. A few of them had children perched on their knees, sticky fingers stealing bites, and nobody shoved them away. It was loud, messy, unpolished and alive.

Naomi was already in the thick of it, perched cross–legged on a bench, holding court with a group of men who looked like they’d rather face Yakov’s firing squad than endure her training tomorrow. She was glowing, fierce and wild, soaking up every ounce of attention. Liam sat at her side, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same, his arm draped casually along the back of her seat like he couldn’t quite stop himself. Conner guided me through the press of bodies, nodding to his men as they shouted greetings, and I felt eyes on me. Curious, cautious, some sharp, some soft. But none of it felt like the compound. Nobody was measuring me as a threat to be cut down or a tool to be used. Here, I was… a person. A guest. Maybe even something more. I sat beside him, and a plate appeared almost instantly, heaped high with food. Ma, bustling past, gave me a quick wink before moving on. I blinked, confused at how easily she folded me into the rhythm of it all, as if I’d always been here.

I let the noise wash over me, the clatter of cutlery, the bursts of laughter, the arguments about who ate more than their share. And for the first time I could remember, my chest didn’t tighten. My stomach didn’t knot. I liked it, this mess, this family dynamic. It was nothing like what I’d known, nothing like the cold, rigid silence of Yakov’s compound. It was loud and alive, and it was warm in a way I hadn’t thought possible. I was halfway through a hunk of bread when heads turned near the doorway, conversations dipping for a moment before carrying on again. Ari stepped in, flanked by Winnie and Matteo.

My brows rose. I’d half–expected Ari to be still locked away, spitting venom at anyone who dared come close. But there she was, her sharp edges dulled, if only slightly. She wasn’t storming, wasn’t snarling. She looked… contained. Almost calm. Matteo lingered close at her side, not touching, but angled toward her like a shield. He murmured something low, and I saw the flicker of her jaw tighten before she nodded once. Whatever he’d said, it had worked. Magic. It had to be. Not the kind with rituals or spells, but something else, gentle, quiet. The type that slips past defences without you noticing. I’d never thought of Matteo as anything but the quiet medic, but maybe that was his magic: steady hands, steady words, the ability to hold someone’s fury without breaking under it. Beside him, Winnie hovered, eyes darting between Ari and the tables like she wasn’t sure where she belonged. She caught sight of Naomi, who waved her over with a grin, and some of the tension bled out of her shoulders. I leaned back on the bench, tearing off another bite of bread as I watched them settle. This was new, seeing Ari not as the enemy, but as someone who might, just might, learn how to fit here. And Matteo… Christ. If he could pacify her, even for a meal, then maybe there was more strength in him than any of us had given credit for.

Conner nudged my knee under the table, pulling me back to the food in front of me, but my eyes strayed one last time to the three of

them.