Unholy Obsession – A Dark Priest Romance Read Online Stasia Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Suspense, Taboo Tags Authors: Stasia Black Advertisement

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I should have warned Moira I’d be out of touch on my way out this morning. I know it bothers her when I don’t answer quickly. But the bishop changed the schedule on me literally last minute, and I barely had time to down a cup of coffee before running over to my office, turning on my computer, and launching into my presentation.

Bishop Caldwell hasn’t been my biggest fan since I went and married Moira instead of breaking things off with her as instructed. The bishop couldn’t technically fire me over it since I didn’t do anything against canon—at least as far as she knew. Agnes has been as good as her word about keeping mum on what she saw Christmas morning.

Moira mentioned last night she was meeting a friend for lunch today.

I craft my response, something wicked to have her shifting in her seat wherever she is.

Me: Mmmm. But I’ve worked up an appetite. What if I want to eat you like a three-course meal instead?

I expect to see the little dots of her reply immediately.

But there’s nothing.

I arch a brow, then put my phone back in my pocket as I push into the house.

I can’t expect her to always drop everything to respond to me.

It’s good she’s out, socializing. It’s what I want for her.

It’s not like I want her obsessing over me every minute.

I swallow hard as I head to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. Don’t lie, you selfish bastard. I sigh. Of course, I want her obsessing over me every minute.

I pull out my phone and look at the text I sent her.

And frown when I see that it’s been Read.

But still no dots showing her writing me back.

I stare at the fucking screen for five minutes, progressively feeling more and more unhinged.

After ten minutes, it’s clear. She left me on read.

My gut tightens.

I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Hour Three

I text her again.

Me: If you’re ignoring me just to make me lose my mind, congratulations. It’s working.

Still nothing.

I scroll through our last conversation, looking for any indication that she was upset with me, that maybe I did something to piss her off.

But no. She was teasing me before bed last night. She was soft when she woke up this morning, curling into me, mumbling about not wanting me to leave.

I check my call log. No missed calls from her.

I try calling. Straight to voicemail.

My jaw clenches.

Maybe her phone died after she read my message.

Maybe she’s busy.

Maybe she’s avoiding me.

Maybe—God help me—she’s finally decided she’s had enough.

Hour Five

I pace the length of my living room, my phone gripped in my fist. My mind is a battlefield, warring between logic and darker thoughts clawing at the edges.

If Moira was upset with me, she’d tell me. Loudly. She’d scream at me. She wouldn’t go silent.

Wouldn’t she?

Unless she ran.

The thought is a lead weight in my gut.

Because I knew, I knew, this was a risk. She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do permanence. And maybe she finally realized what I already knew⁠—

That she could do better than me.

That I am too much. Too controlling. Too selfish. Too demanding.

And why wouldn’t she leave? People don’t stay for me. They stay for what I can offer them—power, status, security, money. Not me. Never me.

And now Moira. Moira, who was never meant to stay. Moira, who flits through life like fire, who belongs to no one, least of all me.

I sit heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand over my face. The idea of Moira gone—Moira slipping through my fingers like she was never mine to begin with—unravels something ugly inside me.

She never told anyone about our marriage. I didn’t push her. Was that a warning sign? Was she already half out the door?

Did I just not want to see it?

My stomach clenches. My fingers tighten around my phone.

I try calling again.

Straight to voicemail.

The walls close in. My breath comes sharp. Fuck this.

I grab my keys.

I don’t even remember parking the car. One moment, I’m gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ache, and the next, I’m throwing open the doors to Carnal and stalking inside like a man possessed.

The music is loud, too loud, pulsing through my bones as I scan the room. But something’s off. The lighting isn’t as dim as usual, the atmosphere not dripping in sin and desire the way it normally is. Instead, there are fucking balloons tied to chairs. A massive cake sits untouched on a long table. Women are gathered in small clusters, some laughing, some holding up tiny onesies and pastel gift bags.

A baby shower.

Fuck.

It barely registers because I’m already zeroing in on the person I need. Quinn, standing at the bar, laughing at something Isaak just said. My voice cuts through the chatter like a blade.

“Where’s Moira?” I demand.

The room freezes.


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