Billionaire Possessive Mind

Birthday Gift

"She is mine Fucking Mine!!!"

"She is mine Fucking Mine!!!"

_____

Everyone was running around with joy, their smiles glowing under the moonlight as the grand mansion shimmered in gold and white. Rose petals were scattered everywhere, chandeliers sparkled like stars, and the entire palace was alive with celebration.

After all, the richest man in the country had a daughter today.

Inside the lavish nursery, the air smelled like fresh roses and warm milk. Nurses bustled in and out, but one boy stood still—dead still—his dark eyes fixed on the fragile little girl waving her arms in her crib.

He couldn't have been more than seven.

Wearing black denim jeans, a matching t-shirt, and a jeans jacket—all in the darkest shade of night—he looked like a shadow with a pulse. A tiny Rolex watch gleamed on his small wrist, but it wasn't the designer shine that made him stand out.

It was his presence.

Too calm. Too still. Too intense—for a child.

Slowly, the boy walked closer to the crib, his shoes quiet against the marble floor. His dark gaze didn't shift for a second. He leaned down, grabbed her tiny hand, and stared.

And then... she giggled.

The small boy's chest thumped. Hard.

He didn't understand the feeling. He had never felt anything before.

Not happiness. Not love. Not joy.

But this?

This was something else.

"What... are you doing to me?" he asked, his voice oddly deep for his age—dark, firm, haunting.

She giggled again, tiny fingers curling in the air.

He placed a hand over his racing heart and looked away, jaw tightening.

"Stop it, little girl," he warned, serious as death . "Or I'll throw you to the sharks with diamond teeth."

She squealed again, as if mocking him.

He leaned down closer, his breath ghosting her cheek. "You don't know what you're doing to me... But one day, you will."

She touched his cheek with her soft hand, giggling again.

He froze.

"You are mine," he whispered. A vow. A curse. A prophecy.

She didn't understand. Not yet.

But he did.

_________________

Seventeen years later

"Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday, dear Anaya..."

Applause thundered around the grand ballroom, cameras flashing as a stunning girl stood smiling like royalty in the center. Anaya.

She was glowing in a navy-blue silk maxi dress, her long curls cascading down her back, her cheeks slightly pink from all the attention.

Everyone loved her.

Everyone but him.

He didn't love.

He owned.

And tonight... he would remind her of that.

She sliced a piece of the grand 4-tier cake, laughing sweetly, feeding her friends, her father, the guests... but then—

A shadow approached.

A man in a sharp black suit, exuding dark danger, stepped into her space. His tall figure towered over hers. Before she could blink, he grabbed her wrist gently—yet firmly—and leaned down.

Zayan Khan.

He bit the cake piece straight from her hand, but it wasn't the bite that shocked her—it was the lick of his tongue on her fingers.

Her entire body stiffened.

His mouth—hot, slow, possessive—wrapped around her fingertips.

She yanked her hand back, heart pounding. But he didn't say a word.

His silence was louder than any scream.

She tried to ignore it, tried to breathe, tried to smile... but he took her hand again. This time, pulling her outside.

"Zayan bhai—what are you doing?" she asked softly.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Bhai?" he snapped.

Her heart jumped.

"Anaya. How many fucking times do I have to tell you—I am not your BHAI!" he roared, his voice slicing through the air.

She flinched.

Tears pooled in her eyes. It wasn't her fault. Everyone told her to call him that. Everyone thought he was like a brother to her.

But he wasn't.

Not even close.

His expression changed the second he saw her tears. He stepped closer, cupping her soft cheeks in his rough palms.

"Shh... I'm sorry," he whispered. Zayn Khan—mafia king, future prime minister, a man with blood on his hands—was apologizing.

Just to her.

He pulled her into his arms, his giant frame wrapping around her like a shield. "Don't cry, baby. I didn't mean to scare you... Don't you want your birthday gift?"

She didn't reply.

She wouldn't even look at him.

He picked her up effortlessly and carried her to his black Mercedes-Benz, strapping her in like a porcelain doll.

He drove her straight to his private estate.

Zayan's Mansion.

She refused to come out of the car. So he lifted her again, carrying her to his room.

"You're too light. I told you to eat properly, but do you ever listen?" he muttered, irritated.

Still, she stayed silent.

It drove him mad.

He gently placed her on his bed and crouched in front of her. "Please forgive me."

"D-Don't t-talk to me," she whispered, trembling.

His phone rang.

He answered coldly. "Yes?"

"Zayan, is Anaya with you?" Arsh Khan—his father—asked casually.

"She's with me. She's staying the night. Any problem?"

There was a pause.

"No... Just take care of her. Make sure she rests, and maybe gets her homework done," Arsh said, clueless, thinking this was just a harmless sleepover.

"She's my responsibility," Zayn replied darkly.

He hung up and turned back to her.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

"What did you say?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"I... I don't want to stay with you."

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her onto his lap.

"Sad. But that's not happening, doll."

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

"Why are you wearing such an exposed dress?" he growled, tracing his fingers over her neck to her collarbone.

He tugged the fabric gently, revealing a small mole just above her breast.

"I love this mole," he murmured before kissing it.

She gasped and pushed at his chest, panicking.

"Let me go!"

He pinned her beneath him on the bed, holding both her wrists above her head with one hand.

His face hovered inches from hers, breath hot, eyes glowing.

"Say my name," he demanded.

"Huh?"

"Say. My. Name."

"Z-zayan bh—"

He placed a finger on her lips.

"Without 'Bhai' Anaya."His voice was dead serious.

"Z-Zayan," she whispered.

"Again."

"Zayan."

"Louder."

"Z-zayan!"she said a little louder this time.

He smirked. His name on her lips was the drug he had craved for seventeen fucking years.

"Good girl," he whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek, kissing away a tear.

Her body trembled under him, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with confusion and fear—and something she didn't want to admit.

______________________

Thank you