HIS BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET {MxM}

Noah’s POV

If there’s one thing the military taught me, it’s this: people are very predictable.

Put anyone under enough pressure, strip them of comfort and illusion, and eventually, they’ll show you exactly who they are. A person can only pretend for so long.

That’s why I don’t trust people who look too perfect. Who act too perfect.

They’re usually hiding the most. They're usually the most dangerous, or the most broken.

Which is why, when I opened the file stamped confidential and saw the black-and-white photo clipped to the top corner, sharp cheekbones, expensive suit, smirk carved like a sin straight from a designer runway. I knew immediately: this job was going to be hell. It was going to test every ounce of patience I had in me.

Adrian Vale. Billionaire heir to Vale Industries. Tech mogul. Scandal magnet. Corny and sly. Headline to every gossip.  Arrogant as sin, cold as winter steel, and according to every tabloid, the kind of man who ruined people for sport and didn’t lose a minute of sleep over it.

He wasn’t the kind of man I protected.

He was the kind of man I usually walked away from.

The kind I keep my distance from and build a protective shield around.

Life sure has a way of fucking us over.

And yet, here I was, sitting in the too-white, too-silent office of Lucien Price & Associates, elite security contractors to the rich and morally questionable, listening to my handler tell me why I didn’t have a choice.

“You don’t have to like him,” Lucien said, folding his hands atop the glossy desk between us. “You just have to keep him alive. That's all.”

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. “Doesn’t he already have security? The kind that wears earpieces and black suits and looks like extras from a bad action movie? Why does he need an extra?”

Lucien’s mouth twitched. “Uhm well, he does. Or rather, he did. Three have quit in the last month.”

I arched a brow. “That bad? He must have a lot of people who don't like him then.”

“Worse.” Lucien pushed the file toward me. “Death threats. Stalking. A failed break-in at his penthouse. And someone tried to poison his drink at a charity gala last week.”

I flipped through the papers without really reading them. I already knew where this was going. High-profile. High-risk. High paycheck. The kind of job desperate men took.

“Why me?” I asked, even though we both knew the answer.

Because I was good.

Because I didn’t scare easily.

Because after two tours overseas and five years running personal security for men who thought bulletproof glass made them immortal, I knew how to keep someone breathing even when they insisted on tempting fate.

Basically I was the right man for the job.

And also because I needed the money.

“You’re ex-military,” Lucien said, as if that explained everything. “You don’t flinch. You don’t get involved. You get results.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And I don’t babysit spoiled rich kids playing CEO.”

Lucien smiled thinly. “He’s twenty-six.”

“Still acts like he’s eighteen, from what I’ve read.”

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. “His father built an empire from dirt. Adrian Vale’s been running it alone since he was twenty. Not by choice. He’s not the villain they paint him to be, Cross. But he is in danger. And someone like you? You’re exactly what he needs right now.”

Someone like me. Cold. Detached. Efficient.

Not someone who would get close. Not someone who would care.

I should have said no. I almost did. But then Lucien slid the final page toward me. The payment offer. Enough zeroes to make my chest tighten. Enough to cover my accumulated debts and then some. Enough to make me forget my pride.

“Three months,” Lucien said. “Get him through the merger, keep him breathing, and you’re done.”

Three months.

I could do anything for three months.

Even this.

“Fine,” I said. “Send me the address.”

Adrian Vale’s penthouse sat thirty stories above the city, gleaming glass and steel like something cut from ice and arrogance. The kind of place where people lived alone on purpose, just to remind the world how untouchable they were.

The private elevator hummed up, slow and silent. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror-polished walls: dark suit, darker scowl, jaw already locked like I was walking into a war zone instead of a job.

Because that’s what this was going to be, wasn’t it?

Not bullets and bombs.

But mind games. Power plays. Cold silences sharpened into weapons.

I’d seen men like Adrian Vale before. Beautiful, brilliant, broken in ways they’d never admit. Dangerous, not because of the enemies waiting outside their doors, but because of the ones they carried inside their own heads.

Still, nothing prepared me for the moment the doors slid open and I saw him.

He was leaning against the far wall, half in shadow, nursing a glass of whiskey like it had wronged him. Bare feet on marble, black shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled carelessly up muscled forearms. Casual. Effortless. Lethal in a way no weapon could ever match.

His eyes found me instantly. Pale grey. Sharp as glass. Measuring. Bored.

“You’re early,” he said, voice lazy silk. “Or am I late? I lose track.”

I stepped inside, let the doors close behind me. Didn’t speak yet. Watched him watching me.

“So,” he drawled, pushing off the wall. “You’re the man they sent to save me.”

I didn’t answer. Not until I was close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, the expensive cologne ghosting his skin.

“Noah Cross,” I said. “Security detail.”

He tilted his head, slow, predatory. A smile touched his mouth, not kind. Not warm. Curious, maybe. Dangerous, definitely.

“You’re not nearly as terrifying as they said.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint scar at his temple, the tired edge beneath all that effortless arrogance.

And smiled.

“But we’ll see how long you last.”