Lahat ng Kabanata ng PROPERTY OF THE BILLIONAIRE: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Tell me, what could bring an insanely driven, successful woman to the dust? Love.Yes, you heard me—love. The kind I had for Layden Macarus James. What Layden and I shared was magic, the kind that makes you believe in forever. And if I had to give up everything for him again, I would. Anything to make him happy. "If I had known you’d keep zoning out, I wouldn’t have agreed to follow you here," Sandra teased, pinching me just hard enough to snap me out of my thoughts. Sandra, dark-skinned and effortlessly stunning with hazel eyes that seemed to pierce right through you, had legs that could stop traffic. She was always the picture of confidence, and her playful demeanor only added to her magnetic presence.We were at a bridal boutique—my wedding was tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would marry the man I loved the most, and we were waiting for the dresses the sales rep was going to show us. Sandra didn't even bother asking me what I wanted, and I trusted her. I mean, I was too tired emotionall

The bass reverberated through my body, sinking into my skin like a second heartbeat. My limbs felt light, my head dizzy with a strange, electric rush.I swayed, arms thrown over the shoulders of some faceless stranger, laughing at nothing and everything. The heat of the bodies around me was suffocating, intoxicating. My heart raced, my skin burned, and I welcomed it.Until I felt it.A gaze.Heavy. Dark. Unyielding.It cut through the flashing lights, through the haze in my mind, through the feverish daze that had consumed me. A chill that had nothing to do with the air. A weight that settled over me like a slow drag of silk against bare skin.Someone was watching me.I stilled, my heart knocking against my ribs as my gaze flickered across the room. Everything was a blur of light and motion, but then I saw them—the booths in the far corner, nestled in the shadows, off-limits yet occupied. Unlike the rest of the room, wild with laughter and sin, those seats belonged to men who didn’t n

"Girl, wake up!" Andra yelled, shaking me half-haphazardly.I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. "Nooo, Andra. What time is it?""It's 7 a.m.! You're going to be late for your own wedding!" she shrieked. "Wake up, Janice Felicia O'Brian!""Shit!" I cursed, jolting upright as panic surged through me. I was going to be late for my own wedding.Without sparing a second glance, I dashed into the bathroom, taking the fastest shower of my life. By the time I stepped out, Andra was already waiting, towel in hand. She helped dry my hair before sitting me in front of the mirror, her fingers already working their magic.I exhaled deeply, still catching my breath. "Thank you, Andra," I murmured sincerely.Finally taking a good look at her, I realized she was already showered, her makeup flawless, her hair done to perfection—though, true to Sandra fashion, she was still draped in her robe, no doubt savoring every moment before slipping into her dress."My mom and sister should be he

His hands were everywhere—rough, demanding, sliding over my skin as if they owned it. They gripped my breasts, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. My nipples were already stiff, aching under his touch, and when he pinched them between his fingers, rolling and tugging, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through me. Heat pooled low in my stomach, my body responding to him as if it were wired to his every move. I didn’t waste time. My hands fumbled with his suit, yanking at the jacket until it slid off his shoulders and hit the floor with a muffled thud. His tie came next, loosened and tossed aside, followed by his shirt, buttons popping open as I dragged it down his arms. His chest was bare now, muscles taut and inviting, and I couldn’t resist running my hands over him, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I pushed him back onto the bed, and he went willingly, his eyes dark and hungry as they raked over me. The way he looked at me—like he

After breakfast, I hurried upstairs to shower quickly before rejoining Andra. I slipped into a yellow sundress that ended mid-thigh and grabbed a pair of sunglasses—hardly the attire of a married woman, but then again, I was still a virgin, so it didn’t count. When I came back downstairs, Andra and I stepped outside and into her car. The drive to Chelsea felt like a slow descent into memory. The streets, wide and alive, pulsed with the energy of a neighborhood caught between its artistic roots and creeping affluence. Rows of red-brick townhouses stood tall and proud, their facades softened by ivy crawling up the sides, whispering of a past that refused to be erased. Gallery windows shimmered with abstract paintings, and boutique cafés spilled warm laughter onto the sidewalks, their tiny round tables crowded with people who had nowhere to be but everywhere to talk. But for me, Chelsea wasn’t the art or the boutiques—it was home. Andra drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, steal