Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 50

Her Obsession.

What Our Future Could Be.

Conner

The whole day melted into something I hadn’t had in years, no gunfire, no meetings, no knives hidden under pillows. Just us. Talking about nothing. Not talking at all. My hand tracing idle patterns on her hip while the TV hummed in the background. Her head on my chest, the sound of her breathing syncing with mine. I made her tea. She stole half my toast. We argued over the best way to make coffee. She laughed when I burned my tongue and for a moment, hell, for hours it felt like this could be it. Like the rest of the world didn’t exist, and maybe, if I held onto her long enough, it never would again. I didn’t know what was coming. What storm was building outside these walls. All I knew was that she was here, warm and alive in my arms, and I wasn’t ready to let go. Sage pushed the blankets back, wincing but stubbornly swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“I need to go to the surveillance room,” she said like it was the most natural thing in the world, no hesitation, no glance to check if I’d argue.

It wasn’t unusual for her, when she couldn’t rest, she worked. But I followed anyway, just in case. Nico was already there, leaning back in a chair, arms crossed, watching the wall of screens. Sage slid into the main console seat without a word. She moved like the pain didn’t exist, fingers flying over the keys, pulling up feeds, cycling through angles with surgical precision. I stayed beside her, silent, just watching. She wasn’t just monitoring, she was rebuilding again. Layered firewalls, smarter motion tracking, encrypted comms. Then she tied in a lockdown sequence so airtight it made my chest ache. She was fortifying our world… and I couldn’t shake the feeling she was preparing for something only she saw coming. But that was the very essence of her, wasn’t it? Always watching, always knowing, always ten steps ahead. For a girl who was half dead yesterday, she didn’t show it. No wince. No moan. No cry for sympathy. Just that razor–sharp focus, moving from one task to the next like pain was an inconvenience she refused to acknowledge. And hell, maybe that was what had me so locked in on her. Every other woman I’ve dated, hell, every other person I’ve let close, needed coddling, shelter from the uglier corners of this life. They leaned on my word as law, trusted me to stand in the fire so they didn’t have to. Sage? She’d already set the fire herself and was halfway to building a fortress in the smoke. She didn’t just walk into a room, she claimed it. Bent it to her. She was the power and the force, the sunlight and the storm, and she didn’t need anyone to hand her either. She was it. And somewhere in between watching her tear apart code and weave it back into something impenetrable, I realized…She’s mine. I’m not sure when it happened. Maybe the first time I saw her smile like she’d just gotten away with something. Maybe when she spoke my language of strategy without me needing to translate. Or maybe right now, with the glow of the screens lighting her face and that wild, dangerous mind of hers in full flight. Doesn’t matter. It’s done. She’s mine forever. I’m already locking it in. Already thinking about the ways I’ll drag her out of this life before it eats her whole. Wondering what kind of ring she might wear. Running through every scenario of what our future could look like, where we could disappear, where no one could touch us. She deserves the goddamn world. And I’ll be damned if I don’t give it to her. Sage tapped a final command, screens shifting into a web of new security layers. Nico glanced over, eyebrows raised like he’d just realized she’d built something beyond even his paranoid expectations. Her eyes flicked to me, just for a second, like she was checking if I’d kept up. I had. I wasn’t just watching her secure the perimeter. I was watching her secure her place in my life. I glanced over at her, still hunched over the screens, fingers flying like she was orchestrating a symphony of firewalls and camera feeds.

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t even look up, just hummed like she was weighing the request as seriously as a mission brief. Then her gaze flicked to mine, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Surprise me.”

“Surprise you?” I smirked. “Careful, Ghost. That could mean cereal.”

Her smile widened, and for a second the tension in her shoulders eased. “If you make it, I’ll eat it.”

It hit me harder than I expected, how much trust was in those words. I crossed the room, brushed a loose strand of silver hair back, and kissed her temple.

“Alright, I murmured. “Stay put. I’ve got you.”

And for once, it wasn’t about guarding her. It was about giving her something simple, normal, a piece of what our future would be like.

I cleared a space on the kitchen table, lighting a couple of candles I found tucked in a drawer. Nothing fancy, just enough soft light to cut through the shadows. The same ones she had used before to set dinner for me. I worked, stirring the sauce for my favorite dish, a slow–simmered beef stew I learned from my ma when I was a kid. It was hearty, honest food. Food that said, You’re home here. I caught myself smiling, thinking about Sage. The way she’d made meals after or during long missions for me, the rare moments when her guard slipped and she let herself enjoy something as simple as a good dinner. Setting the plates down, I poured two glasses of red wine, not much, just enough to take the edge off the day. When I called her in, the flicker of candlelight caught her eyes, making them shine even in the dim room.

“Dinner’s ready,” I said, voice low.

She smiled, that quiet, tired smile that still made my heart jump.

We sat close, sharing warmth in the quiet, letting the world fade away for a little while.

7:25 pm D

What Our Future Could Be

This is lovely, thank you darling.”

“You re welcome, sweetheart.”