His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 220

That final sentence might have sounded like a casual observation, but it was dripping with a lethal warning.

Kian had a front-row seat to the sheer, bleeding hell Virginia had crawled through to survive the last few years. As her protective senior colleague, he absolutely refused to let Archer drag her back into his toxic orbit.

Archer stiffened violently, a jagged, unconscious bolt of raw panic shattering his composure.

Scrambling out of his chair, he fled the office, looking thoroughly humiliated and cornered.

...

Archer hadn't slept a wink in five days.

It was nearly 3:40 in the morning. He was slumped deep into his plush study chair, a glass of expensive whiskey on the desk beside him. The ice had long since melted into lukewarm water.

He was staring blankly at his phone, watching the screen illuminate, dim to black, and light up again as he tapped it repeatedly.

The screen stubbornly displayed one continuous image—Virginia's contact profile.

The last call logged was over half a month ago, a brief, sterile exchange regarding Cindy's school pick-up logistics.

Letting the phone drop onto his knee, he tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

Kian's vicious words from that afternoon kept playing on a devastating loop in his brain.

Do you actually view yourself as some kind of tragic, self-sacrificing romantic hero?

Stop torturing her...

Torture.

The accusation made his skin crawl. It made him so violently ill that he had practically ran from the clinic.

He never wanted to torture anyone.

When he forced the divorce years ago... he did it because he had absolutely no choice. He had honestly believed pushing her away and setting her free was the ultimate act of protection.

But now... she was well and truly "free."

Free enough to let another man's belongings infiltrate her apartment. Free enough to stroll alongside Valentin Hunter, beaming with radiant, genuine laughter...

Archer ripped open his bloodshot eyes, grabbed his phone, and dialed Julian’s number.

The line rang seven or eight times before someone finally picked up.

"...Boss. It is exactly four o'clock in the morning." Julian's voice was hoarse and murderously cranky. "Are you out of your damn mind?!"

"Pull some files for me."

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