Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 168

The Ghost and Her Mirror

Sage

Connot tells me about Nico’s worries that evening, leaning against the doorframe of our room with his arms folded, voice careful like he’s not sure if he’s treading into dangerous territory or just setting me up for a smirk.

“Apparently,” he says, “our boy’s been borrowing toys without asking ”

I look up from the file I’m pretending to read. “Borrowing?”

He nods Tive micro cameras. And before you ask

no, Nico didn’t give them to him. He took them.”

That earns him a grin. “Sounds familiar.”

He sighs. That’s what worries me.”

I close the file, set it on the nightstand. “You think he’s crossed a line?”

“I think he’s standing on it,” Connor says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And maybe dancing a little.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes aren’t laughing. That’s the thing about Connor, he still wants to believe in good lines, clear ones. But I know better. Some of us are just built to blur them.

“I’ll check on him,” I say, sliding off the bed.

Connor’s brow furrows. “Check in like a normal person, or check in like you?”

I smile, pulling on my coat. “You know there’s only one way I do anything, darling.”

The night is thick with cloud cover when I step outside. The air smells like wet earth and pine, the kind of night that makes everything quieter. Diego’s cabin is dark except for a faint strip of light at the window. I move like I used to, soundless and unseen like a ghost, through the grass and toward the edge of the trees. He’s already moving. I spot him slipping out through the side path, hood up, his stride easy, confident. No wasted motion. That’s the first rule he learned: if you move like you belong somewhere, no one questions it. I keep my distance, twenty paces back, blending with the dark. Watching my brother…my son, because that’s what he is in every way that matters, as he ghosts his way through the same kind of shadows that raised me. He reaches Nico and Winnie’s cabin within minutes. The window glows faintly; the infirmary lamp still burns low from her late–night work. Diego pauses, listening. Then he picks the lock. Fast. Two clicks, smooth as breathing. My mouth twitches. Good boy. Inside, the light from the hallway spills over the doorframe, just enough for me to see him ghost across the room. He’s careful, no bumping furniture, no misplaced step. Nico will probably think a draft knocked over his tools in the morning. He kneels by a drawer, opens it, and pulls out exactly what he came for, a small black pouch, the kind Nico keeps his gadgets in. Cameras, tiny mics. He doesn’t even open it, just checks the weight with one hand, nods to himself, and slips it into his pocket. Then he’s gone again. He

moves like me.

I follow him all the way down the gravel path to where the compound’s fences end, where the trees swallow the world. He doesn’t know I’m behind him. He

wouldn’t see me even if he turned around. By the time we reach the outer road, a car’s waiting. Not one of ours. A nondescript black sedan, tinted windows.

He slides into the driver’s seat, engine purring low. I double back, retrieve my own car, and pull out my phone to track his. It’s nearly an hour before he

stops again, far from any light. The Ricci estate looms on the horizon, sprawling, elegant, all glass and stone and arrogance. I know this place. I’ve studied it

before, back when his father was still running the family. Now it’s his sons family, Marco, a man trying too hard to be something his father wasn’t.

Diego parked in the shadow of the treeline. He doesn’t move for a while. Just watches. The glow from the mansion windows catches his face in fragments,

the reflection of a boy with old eyes.

The Ghost and Her Mirror

And then she appears Charlotte Ricri The half sister, the inconvenient secret turned asset She walks into the fit dining room, her hair cropped neat at the jaw, dark against her white blouse She’s all sharp lines and focus, a folder in hand, her mouth set in a line that says she’s used to being underestimated.

that kind of stillness. It’s the same stillness I used in have before a Diegu leans forward slightly. Watching Learning It’s eerie, seeing it from the outside

job. The moment when curiosity tips into obsession When interest becomes focus so sharp it cuts I stay close enough to see but far enough not to disturb. He watches until the lights in the dining room dim Then he moves He scales the side of the building like he’s done it a thousand times, hands, feet, a single misstep and he’d break his neck, but he doesn’t He’s too good He stops at a balcony, hers, judging by the light behind the curtain The window’s open just a crack I can’t see much from where I am, but I don’t need to. I can feel what he’s doing.

Setting the cameras.

Texting the range.

Mapping her routine.

Re’s smart enough not to go neat her bed, careful enough to keep the operation invisible. There’s a reverence to it, not lust, not even hunger, but a kind of twisted admiration. The same thing that once made me whisper Connor’s name before I’d ever touched him. When she turns out the light, Diego stays where he is for a while, perched in the dark like a guardian or a shadow or something between the two. Then, finally, he moves off the balcony, landing softly in the grass below. I don’t move until he’s halfway back to the car. He doesn’t look back once. Good. He’s learning. I stay there, watching the faint taillights vanish down the road. Then I turn back toward home. By the time I reach the compound again, dawn’s just starting to crawl up the horizon. I pause at the edge of the yard, the faint yellow light catching on the cabins. Nico’s place is dark now, door locked, tools untouched. Diego’s window glows faintly.

Connor’s waiting on the porch, arms folded, coffee in hand. He raises an eyebrow. “You check in?”

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