Vows Of Obsession: The Billionaire Bride

Paris had a way of doing that, pulling at the heart, whispering promises of love and longing beneath its glittering lights. It wanted you to fall in love. To be loved.

And for Benita McCracken, Paris would become the place where she did both, with the most unexpected man.

Benita had wanted to stay back. She had insisted on it, actually. The company had just secured a project worth fifty billion dollars, and walking away now felt reckless. She wanted to oversee everything, ensure the foundation was solid before anyone celebrated.

But her father hadn’t listened.

He had summoned her to his office that morning, his voice warm with pride even before she stepped inside.

“Benny, you made this possible…again,” he said, smiling as he rose from his chair. The pride on his face was unmistakable.

“Dad, we made it possible,” Benita replied. “McCracken Industrials wouldn’t have won without your contribution as the owner.”

“Take the credit, child,” he said, pulling her into a firm, fatherly hug.

Then he reached for an envelope on his desk and handed it to her. “Which is why I prepared a gift for you.”

Benita frowned as she opened it.

Paris.

“Dad?” she said slowly. “This is not a good—”

“Time?” he interrupted knowingly. “I figured you’d say that. But before you decline, I paid a fortune for that vacation.”

She sighed. “I can see that. But me leaving now, when this new project is sitting on McCracken Industrials’ neck, isn’t a good idea.”

“I thought so too,” he admitted. “But your brother made it clear you need a break.”

“Rafe?” She blinked. “You mean Raphael?”

“Yes. I was surprised as well,” he said. “But he had a point. You haven’t rested in a long time. He did well bringing it to my attention. He does care about you, after all.”

Benita said nothing.

Raphael McCracken, her stepbrother, was the last person she expected to advocate for her rest. Their relationship had always been strained, especially after their father appointed her chairwoman and majority shareholder of McCracken Industrials. She held sixty-five percent of the company, a fact Raphael had never fully accepted.

He had adjusted, slowly, but his resentment still surfaced whenever he could help it.

This project was proof of that.

Benita had already initiated talks with Blackwell Holdings for collaboration. Damien Blackwell was a rival, yes, but business didn’t run on emotions. Blackwell Holdings had what they needed, and McCracken Industrials had the project.

They had been close to sealing the deal.

Then Raphael had brought in another company, one he personally favored and insisted they partner with them instead. It had been reckless, unprofessional, and very much Raphael’s style. His impulsive decisions were exactly why he wasn’t chairman in the first place.

Damien Blackwell wouldn’t let this go. She knew that. She knew him well enough by reputation alone.

Leaving now felt like a mistake.

“I still think leaving at this delicate period is a bad idea,” Benita said firmly.

“Or you don’t trust the welfare of the company in my care,” Raphael’s voice cut in from the doorway.

She turned, eyeing him suspiciously. “That too.”

“Ouch. Touché,” he said with a grin. “I deserve that. But trust me, I have your best interest at heart.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied dryly.

“I saw you in your office—”

“You spy on me now?” she snapped.

“And you looked exhausted,” he continued calmly. “You need sleep. A break outside those walls. Besides, no one knows you as Benita McCracken except the board members. Going on this vacation won’t expose anything.”

He stepped closer, meeting her gaze.

“And if you’re worried about Damien Blackwell,” Raphael added, “I can handle him if he tries anything funny. I’m trying to help.”

“And I don’t remember asking for unsolicited advice on when I should take a vacation,” Benita shot back.

“Enough,” their father interjected sharply. “Both of you.”

He turned to Benita. “Your brother and I agree. Take a breather. Go have fun. We’ll handle things here.”

Against her better judgment, Benita left that afternoon.

She packed her bags, boarded the plane, and endured the eight-hour flight in restless thought. When she finally landed, a chauffeur was already waiting. As they drove through Paris, she found herself staring out the window, breath caught in her throat.

The city was breathtaking.

By the time they reached the hotel, she understood why her father had insisted. It was grand, luxurious beyond words. The fountain at the entrance shimmered under the lights, and she exhaled softly.

“I needed this,” she murmured.

Everything had been arranged. As she was escorted to her room, another guest walked into the hotel.

Damien Blackwell.

He had been certain the McCrackens would partner with him. Losing the project had been bad enough but being denied collaboration was worse. His fury that morning had been explosive; three employees had lost their jobs because of it.

His friend Vince had called, urging him to think like a businessman, not a wounded rival.

And then Vince had found something.

The company the McCracken’s wanted to collaborate with has a suspicious business rotating IP address. Paris. Hong Kong. Never staying in one place too long.

It smells like Fraud.

Which was why Damien had dropped everything and flown to Paris on Vince demand.

He checked into his hotel, freshened up, then drove to meet Vince at his hotel.

“Vince, I’m outside,” Damien said into the phone.

Minutes later, Vince joined him, and they headed into the Parisian nightlife.

“ Tell me what you got”

“So the first IP location started somewhere only you can access in Paris,” Vince said.

“You don’t mean—”

“Maison des Élites,” Vince confirmed.

Damien sighed. He hated that place.

“We will go there tomorrow night,” he said finally. “Let’s get a drink.”

Vince declined with a laugh, “I've got some urgent bedroom business to attend to” leaving Damien alone.

He ended up in a slow disco club, sliding onto a barstool.

“Bourbon,” he ordered

Moments later, a glass appeared.

“Here’s your cosmopolitan, sir.”

Damien frowned. “I ordered bourbon.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You’re incompetent,” Damien snapped. “It’s a simple order. A Bourbon!"

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

The voice came from behind him, soft, calm, and impossibly steady.

He turned.

She was stunning.

Not loud. Not trying. She was just… stunning.