Stage Five Clinger

Start Reading

Im a textbook Anxious Attachment girly. A Stage Five Clinger. After the arranged marriage to Preston was finalized, I basically grafted myself onto his skin.

He stays out late? I blow up his phone with a text nuke. He works from home? I drag a loveseat into his office just to scroll TikTok three inches from his face.

He hated it. Told me to back off. To give him space.

But the second his "The One That Got Away"Margotlanded back in the states, I pulled back. For the first time, I didn't chase him.

And the cold, untouchable CEO? He didnt handle the silence well.

He cornered me. Pinned me against the wall, his breath hot against my neck, eyes dark with something dangerous. He wrecked me that night, changing positions until I couldnt think, forcing the words out of me.

"Why aren't you clinging to me, huh?" His voice was a low growl against my ear. "I have high needs too, Baby. Are you going to take care of them?"

Chapter 1

The second the engagement ink dried, I invaded Prestons life.

Literally.

I packed my bags overnight and descended on his penthouse. I spent twelve hours barking orders at movers, orchestrating the complete takeover of his minimalist bachelor pad. By sunset, the transformation was complete.

Preston walked through the front door at 8:00 PM. He froze.

His eyes scanned the room. He blinked. Once. Twice.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning on his heel. "Wrong apartment."

He reached for the doorknob.

"Nope! You're home!" I scrambled over, blocking his exit.

Preston stopped. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the living room with the silence of a man witnessing a crime scene. Finally, he pointed a shaking finger at the floor-to-ceiling window.

"That?"

"Ten-foot Douglas Fir," I beamed. "Christmas is next month! I bought it early. It even lights up. Stunning, right?"

""

His finger drifted to the massive canvas dominating the main wall. "And that? I don't recall us taking that photo."

"Right! Because we haven't taken any yet. But I wanted a statement piece, so I asked the AI to draw us barbecuing under the sea with Spongebob SquarePants." I stepped closer, proud of my ingenuity. "Looks totally real, doesn't it?"

Preston squinted at the artwork. "You asked the AI to draw us barbecuing under the sea with Spongebob SquarePants?"

"Yep! Its romantic, isn't it?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose. A long, controlled breath.

He stepped inside.

I watched him process the sensory assault. His eyes bounced from the neon-lit aquarium to the leopard-print area rug, finally landing on the hamburger-shaped sofa. I could practically see his oxygen levels dropping.

He was holding it together. Barely.

Then he started up the stairs. He stopped dead in front of the master bedroom.

I had hung a massive, flashing red neon sign on the door: LOVE NEST.

"Kennedy." His voice was low. Warning.

"Here!" I chirped. "Its festive! Red brings good vibes. It sets the mood."

"Festive," he repeated, the word tasting like poison. "You sleep there. Alone."

He turned toward the guest wing. "Im taking the spare room."

"Huh?" I pouted. "You aren't sleeping with me?"

Preston looked at me like I had just grown a second head. "We aren't at the 'sharing a bed' stage. Not even close."

I tilted my head. "We're engaged. We're going to have to sleep together eventually."

"Not anytime soon."

He walked away. I followed him.

He stopped abruptly. "Why are you following me?"

I flashed him my most sincere, dazzling smile. "Because I want to be where you are."

"Stop." The command was icy. "Don't follow me."

My smile collapsed. I stood there, eyes wide and stinging, watching his broad back disappear into the guest room. The door clicked shut. Hard.

I didn't want to be this clingy.

But I couldn't help it. My brain was wired for obsession.

God, having a High-Needs personality was exhausting.

Chapter 2

I have a diagnosis. Its called Anxious Attachment Style, severe variation.

Ive been a clinger since birth. As a kid, I was attached to my parents hips. As an adult, I transferred that obsession to my friends.

Luckily, my support system enabled me. My parents and my best friend, Audrey, fed my constant need for emotional validation. Especially Audrey. Shes sweet, soft, and the only person who could tolerate my non-stop yapping.

If we didn't both like men, I would have wifed her up years ago.

But then, the Homewrecker appeared.

Brody. The heir to the Shang family fortune. I have never met a man with more audacity.

From the moment he slithered into Audreys life, he started a turf war for her attention. Suddenly, Audreys text replies lagged. Our brunch dates got cancelled.

The breaking point came when Audrey went radio silent at midnight.

I called. Straight to voicemail.

Panic clawed at my throat. I drove to her apartment like I was fleeing a crime scene and leaned on her doorbell for a solid minute.

Ten minutes later, the door swung open.

Brody stood there. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, rumpled, and he was sporting a fresh, violent hickey on his neck. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking like he just got lucky.

"Oh, Audrey?" He feigned innocence. "Shes a little shy right now. You should go." He waved a hand dismissively. "And stop calling. Its grown-up time. Rated R."

My blood boiled. I reared back and kicked him squarely in the shin.

"Ow! Fuck!" He hissed, hopping on one foot.

"Bye!" I spat, storming off.

"Drive safe!" he hollered after me, his voice strained with pain but still dripping with that passive-aggressive bitchiness.

But Brody paid the price. To apologize for the radio silence, Audrey spent the next few nights at my place.

