His Darkest Obsession

Celina

"Absolutely unacceptable-" more specifically, revolting, pathetic, and a fucking blessing. "-is what it is." But I don't dare dump the hard truth onto the hysterical girl crying on the other end of the line.

It's a miracle I'm able to keep my mouth shut for so long, especially considering I've been sitting here, listening to her sob over a mediocre man for the past ten minutes.

This is the issue with women who emotionally involve themselves with men. They give full control of their emotions to a man who is, by textbook definition, a disappointment.

While the rest of us, whether it be their children, mothers, sisters, or the women they fucked, are subjected to this disappointment they seem to ooze out of every clogged up useless pore in their bodies.

Not only had Hana yet to understand this simplistic notion, but she was the worst kind of victim. The kind that saw the good in them.

This was the first thing I'd picked up freshman year about my new roommate, who turned out to be a friend. Only she was the worst type of friend. Sweet, naive, and far too innocent to ever take any of my advice. Even if it was the only right way to deal with her problems.

I examine the dark shade of red coating my almond-shaped nails and briefly wonder how I'm going to find a nail tech that I don't want to slaughter in America.

"Lina?" A choked sob fills the line, louder than the others. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhm." With a roll of my eyes, I set the phone on speaker and reach into my bag to pull out my laptop. "Thomas, dick, little brunette from Political Law 101."

If three years at Oxford had taught me anything, it was how to be an expert at listening without actually listening.

That gets her off my ass and back to her breakdown, while I hold up my empty champagne glass, ushering one of the two flight attendants over.

Yet they both are too busy ogling the bodyguards positioned on either side of the bar.

"If word of this gets out... it'll look so bad on me." Hana's soft voice trembles through the line, and despite the annoyance bubbling in my chest, I don't like hearing it crack. "I-I just want him to feel as terrible as I did when I saw him and her-"

I sigh, fed up.

Not only was this trip back to New York so sudden, and frankly, against my will, but I was spending it cooped up hundreds of feet in the air with useless staff, listening to a messy breakdown, completely sober.

"There's only one thing men like Thomas care about." I look to the guard positioned closest to me and raise a brow at the stoic-faced man.

It takes a moment for him to draw his gaze towards me, but when he does, I look from him back to my empty glass, my