The Billionaire’s Dangerous Obsession

Friday Morning (Susan’s POV)

The phone buzzed again, shrill and insistent, rattling the nightstand like it was warning me. I yelped, nearly dropping it, and scrambled upright in bed.

“Not again,” I muttered, heart racing.

My hands shook slightly as I grabbed it—emails, reminders, missed calls… and one flashing name at the top: Mark. My chest tightened. Why now? Why today?

My apartment was small but warm, decorated with pastel tones and photographs of happier times—mostly me and Val, my best friend, laughing over coffee or grimacing at some terrible movie. That was my life: coffee, work, Val, and occasionally Mark.

I threw the covers back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and stared at the phone. The screen blinked. Another missed call. Another message. I could feel a jolt of anticipation—would he be coming, or was this another Friday that ended with me alone?

He could be sweet, I admitted, in his teasing, careless way, but he also had a way of making me second-guess myself.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder and sat up, glancing at the messy sheets that I’d been clinging to too long. I wasn’t a morning person, but I wasn’t the type to waste time either.

I quickly got out of bed, baked myself some pancakes and biscuits to keep my mind busy. I had a glass of red wine while I worked, trying to drown out the little voice in my head that kept whispering, When will he call? I kept checking my phone every few minutes, hoping that my boyfriend would call to spend Friday with me. But he didn’t.

Maybe he’s busy with either work or fun, as he calls it, I thought to myself.

The day was going pretty well. I cleared enough work off my desk to offer myself a better Monday, even though that sounded ironic. I decided to take a break, took a quick shower, and changed into a soft lavender silk robe.

Then I heard a slight knock at the door and wasn’t sure if I was excited or not, but I was sure it was Mark.

I opened the door—and there he was. Mark, leaning in with that grin, that look in his eyes that made my stomach flip, as if he knew exactly how to push every nerve awake.

“You look…” he paused, pulling me close, “as though you fell out of my dreams,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

I rolled my eyes playfully, trying to shake off the adrenaline racing through me. “Are you sure you didn’t just steal that line from a movie?”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe. But I meant it.”

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he looked at me, the way his hand lingered over my waist, brushing against my skin. It was addictive. I leaned into him, letting my hands trail down his chest.

His warmth filled me, and I felt that rush—the one that always made me forget, for a while, the work, the stress, the real world, and even the uncertainties that came with being with him.

We ended up on the sofa, tangled together. I kissed him slowly and lingeringly, and he responded in kind, hands roaming gently at first, then more urgently. It wasn’t just lust; it was comfort, familiarity, the kind of intimacy that made me feel alive.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against my neck.

“I know,” I replied softly, letting him guide the pace. “Me too.”

And then… we were lost in each other. Clothes were forgotten, kisses became gasps, and hands found every sensitive place. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered, like everything else could wait.

Later, as we lay together, breathing heavily, I traced my fingers along his chest.

“Do you ever think about the future?” I asked, hesitant.

He chuckled softly. “Future? You know me, Sus. I live in the moment. Why ruin it with a plan?”

I frowned but didn’t push it. I had known that about him from the start, but I've stuck with him, hoping and wishing that one day he'll grow into the version of him that I wanted to. Mark wasn’t the type for grand promises, weddings, or family plans, he had a problem with commitments, he said they were boring and too much effort. He was fire—exciting, warm, bright—but fleeting.

That was love too, wasn’t it? Sometimes, it burns quickly and leaves ashes behind.