His Erased Obsession

For four years, I threw myself at Grayson Vance with absolutely no shame.
He was less than thrilled.
With a single word of pressure from him, my family packed me up and shipped me overseas.
“I don’t care what it takes,” he’d said. “Just make her stop.”
“Or you’ll all regret it.”
The drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments…
It worked. It really worked.
I forgot what it felt like to love him. My memory of his face even blurred around the edges, like a photograph left out in the sun.
Finally, he gave the word, and I was allowed to come home.
Now, I make a point to disappear whenever he’s around. My mother taught me that much: the man with the face of a fallen angel was not someone I could afford to cross.
So when I saw him kissing my sister, my first instinct was to hide, to pull out my phone and secretly take a picture.
His eyes, when they found me, were frigid and sharp with fury.
I shrank into the corner, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a terrified mess.
“I’m sorry, I just… you two look so perfect together. Like something out of a story…”
I don’t know why it happened.
But for a man who never showed a flicker of emotion, his gaze trembled violently.
1
Ever since I got back from Europe, I’ve felt like my brain is moving through sludge. Most days, I just sleep.
I think there might be something wrong with me.
Mom tells me not to worry.
“You’ve always been my sleepy little girl, Nina,” she’d say, smoothing my hair. “Not driven like your sister. It’s fine. Everyone’s different. If you’re tired, go sleep.”
I poured myself a large mug of black coffee, hoping to jolt my system awake, but it had no effect. I was tapping at my temples in frustration when the front doorbell chimed.
Our housekeeper, Maria, announced, “Miss Olivia is home. Mr. Vance is with her.”
A wave of pure joy washed over my parents’ faces. Dad practically ran to the door to greet them. Mom started to follow, then paused, remembering me.
Her expression soured with conflict. “Nina, you should…”
I nodded, already getting it. “I know. Grayson doesn’t like me.” I forced a small smile. “Olivia’s engagement is what’s important. I’ll just go upstairs. I could use a nap anyway.”
She looked at me, her relief palpable as I faked a yawn.
I was halfway up the grand staircase when I remembered I’d left my coffee mug behind. I wanted to give it one more try.
As I turned, my eyes met a glacial stare from the doorway.
It was pure instinct.
I forgot the coffee. I forgot everything. I just ran. It felt like if I didn’t move, I would die. I didn’t stop until I was in my room with the door locked, a heavy desk shoved against it for good measure.
Only then did the heart that had leaped into my throat finally drop back into my chest.
I could never explain it, but the sight of Grayson Vance triggered a single, overwhelming emotion in me: terror.
Mom said it was because Grayson was a natural-born leader, that anyone would feel crushed by his presence.
“Especially a little mouse like you,” she’d added. She told me to stay out of his sight. “Grayson… he doesn’t have time for girls who look sweet but have nothing going on upstairs. His attention is for exceptional women, like your sister.”
“Do you have any idea what the Vance family represents?” she’d continued, her voice urgent. “Marrying into that family would save us generations of struggle. Nina, you need to be smart about this.”
And I was smart. I was dutiful.
So every time Grayson came over, I made myself scarce. Mom was always pleased, sometimes rewarding me with a gentle pat on the head. I treasured those small moments of approval.
That’s why I never told her the real reason I hid. I would have avoided him even without her warnings.
His presence was suffocating. It felt like a physical weight on my chest, like a fist squeezing my heart. It left an aching hollowness behind, a strange sorrow I couldn’t name.
Downstairs, the house filled with laughter.
And wrapped in the sound of their joy, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
2
When I woke again, the sky outside was a deep, bruised purple. It was already evening.
The house was quiet. Grayson must have left.
My stomach growled.
I pushed open my door and, wearing a white cotton nightgown, padded barefoot down the stairs to find something to eat. The cool marble floor against my feet seemed to clear a tiny bit of the fog in my head.
I was standing at the kitchen island, waiting for a slice of bread to toast, when the study door swung open.
Grayson Vance emerged, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The warm, yellow light of the hallway carved his silhouette into something even more imposing, sharpening the breathtaking lines of his face. He looked like a god of judgment, descended to earth.
