The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession

If you ask the modern world, a woman like me is supposed to take up as little space as humanly possible. We’re taught to shrink our bodies, quiet our voices, and apologize whenever our hips bump into a table. But I’ve spent my entire life refusing to play by those stupid rules. I am Maya Blue. I’m built with generous curves, a loud laugh, and hands that are almost always stained with mahogany wood stain or chemical stripper. I don’t starve myself for high-fashion trends, and I certainly don’t apologize for taking up space.In fact, right now, I was taking up as much space as I damn well pleased in the middle of my small, dusty workshop, screaming the lyrics to an eighties rock song at the top of my lungs.Sawdust floated in the sunbeams pouring through the cracked front window. The air smelled heavenly—a thick mixture of old oak, turpentine, and cheap gas-station coffee. Across the room, perched on two heavy-duty wooden sawhorses, sat my current project: a battered, gorgeous Victorian

Julian’s question hung in the quiet living room, smooth as glass and cold as ice.My fingers remained glued to the microscopic metal seam under the mahogany desk. My pulse hammered against my ribs, but I forced my face to stay completely blank. In my line of work, you learn to read wood like a book. Wood breathes, it ages, it warps. Metal doesn't. And 18th-century French artisans certainly didn't install seamless titanium alloys underneath hand-carved cherry and mahogany.I slowly pulled my hand back, wiping my dusted palm against the thigh of my overalls. "Just checking the grain density," I said smoothly, turning around to face him. I kept my voice even, giving him nothing to read. "Old pieces like this swell if they're kept near large glass windows. The humidity off the bay will ruin the finish if we don't move it into a controlled room."Julian didn't move an inch. His grey eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the subtle shift in my posture. He didn't ask about the wood density. He di

My hands shook as I stared at the tiny silver pendant sitting in that hidden slot. M.B. My mother’s initials.Before Julian or Eleanor could notice what had popped open, I slammed the drawer shut. The little click echoed in my ears, heavy and terrifying. I packed my tools so fast my knuckles bruised against the metal latches, muttered a fake apology about needing more supplies, and practically ran out of the penthouse.I spent the rest of the day in a complete fog, hiding in my workshop. I couldn't stop looking at the faded index card with my father's handwriting, then looking at my phone, waiting for nothing.~~~~~I was sitting at my messy desk, drinking lukewarm coffee and trying to focus on sanding an old chair, when the front door burst open. Mr. Henderson walked in. My cheap, greedy landlord was wearing a shiny suit that looked like it cost more than my entire inventory, and he had a sleazy grin spread across his face."Morning, Maya," he said, waving a thick white envelope in t

For the next ninety minutes, I was washed, brushed, painted, and styled like a human doll. They pulled my wild, dark curls into an elegant, loose updo that framed my face. They applied soft makeup that highlighted my eyes and painted my lips a deep, velvet red.And then came the dress.It was a deep emerald green silk gown. It wasn't designed for the skinny, starving models you see in fashion magazines. It was made for a curvy plump woman. The silk stretched over my wide hips, hugged my waist tight, and dipped low over my chest, highlighting every single curve I possessed. It had a long slit up the left leg, showing off my heels.When I looked in the full-length mirror, I barely recognized myself. I looked powerful. I looked stunning. But underneath the expensive silk, my heart was hammering a terrified, unsteady beat.I stepped out of the guest room into the main living room.Julian was standing by the window, wearing a crisp black tuxedo that made him look like a dark, lethal king.

I couldn't breathe.TARGET - DAVID BLUE (DECEASED).The words burned into my retinas. My hands shook so violently the heavy leather file rattled in my grip. My father’s face stared back at me from that paper, his kind eyes looking straight through me from five years in the past. This can't be a coincidence. None of it was. The desk, the job, the double pay, the sudden interest in my tiny workshop—it was all tied to my father. It has to be. And my father isn't dead, why is he being declared as deceased. Does Julian knows something —"Find what you were looking for, Maya?"I jumped out of my skin, dropping the folder onto the glass desk.Julian was standing in the doorway of the study. He was wearing a grey linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up and black trousers, holding a steaming mug of coffee. His face was completely calm, but his dark grey eyes were locked onto the open file lying on his desk.As he walked closer to me, a wild, blinding rage exploded in my chest, hot enough to sc