The Girl Behind His Obsession

ELARA POV

His hands were like fire against my skin, sliding up my thighs as if they already owned every inch of me. In the dim, hazy light of the private lounge, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the scent of expensive sandalwood, the heat radiating off his body, and the desperate rhythm of my own heart.

He leaned in, his fingers running through my hair as he pulled me closer to him with an irresistible force. When his soft lips crashed against mine, it wasn’t a gentle request; it was a demand. It was a deep, soul-searing kiss that made my knees weak. For one reckless, beautiful moment, I forgot the mask on my face and the scars beneath it. I let this stranger kiss me like I was something precious, something worth wanting.

I was drowning in the sensation, my hands around his shoulders, down to his broad chest, until a cold splash of reality hit me.

What am I doing?

Panic flared in my chest. I gasped, breaking the kiss and pushing him back with all the strength I had left. I didn’t look at his face. I didn’t wait for him to speak. I turned and bolted out of the room, my heart beating fast.

Hours later, I stood in front of the cracked mirror in a dingy bathroom, staring at the girl I actually was without my mask on.

I pulled my oversized hoodie tighter around my frame and adjusted my baseball cap, making sure the brim was low enough to cover the scar on the right side of my face. I looked like a ghost. I looked like a girl who wanted to disappear.

I traced the jagged, raised skin near my eye. My scar. To me, it was a map of a past I couldn’t remember. To everyone else, it was a reason to look away—or to stare with disgust.

My life had been defined by that rejection. It started at the orphanage, where the other kids treated me like I was contagious, a "cursed" girl who didn't belong. Some called me ugly. I remembered the lonely afternoons, the whispers in the hallways, and the way potential parents would look at me with pity before picking a "prettier" child.

The only person who had ever truly looked at me was Mara Kelvin. She was the nurse who protected me, the only one who told me that my heart mattered more than my face. But Mara was sick now, and I was alone in a world that valued perfection over everything else.

Then came Selena Vale. She was my "savior," the elegant woman who adopted me and brought me into the glittery, cold world of the Los Angeles elite or so I thought. But even in a mansion, I was invisible. I was just a charity project to Selena, a way to make her look like a saint while she reminded me every day that I was lucky to be tolerated.

But at night? At night, I became someone else.

I became Star Girl.

Behind a shimmering silver mask, I was the popular underground singer and dancer that the city couldn't get enough of. When I was on that stage, I wasn't the "scarred girl." I was bold. I was energetic. I was untouchable. The crowd worshipped me, never knowing that the girl they adored was the same one they mocked in the daylight. I lived in constant fear that if the mask ever fell, the love would turn back into the same old hate.

And that’s how I ended up in that room tonight.

It started during my set. I was mid-song when my eyes locked with a stranger in the crowd. He was breathtakingly handsome—sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that seemed to cut right through the smoke and the lights. He didn't cheer like the others; he just watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

I tried to ignore him, but his gaze was pulling. After the show, the lounge manager told me a fan was willing to pay thousands for a private performance. The offer was tempting, without thinking twice I accepted so I could help support Mara's mounting medical bills.

I walked into that private conference room, and my breath hitched. It was him. The stranger from the crowd.

"Start," he had said, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

I performed, but the air in the room felt thick. As I moved, he stepped closer. His eyes were like magnets, drawing me in. When his hands finally touched me, the electric shock was so intense I almost forgot how to breathe. And then came that kiss—the kiss that shattered my world.

I shook the memory away as I pulled my hoodie over my head and prepared to enter the Vale mansion. I had to get home. Selena had been blowing up my phone all night with a single message: Ash is coming home today. Do not be late.

Ash. My stepbrother.

He had been my only friend in this house before he moved abroad six years ago. He was the only one who didn't see the scar as a flaw. The news of his return was the only thing that could make me feel truly happy all day.

I hurried through the front door, stripping off my cap and tucking my hair over my face to hide the scar. The foyer was buzzing with excitement.

"Elara! There you are," Selena snapped, her eyes scanning me with her usual disapproval. She looked perfect, of course, in a silk dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe. "Ash just arrived. He’s in the lounge. Go welcome him properly, and for heaven's sake, try to look presentable."

I ignored her sting and rushed toward the lounge. "Ash?" I called out, my voice trembling with excitement.

A tall, charismatic man turned around, his face lighting up with a brilliant smile. "Lara!" He stepped forward and pulled me into a warm, protective hug. "God, I missed you. Look at you, you’ve grown up so much."

"I missed you too," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. For a second, I felt safe.

"Come, let me introduce you to someone," Ash said, pulling back and gesturing toward the man standing by the window. "Lara, meet my best friend from abroad. We’ve been inseparable for years. This is Zach Reed."

The man turned around.

The blood drained from my face. My heart stopped.

Standing there, looking at me with a cold, haughty expression, was the man from the club. The stranger whose hands had been on my thighs. The man who had kissed me until I forgot my own name.

Zach Reed.

He didn't look at me with passion now. He looked at the scar on my face, then at my baggy, cheap clothes, and his lip curled in a slight, cruel sneer. He didn't recognize me. To him, I wasn't the star he had been obsessed with hours ago. I was just the "ugly" stepsister.

"So," Zach said, his voice dripping with icy boredom as he look

ed me up and down. "This is the sister you told me so much about?"