Brody had a meltdown.

"Kennedy!" He howled over speakerphone. "I am begging you. Go find a man! Give me my wife back!"

"In your dreams," I sneered.

After days of celibacy, Brody got desperate. "Fine. You want a man? Im calling in the heavy artillery. Wait right there."

I rolled my eyes.

Until I met Preston.

He walked into the room, and the air temperature dropped ten degrees. He was wearing a bespoke suit that cost more than my car, emphasizing broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He was structured, lethal, and cold. Like a glacier I wanted to crash into.

My heart did a traitorous flip.

I was still brainstorming ways to "accidentally" bump into him again when my parents dropped the bomb: Would I be interested in a strategic marriage alliance?

The candidate? Preston.

I nodded so hard I almost gave myself whiplash.

I got his number and immediately initiated a text-bombing campaign.

But Preston? He was a brick wall. His replies were glacial. Slow. Monosyllabic.

My anxiety couldn't handle the lag time. So, under the guise of "building emotional intimacy," I packed my life up and invaded his home. I thought proximity would fix the distance.

I was wrong. Preston isn't just cold; hes a workaholic cyborg.

I clocked out on time. I sat on my hamburger couch from 7:00 PM to 10:00 PM, staring at the door.

He didn't show.

My thumb flew across my phone screen.

Me: ETA on you coming home?

Me: I ordered Popeyes. You hungry?

Me: Saw a stray cat today. It ran away when I tried to pet it, but look how cute!

Me: [Photo: Cat Face]

Me: [Photo: Cat Side Profile]

Me: [Photo: Blurry Cat Butt]

Thirty agonizing minutes later. His phone finally pinged.

Preston: Working.

Preston: No.

Preston: Ugly.

Chapter 3

I saw red.

Me: Ugly? Are you blind? That cat is a masterpiece.

Preston didn't reply.

Needing validation, I switched apps to text Audrey. But before I could type a single letter, a notification banner dropped from the top of the screen.

Brody: Why are you harassing my wife again? Don't you have a husband of your own to annoy?

I groaned.

Me: Brody is a menace. Why isn't he working overtime? You're doing it wrong.

Me: You should block him. He's a walking red flag. Toxic energy.

Me: So when are you coming home?

Me: [GIF: Wet, shivering puppy in the rain]

Hours bled by. Radio silence.

Finally, his phone pinged.

Preston: ETA 10:00 PM.

I sat on the hamburger couch, vibrating with boredom. I watched the digital clock on the cable box. 9:58. 9:59.

The second the digits flipped to 10:00, I hit dial.

"You're late," I accused the moment the line connected.

"Traffic," he clipped out. I could hear the hum of the engine in the background. "Fifteen minutes."

"Fine."

Exactly fifteen minutes later, the smart lock whirred.

I launched myself off the sofa like a coiled spring. "You survived!"

Preston looked weary. He loosened his tie as he walked in. "Go to bed, Kennedy. You didn't have to wait up."

"But I wanted to." I pouted, leaning against the wall and letting my shoulders slump. "This place is a mausoleum when I'm alone. It's spooky. I get lonely."

Prestons eye twitched. "Speak normally. Stop the baby voice."

"Okay, fine." I straightened up, dropping the act. "Dinner tomorrow? You and me?"

"I don't know."

I unleashed the puppy dog eyes. Weaponized cuteness.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment. "I'll try."

"It's a date!" I beamed.

The next day.

Preston: Overtime.

I snapped.

Me: Again? Who is your boss? This is labor abuse! Is he even human?

Me: Tell him he is a soulless capitalist vampire!

Me: Im calling OSHA!

Preston: I am the boss.

Me: Oh. Right.

After the fifth "cancellation," I went rogue.

I stormed his corporate headquarters.

When Preston walked back into his executive suite after a board meeting, he stopped dead.

I had colonized his office.

I was sitting in his leather chair, and his sleek glass coffee table had been transformed into a grease-laden buffet. Pizza Hut boxes stacked three high. Buckets of Popeyes. Assorted greasy skewers.

He stared. ""

"Meeting over?" I held up a spicy drumstick. "Dinner is served."

"Kennedy," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you here?"

"Do not gaslight me." I whipped out my phone, scrolling aggressively through our chat history. "I brought receipts."

I shoved the screen toward his face. "Look at this track record!"

"Three days ago: 'Client dinner.' Two days ago: 'Emergency meeting.' Yesterday: 'Business trip to the next town over.'"

"And today? Another 'last minute' meeting."

I slammed the phone down on the table (gently, because I didn't have Apple Care). "This behavior is unacceptable, Preston. I am filing a formal grievance."

Preston looked at the chat log. Then at the mountain of fried chicken.

Silence stretched.

Chapter 4

I thought he was reflecting on his sins. Instead, he read the screen and scoffed.

"Oh. So thats why my contact name is 'King of Flakes'?"

"Oops."

I snatched my phone back, hiding it behind my back. "Focus, Preston! That is not the point."

Preston didn't look even remotely guilty. "Its been a crazy week. Cant you just eat by yourself?"

