“He claims to hate her, but his obsession says otherwise. A deadly game of spite and desire unfolds as enemies collide, and lines between hate, love, and possession blur in the most dangerous ways.”
Yandere! Divorce Attorney : Skin of the Saint Series – Part 2
Word Count: 922 words
The days crawled by, slower than they had any right to, filled with the droning rhythm of mundane court proceedings and half-truths spun by strangers. He had no reason to think about you. Or so he told himself. You were nothing more than a face in the margins of his workโa small distraction, an irrelevance. And yet, when the week brought him back to that suffocating church, he knew he was lying to himself.
He had a purpose here. At least, thatโs what he insisted. The priest had aligned himself with the wife in his latest case, and there were details to unearthโthreads to pull until the story unraveled in his favor. Churches, in his mind, were fertile grounds for whispered confessions and vulnerabilities he could exploit. He didnโt need to believe in miracles. He believed in leverage.
The sanctuary was quieter than before, the afternoon light filtering through stained glass, painting faint splashes of color over worn pews and bowed heads. His gaze cut through the shadows instinctively, searching for you as though this was somehow necessary. Practical. You were always here. Always in his way.
And there you wereโa constant fixture bathed in the muted glow of the windows, sitting in that same pew. Today, your veil was differentโso fine it seemed spun from light itself, delicate threads glinting as you sat with your head lowered. You looked unreal. Untouchable.
It stoked something vicious in him.
He didnโt let you notice him at first, simply watching as your hands moved in time with the rosary clasped tightly between your fingers. Your lips murmured silent words, your concentration unshaken, and for a reason he couldnโt name, it maddened him.
โStill playing saint, I see.โ His voice, a deliberate cut through the stillness, rang sharp with mockery.
You didnโt startle. Slowly, you turned your head, calm and deliberate, meeting his gaze with the same cool detachment youโd shown before. It infuriated him more than any flinch would have.
โWhat do you want?โ you asked softly, your words edged with something that wasnโt quite disdain.
He slid into the pew beside you uninvited, sprawling back as though to prove he belonged there. The space around you felt violated, but you didnโt move. โJust business, Church Girl. You know how it is. The priest wonโt stop meddling, so here I amโmaking sure he stays in his lane.โ
Your gaze lingered on him, assessing him like a curious animal might size up a predator. โAnd here I thought you didnโt believe in confession.โ
He smiled, sharp and humorless. โI believe in power. And this placeโyour priestโhas far too much of it. Donโt tell me you buy into all of this.โ He gestured lazily to the towering crucifix, the rows of candles flickering softly. โDoes it make you feel better? Whispering prayers to something that isnโt listening?โ
You returned your attention to the altar, resuming the steady movement of your fingers over the beads. โIf you think itโs pointless, why are you here?โ
โFor the same reason anyone steps foot in a place like this,โ he said, the smirk tugging at his mouth sharp enough to cut. โBecause I want something.โ
โYou think you can take it,โ you replied simply, your tone unshaken. โThatโs all you know how to do.โ
The words stilled him for just a second, but his irritation masked it. โAnd you? Let me guessโpraying for salvation? Redemption? Maybe someone to swoop in and save you from your sad little life?โ
โI donโt need saving,โ you said quietly, though every word felt weighted. โNot by you. Not by anyone.โ
He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. Leaning closer, he dropped his voice to a low murmur, dangerous and biting. โYou call that freedom? Youโre blind, Church Girl. Chained to something thatโs not real.โ
Your lips pressed into a faint, knowing line. โI chose my chains. Youโre the one who doesnโt understand his own.โ
For the briefest of moments, the words hit their mark, sinking deeper than they should have. He didnโt answer immediately, his jaw tight as he regarded youโthe maddening calm in your voice, the resolve in your posture. It was infuriating. He wanted to see that composure crack, just once. He wanted to drag you into his storm, force you to feel the same chaos he did.
He leaned closer still, his breath ghosting the edges of your veil, and though you remained still, he could see the faint rise and fall of your chest. โCareful,โ he whispered, his voice like a blade. โYou donโt want to provoke me.โ
You turned your head then, meeting his gaze fully. โIโm not afraid of you.โ
The simple, unshaken response made something snap within himโa frustration he couldnโt name. He opened his mouth to reply, to say something cruel or cutting that would shatter the illusion of your indifference, but you were already standing. Graceful, measured. A picture of unshaken faith that he hated as much as he was drawn to.
You stepped past him without another word, leaving him alone in the pew, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The faint sweep of your veil trailed behind you like mist, and he watched you walk toward the altar, your silhouette lit softly by the flames of the votive candles.
He couldnโt look away.
You were a problem he couldnโt solve, a thread he couldnโt pull. And no matter how much he despised you, he knew heโd be back.
Because hate, he realized, was just another kind of obsession.