But he was so cold. An arctic chill radiated from him, from his eyes, from the way he held himself. Even the gunmetal gray of his cufflinks seemed to gleam with frost.
His gaze drifted across the long living room and landed on me. His thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line.
The sheer force of his presence was a physical blow.
In a split second, I snapped back to reality.
Clapping my hands over my head, I dropped to the floor and scrambled under the dining room table, a pathetic attempt to hide.
My sister, Olivia, came skipping down the stairs, her steps light and joyful. She ran straight into Grayson’s arms, grabbing his elbow and leaning against him.
“Are you leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new headshots. Stay for dinner, please?”
Olivia usually carried herself with a cool, untouchable grace. But now, her voice was sweet and pleading, the charming lilt of a pampered daughter. She was like a beautiful, exotic bird—bright plumage and a captivating song.
Grayson didn't speak. His cold eyes remained fixed on me, trembling beneath the table.
Olivia’s smile faltered. She bit her lip. “If you’re busy, it’s okay. We can look another time. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Grayson didn’t move. The oppressive weight of his attention was so focused on me, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Olivia opened her mouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it.
After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble.
“Fine. I’ll stay for dinner.”
I saw identical expressions of stunned disbelief flash across the faces of my father and sister.
A faint, humorless smile touched Grayson’s lips. “What are you afraid of? Didn’t she forget everything?”
He crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched down beside the table. The fabric of his trousers pulled taut against the powerful muscles in his legs.
“Nina,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you remember me?”
I timidly lifted my eyes to his, then immediately looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
I gave a slow, hesitant nod.
But at that moment, a sharp, needle-like pain shot through my fingertips and toes. It was an automatic, agonizing response.
A cry escaped my lips.
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head frantically.
“I don’t know you! Don’t hit me! I don’t know you!”
3
The atmosphere at the dinner table was bizarre.
My parents worked desperately to keep a conversation going, but Grayson ate in silence, his posture radiating an aristocratic coldness. He had no intention of participating, which made my parents’ forced enthusiasm painfully awkward.
Olivia just stared at her plate, her face a dark mask of anger.
I didn’t dare reach for any of the serving dishes, just picked at the small portion of rice in my bowl.
When the meal finally ended, I could feel my parents exhale in relief. As Grayson stood to leave, something clicked in my mind. I shot up from my seat.
“Mr. Vance, wait.”
Everyone, including Grayson, turned to stare at me in shock. His brow furrowed in clear annoyance.
“Just one second. Please?” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
Without waiting for an answer, I bolted upstairs and returned a moment later, clutching a small tin box.
All eyes were on me.
I lifted the lid. “Mr. Vance, I think this is yours.”
Resting on top was a collection of over a dozen wallet-sized photos. Some were one-by-one inch squares, others slightly larger. They clearly hadn’t been obtained through official channels. Some had the embossed stamp of an ID card, others had dried glue on the back. They’d been peeled off of various documents.
The Grayson in the photos was younger, a hint of boyishness still softening the sharp edges of his features. But even then, his looks were extraordinary.
Beneath the photos was a random assortment of junk: candy wrappers, an empty cigarette pack, used-up pen cartridges, a crumpled test paper.
Grayson’s gaze burned into me. I had to swallow hard before I could continue.
“I found it in the back of my closet. I don’t know who put it there. But I recognized you from the pictures, so I figured it must be yours.”
His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of something analytical, probing. It made me feel small, and I felt my shoulders slump.
He finally spoke. “It’s not mine. Throw it out.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I immediately dumped the contents of the box into a nearby trash can and started to head back upstairs.
Suddenly, a dangerous glint appeared in Grayson’s eyes.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, Nina?” he called after me.
I turned, confused. “Doing what?”
He let out a short, mocking laugh, his eyes filled with a cynical certainty, as if he could see right through me.
“Never mind. It was a good performance. Don’t do it again. I’m not interested.”
With that, he turned and walked out the door.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "260074" to read the entire book.