Obsessed
SARAH
I blinked. But strangely, I didn’t feel the usual heat of embarrassment or anger. Ever since our last conversation, something had shifted. I was still sceptical of him, sure. But not scared. Not anymore. He wasn’t that same untouchable mystery he used to be, that silent brother who haunted the halls with his distance. He had layers now, visible cracks, and for some reason that made him easier to tolerate. Easier to be around.
Still gasping for air, I didn’t argue.
“Let’s go sit there,” he said after a beat, motioning to a circular cluster of benches surrounding a fountain.
We made our way over, and I thought foolishly, maybe that we were sitting to relax. To talk. To maybe even share something… human.
Instead, the moment we sat down, he lifted a hand and started pointing.
“That’s the main walkway. Straight ahead leads to the central quad. The left path goes toward the media and tech buildings. The right path splits into bicycle lanes and loops back to the admin offices.”
I blinked, caught off guard.
He kept going. “Over there is the music therapy department. The second floor is where the soundproof studios are. You’ll need an access card. I’ll show you where to get it.”
From there on, as we started walking again around the place, it was like Ryan had morphed into a walking, talking campus directory.
No jokes.
No warmth.
No hint of personality.
Just clean, efficient, clinical commentary, this is the media room, this is the building where student council meets, this is where students usually eat lunch, this is where the workshops are held…
He didn’t mention anything personal. Nothing about himself. Nothing about me. It was like we weren’t siblings. Like we were strangers. And maybe we still were. But the strangest part? I was oddly okay with that.
Forty-five minutes in I had heard enough. Ryan had made it his personal mission to show me every department, walk me through every class, and explain in painful detail how the entire university was built. Every turn, every hallway, every facility—even the ones I had zero plans of ever stepping into.
I mean, the mechanical workshop?
The chemistry lab?
The Geometrical wing?
I didn’t need to know that stuff. I wasn’t going to blow anything up in a lab or build a machine. And don’t even get me started on the history department. Why would I need to know where that is?
But Ryan wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t slow down. Wouldn’t stop. He was determined to make sure I “covered the whole university.” Like this was a military drill. And now, my legs were killing me. My throat was dry. My patience was hanging by a very thin thread.
As we exited the science lab, I just snapped.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” I blurted out.
Ryan paused mid-step. “Doing what?” he asked.
He turned toward me, and for the first time in a while, he looked genuinely confused. Like he truly didn’t understand why I would want to stop. And in that exact moment, I realised who Ryan was.
Ryan was obsessed with perfection. He wanted everything to be just right, done thoroughly and properly down to the last detail. He didn’t cut corners. He didn’t skip steps. He didn’t play with things. When he was doing something, he committed. Fully.
But the strangest part? When he was in that mode, it didn’t even feel like he was himself. It was like he’d put on this robotic version of himself, ticking boxes, completing tasks. Fulfilling a role. Nothing more.
Obsessed.
All my brothers are a little crazy in the head. I kept that thought safely locked away. No way I was saying it out loud. At least Ryan seemed to tolerate me. That was... progress, I guess.
“I’ll get you some water,” he said, nodding toward a path. “There’s a fountain by the walkway, just a few steps over.”
"My feet are killing me..."
Then he glanced at my feet. “Are they hurting?” he asked.
I gave him a look that said, What do you think?
“Remove your shoes,” he said casually. “Wiggle your feet a little.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“It’ll make your muscles loosen a little. Get off them.”
He was still watching me. That calm, unreadable Ryan expression, but now with a layer of disapproval. “You knew you were coming on a tour. Why the hell would you wear high heels?”
And the way he looked at me, straight into my face, eyes unwavering, it was like he was genuinely waiting for an answer. Like he expected one. Was he seriously waiting for me to explain myself?
I shrugged it off, but his stance didn’t budge. That same stillness. That quiet expectation. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?
So I gave him something.
“Well, just so you know, I love the way I dress,” I said, straightening up a little. “And I believe the way you dress and the way you look speaks before you even open your mouth. I wanted to look good. I wanted to be presentable. I’m sorry if you wanted me to come here wearing slippers....But I won’t.”
There. Take that. Ryan didn’t react much. He just exhaled through his nose, quiet and resigned.
“Just get off your shoes,” he said, voice steady but dipped in finality. Like he’d reached the end of the conversation.
With a sigh, I slipped them off. My toes instantly thanked me, but I barely had time to relax before Ryan bent down..... For a moment, just a moment, I thought he was going to massage my feet. Which would’ve been way too close for us. A line-crossing situation I wasn’t prepared for.
But no. His hands didn’t reach for my legs. They went for my shoes. And before I could process what was happening, before my brain could even form a protest, I heard a sharp snap and then another.
My jaw dropped. My breath caught. He....he did not just do that. He did not just snap the heels off my Jimmy Choo shoes.
I stared at the mutilated remains in his hands, a scream curling up in my throat.
“Oh my God,” I said, stunned.
He looked up at me like it was nothing. Just.....nothing.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
