The Twisted Obsession-Chapter 322: Break in

The house was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the large windows. Everything seemed still—eerily so—but beneath the surface, an undercurrent of tension simmered. Remo paced silently in the study, his thoughts consumed with the recent turmoil that had unfolded. Abby’s erratic behavior, her paranoia, and the increasingly strained conversations weighed heavily on him. Something wasn’t right, and despite her protests, he knew deep down that whatever was happening went far beyond stress or recovery from the hospital incident.

He had grown suspicious over the last few days. Abby’s outbursts were becoming more frequent, and her behavior seemed increasingly irrational. There was a darkness behind her eyes, something that chilled him to his core. And then there were the whispers, the subtle hints she dropped that suggested she believed someone was out to get her.

Remo had heard stories of manipulations before, of people being pushed to their breaking points by those they trusted. And though it was difficult for him to admit, the thought had crossed his mind—was Abby being played? Or worse, was someone targeting both of them?

Tonight, he had planned to leave the house for business, a meeting arranged to discuss damage control after the public outburst outside the hospital. But something gnawed at him, a strange feeling he couldn’t shake. It was like a sixth sense, the kind that had saved him countless times before. He decided to stay home, telling his men he’d deal with the situation later.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but instinct told him he was right to stay.

As the house fell silent, the front door clicked softly, a shadow slipping inside. The assassin moved quietly, gliding through the hallway like a ghost. He had been briefed thoroughly—tonight’s job was straightforward: frame Remo Quinn for a violent confrontation with his wife, make it look like a domestic dispute turned deadly. Every detail had been considered, from planting Remo’s fingerprints on key items to scattering signs of a struggle. Margaret and Dominic had hired the best, and he took pride in his work.

He slipped into the living room, his gloved hands working methodically as he tampered with the glass of whiskey sitting on the side table, making sure Remo’s fingerprints would be found on the shattered remains. Then he moved toward the bookshelf, loosening one of the heavy volumes, ready to place it near a point of impact. Everything had to be perfect, and his timing was crucial.

But as he reached for the knife hidden beneath his coat, ready to stage the final scene, something made him freeze.

Footsteps.

The assassin’s eyes darted toward the doorway. Remo stood there, his silhouette sharp against the dim light from the hallway. His eyes were dark, piercing, and filled with an intensity that made the assassin’s blood run cold.

"You picked the wrong night," Remo said quietly, his voice like steel.

The assassin’s mind raced. This wasn’t part of the plan. He had expected the house to be empty, giving him enough time to set the scene before making his escape. But now, standing face-to-face with the man he was supposed to frame, the situation had spiraled out of control.

Without thinking, the assassin lunged, pulling the knife from his coat and swiping it through the air toward Remo. But Remo was faster. He sidestepped the attack, grabbing the assassin’s wrist and twisting it violently until the knife clattered to the floor. In the next moment, Remo slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with an arm across his throat.

"Who sent you?" Remo growled, his face inches from the assassin’s. "Who are you working for?"

The assassin struggled, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to break free from Remo’s iron grip. His eyes flickered with desperation. The plan had gone to hell. He needed to get out, to escape before he could be forced to reveal anything. But Remo was relentless, his strength overpowering.

"Answer me!" Remo snarled, tightening his hold, his voice thick with anger and suspicion.

The assassin gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "You... you wouldn’t believe me," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Remo’s grip tightened. "Try me."

The assassin’s eyes darted toward the window, calculating his chances of escape, but there was no way out. He had one last chance—he needed to buy time, or at least leave Remo with enough confusion to throw him off the real trail.

"It’s someone close to her," the assassin wheezed, his breath faltering as Remo’s arm pressed harder against his windpipe. "Someone who knows... everything."

Remo’s mind raced, the words hitting him like a freight train. Someone close to Abby? His thoughts flashed to the few people who knew Abby intimately. The list was short. Too short. The pieces weren’t adding up fast enough.

Before Remo could press further, the assassin twisted suddenly, catching Remo off guard. He broke free from Remo’s hold and dove for the knife on the floor, desperation in every movement. But Remo reacted instinctively, kicking the knife away and tackling the assassin to the ground.

The two struggled, fists flying, bodies slamming against the furniture in a chaotic blur of motion. The assassin fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal, but Remo was relentless. He pinned the man down again, his hands wrapped around the assassin’s neck, his face contorted with rage.

"You’re not leaving here until you tell me everything," Remo hissed, tightening his grip.

But the assassin, realizing he was out of options, managed a weak, defiant smile. "You’ll never find out... who..." he rasped, his words fading as his breath gave out.

Remo felt the assassin’s body go limp beneath him, the fight draining away until there was nothing left but silence. He sat back, breathing heavily, staring down at the lifeless man, his mind racing. The final words echoed in his ears: Someone close to her.

Remo’s heart pounded as realization began to settle in. This wasn’t just about Abby’s paranoia or her recent erratic behavior. This was something much bigger—someone was pulling the strings, someone with a deep connection to Abby.

He stood, his body still tense from the fight, and looked around the room. The scene had been staged perfectly to implicate him, the items meticulously placed to make it look like a violent confrontation. If he hadn’t been here to stop it, everything would have pointed directly to him.

He had been framed.

But by who? fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

As Remo stared down at the assassin’s body, his mind churned with the possibilities. Someone close to Abby had sent this man. Someone who knew the details of their lives. And whoever it was, they were willing to go to extreme lengths to see them both destroyed.

He needed answers. And the only way to get them was to find out who had orchestrated this nightmare.

Remo glanced toward the bedroom where Abby lay asleep, unaware of the danger that had just been inside their home. He wasn’t sure who he could trust anymore, but one thing was certain: someone close to them was playing a deadly game, and if he didn’t act fast, they were both in serious danger.

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