Obsession Chapter 1 Part 1
CHAPTER 1 · PART ONE
Obsession
Sara
I have a knack for stirring up trouble, and this is probably why I was still standing here, listening to Chikamso’s trash talk for the past twenty minutes as he went on about how “fine” I was. I knew exactly why I was entertaining this nonsense. It was all because of his wife.
Yeah, his poor, clueless wife, barely eighteen, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for her.
She’d just turned eighteen when he got her pregnant. And like many African parents do, her family had pushed her right into his arms, praying he’d make an “honest woman” of her someday. Now, she was stuck with him in this sorry excuse of a house.
“What do you want?” I crossed my arms, my patience already running thin.
“I like you, baby girl. Clear and direct,” he said, puffing out his chest with a confidence that made my stomach turn.
The man stood there as if we weren’t next to his ramshackle house—a place that looked like luck held it together rather than bricks and mortar. The paint peeled in jagged patches, revealing cracks beneath the walls. The roof sagged, barely holding up against the sun.
And there was his wife—or baby mama, whatever you wanted to call her—right inside, probably hearing every slimy word coming out of his mouth as he tried to hit on me.
“Look at yourself,” I snapped, gesturing at him.
He glanced down at his sorry outfit: a faded T-shirt with holes around the neck and hem, trousers washed out and patched thin, and slippers that looked like they’d been glued back together a dozen times.
“And now, look at me.”
I gave him a slow spin. A tight black silk gown hugged my body, ending mid-thigh. Knock-off Louboutins or not, I still had more class than his entire wardrobe.
“So? What does that matter?” he scoffed.
“Do we look like a match?” I raised an eyebrow, squinting against the midday sun.
“In love, there are no barriers—”
“Save it. You have a baby mama at home, or did you forget?”
“I’d drop her for you in a heartbeat,” he said, eyes gleaming.
“You said what, Chikamso?” a voice rang out from the doorway.
There she was—his baby mama—one hand braced against her lower back, the other resting on her rounded belly, her eyes blazing.
Mission accomplished.
“Baby, I thought you were sleeping,” Chikamso stammered.
“Answer the damn question. Why are you deflecting?” she snapped.
That was my cue.
I turned on my heel, a smirk tugging at my lips. I loved drama—especially when I was the one pulling the strings.
My life sucked. It sucked so bad I felt like cigarette ash—burnt out, weightless, something to be flicked away and forgotten.
Mama called me her precious gem. “Sara, you’re my world.”
But the feeling never left. It clung like smoke—thick, choking, relentless.
“The day is still early and bright,” Mama would say.
The sun beat down mercilessly. Sweat trickled down my neck.
My phone buzzed.
The text read: “Sara, you know I hate this. Where are you?”