Page 31 of Shared Obsession

We get up, curiosity piqued, and make our way toward Dean, Zayn trailing after us.

Dean’s knuckles go white as he scrolls through a thread of emails on the screen, his jaw clenched so hard I think he might break a tooth. “Look at this,” he says, his voice barely holding back a tremor. “These emails go back about a year. Right about the time you were arrested. At first it’s Derek and a burner, just a few lines. Then Charles chimes in. Then Nathan. They’re all in here. They’re planning it—together.”

My pulse thunders in my ears as I move closer, barely aware of the world except for the sick crackle of the monitor. Dean clicks open the latest message, eyes scanning too fast, and I catch the date—a month before I got locked up. My stomach drops. “Ayla, when did you say you met Derek?” My voice is rough, cold with barely restrained rage.

She’s pale as a ghost, her hands trembling as she hugs herself. “A few months after you were arrested,” she whispers. Her eyes dart between Dean and me, panic rising.

Dean scrolls further, and every line I read makes my blood boil. “They’re talking about you,” I growl, unable to hide the venom in my voice. “How you’re ‘submissive,’ a ‘good girl,’ how you were ‘trained.’ Derek says he wants someone like that—‘a quiet bitch’ to keep at home, someone who won’t make noise. Charles is telling him how to break you down—literally, step by step. There are emails in which Charles explains your triggers, your tells, how to gain your trust, and how to manipulate you through routines and rewards. He even shares details about your childhood, Ayla—stuff nobody should know.”

It gets worse as Dean scrolls—emails forwarded to Nathan, and then entire threads in which all three men openly discuss plans. “Here—look at this,” Dean says, voice hollow. “They’re talking about combining families. Nathan says, ‘The Barron bloodline is strong. We secure the alliance, we secure the future. Once the marriage is legal, we’re untouchable.’ Charles replies, ‘Ayla is the key. She’s been prepared for this. Derek will keep her in line.’”

Dean opens another and scrolls down the thread. “Here’s one from Derek to Charles: ‘She’s ready. Text her now.’”

Alya’s face goes ashen. “The text,” she whispers, hands pressed to her mouth. Her voice cracks, the realization landing like a physical blow.

Dean’s voice is brittle as he clicks to the next email. “Nathan writes to Charles: ‘Once we find her, I’ll uphold my son’s end of the deal. The contract stands, and you’ll get what was promised.’”

Alex’s jaw clenches as Dean reads the last message. “Charles responds, ‘We will find her. Take her to the castle clubhouse. She won’t get far.’”

“They set you up,” Alex seethes, voice shaking with anger. “This was all planned—months before you even met Derek, Charles was fucking selling you off to him. Nathan wanted the Barron name, the reputation, and the money. Charles wanted access to the Bates power. They orchestrated the whole thing to combine their bloodlines, to consolidate everything.”

Dean’s voice is raw as he continues, scrolling to the next message. “Charles lays it all out—how to break your guard, how to manipulate you, how to make you trust Derek. He even suggested the contract, saying that it’s the best way to keep you locked in. In exchange, he gets access to you. Derek gives him regular updates—your moods, your resistance, what works to keep you compliant. There’s a whole thread where Nathan and Charles trade tips on how to keep you isolated. It’s like they were grooming you for Derek from the start.”

Zayn’s chair screeches back as he stands, fists balled so tight his knuckles go bloodless. “Motherfucker,” he spits, pacing a tight line behind Dean, jaw flexing with every breath. I can barely contain the urge to throw something, to break every fucking thing in the room. I shove away from the table, my vision swimming red, but Ayla doesn’t move—she’s frozen, eyes wide, horror blooming across her face as the truth sinks in. The air is thick with betrayal and fear—a heavy realization settling on all of us: they were working together the entire time, orchestrating every step, every trap, every bruise. All to gain power, to combine bloodlines, to make Ayla nothing but a pawn in their scheme. And we all know now—this is bigger and uglier than we ever imagined.

He glances up, face ashen, his anger barely contained. “Ayla, the clubhouse? Do you know what that means?”

Ayla’s lips part, but nothing comes out—she just shakes her head, tears brimming, her body shaking so hard she looks like she might collapse. My own chest is tight with fury and something that feels dangerously close to helplessness.

Alex’s voice is a snarl, low and deadly. “The castle clubhouse is where her father took her. Where he did… things. Things that make me want to carve his fucking heart out.”

I step closer, my hand finding Ayla’s shoulder, grounding her, the three of us bristling with rage and the kind of protective fury that’s just this side of violence.

Zayn’s eyes are wild, fierce. “So it’s all Charles. He set this up from the start—sold you out to Derek, made sure you’d never escape again. Fucking piece of shit.”

His voice is like gravel as he continues, “So what do we do now, Alex? Because I swear to God, if you ask me to sit on my hands, I’m going to lose my shit.”

The air is thick with anger, grief, and a desperate need to protect. None of us is pretending to be calm. We’re all burning, and for the first time, it feels like we’re in this mess together, human and furious and ready to fight for her—whatever it takes.

“Right now,” Dean says, his voice steady but laced with concern, “we have the advantage. Ayla, as long as you’re here, we can keep you safe. No one knows where you are. That’s our best weapon.” He runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the computer screens around him. “Honestly, I think the safest move is to stay put for now—just wait it out. I’ve been managing everything at work remotely. We’re not raising any red flags. We’re under the radar. Everything is under control, at least for the moment.”

Ayla lets out a long breath, tension still humming in her shoulders. The weight of being trapped feels heavy, but so does the relief of safety. She glances at the door, needing air, needing space. “I think I need to take a walk,” she says quietly. Her eyes flick to Zayn—a silent invitation, her voice softer, more vulnerable than before. “Will you come with me?”

Zayn

We walk side by side along the nearly dry trail, the hush between us soft—not awkward, just easy. There’s a comfort in the silence, the way Ayla’s hand brushes against mine with every step. For once, neither of us feels the need to fill the space with words. The world smells like wet earth and pine, sun cutting gold through the trees. I glance over, trying to commit every detail of her to memory—the way the light catches the strands of her hair, the stubborn set of her jaw, the little frown she wears when she thinks too hard.

After a while, I clear my throat, voice low. “Does it bug you? Basically, going from one prison to another?”

She stops, turning to face me, sunlight catching in her hair and painting her in gold. “Honestly, I’ve always been in some kind of prison. My father, Derek… I think it just became my normal.” She gives a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, maybe this is a prison, but it’s certainly the best one I’ve ever been in. And I like it here. I like… you guys.” Her voice wobbles just a little, but she doesn’t look away.

We stand there, woods quiet around us, and I see the honesty in her eyes—vulnerable, but at peace for the first time in a long while. I want to reach out, but I wait, letting her lead.

She hesitates, then asks, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” I say, nudging a smile into my voice.

She studies me, voice soft but direct. “What’s your story? I know Alex and Dean go back like brothers and why, but… where do you fit in here?”