"No." My shoulders slumped. "I don't want to eat alone. You promised, remember? I even curated a global feast. We have Chinese and Western options."

He stared silently at the greasy spread of takeout containers cluttering his desk. "Which one is Chinese?"

I pointed proudly at the spicy lamb skewers and the Chinese pork burgers.

"And the Western?"

I jabbed a finger at the pepperoni pizza and the bucket of fried chicken.

Preston stared at me.

Silence.

I clutched the chicken bucket to my chest and gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. Maximum pathetic.

But the man has a heart of stone.

"I have a video conference in five minutes."

My head dropped. Defeat tasted bitter.

"But" He paused. "I can take it from here."

I didn't move.

"If you really need company," he added, his voice dropping a decibel, "you can eat in the office."

My head snapped up. "Really?"

"Under one condition. Silence."

I nodded so hard I almost gave myself whiplash. "Ill be a ghost. Ill eat quietly, watch my show quietly, and wait for you quietly."

Preston didn't argue. He just sat back down, fired up his laptop, and slid his noise-canceling headphones over his ears.

I scanned the room.

There was a low coffee table near the sofa. I grabbed the edge and dragged it across the carpet until it was wedged right next to his massive mahogany desk.

Preston glanced over, giving me that signature what are you plotting now look.

I flashed a grin. "Just want to be in your orbit."

His conference must have been starting because he didn't kick me out. He just turned back to his screen, his expression shifting into professional steel.

I dragged the armchair over, settled in, and finally dug into dinner.

The office settled into a strange, cozy rhythm. Preston commanded the room, speaking in low, clipped tones to unseen executives.

I practically camped at his feet, demolishing fried chicken and watching reality TV on mute, stifling my giggles behind a greasy hand.

Comfortable.

Eventually, the food was gone, but Preston was still going.

Maybe it was the all-nighter I pulled reading novels yesterday. Maybe it was the massive carb crash from the pizza-burger combo. My eyelids grew heavy.

Just a quick nap, I told myself. Five minutes.

I curled up on the sofa. Blackout.

When I surfaced, the world had changed.

The harsh overhead fluorescents were gone. The office was dim, bathed in the amber glow of a single floor lamp standing guard next to the desk.

It felt intimate. Quiet.

The light cut across Prestons face, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the long sweep of his lashes as he read a file. He looked peaceful.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, my voice rasping. "You done?"

"Mm." He didn't look up. "Are you a hibernating bear? You ate, then immediately passed out."

"I am not a bear." I ignored the insult, stretching my stiff limbs. "Can we go home now?"

"We can."

Preston stood up, closing the file. He started walking toward the door, loosening his tie. Then, casually, without looking back: "Though, it was hard to focus with the snoring."

My blood ran cold.

"Oh my god." I scrambled up, chasing after him. "Did I really? No way. You are slandering me!"

Preston stopped. He turned, a wicked, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "Still say you aren't a bear?"

I froze.

You absolute jerk.

Chapter 5

Preston is a walking contradiction.

God clearly spent all his skill points on Prestons facesculpting that jawline, the nose, the eyesand then got lazy and filled his personality slot with "judgmental cactus."

Audrey is the only person who keeps me sane.

But Audrey has a life now. A life that includes a boyfriend. Specifically, Brody.

The heir to the Shang business empire is, frankly, a walking red flag of neediness. A total "pick-me" boy. Hes six-foot-two, built like a linebacker, yet spends his days whining for kisses and clinging to Audrey like a koala on eucalyptus.

It gives me the ick.

I literally have to wage guerrilla warfare just to get five minutes with my best friend.

Brody doesn't do overtime. He knows the second he clocks out, Im liable to stage a coup and takeover his apartment. He usually sprints home, desperate to recharge his social battery on Audrey, only to kick open the door and find me sprawling on their sofa, eating their snacks and waving like the Queen of England.

Brody seethed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Kennedy! Get your claws off my wife!"

I tightened my grip around Audreys waist. "Snooze you lose, Brody. Shes mine now. Were registered at Pottery Barn."

Audrey laughed, extricating herself from the sandwich of affection. "Okay, children. Truce. Im getting strawberries."

She vanished into the kitchen, leaving Brody and me to glare at each other across the coffee table. The air crackled with mutual disdain.

"Where's Preston?" Brody sneered. "Why aren't you torturing him? Or is there trouble in paradise?"

I didn't blink. "Preston has a job, Brody. Hes busy. Unlike some trust-fund babies I know." I leaned forward. "Careful. If your family goes broke, Im going to be the sugar mommy who sponsors Audrey."

"You wouldn't dare," Brody huffed. "I don't argue with toddlers."

"And I don't argue with toxic, two-faced men!"

We spent the next sixty seconds making immature gagging noises at each other until Audrey returned with the fruit bowl. We called a temporary ceasefire to demolish the strawberries.

But peace is fragile.

Brody swallowed a berry, a wicked glint suddenly sparking in his eyes. He smirked.

"Oh! Oh, that reminds me. I just remembered something juicy." He leaned in, voice dripping with glee. "Prestons 'The One That Got Away' is flying back to the States."

My hand froze halfway to my mouth