All Chapters of The Billionaire's Hidden Obsession : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Clara’s POV By evening, Zara had seen enough of my moping. She marched into my room, hands on her hips, wearing her dramatic satin robe and a bonnet tied like she was ready for a fight. “Stand up.” I blinked. “Huh?” “Get up.” She clapped twice as if I were a toddler. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said weakly. “Clara.” She pointed at me. “If you cry one more tear in this house, your tear ducts will quit. I can’t allow that. So we’re going out.” I groaned. “Zara—” “No ‘Zara.’ Dress up. Shower. Makeup. We’re going to dance your heartbreak away.” Before I could protest, she yanked my blanket off. “Zara, I’m not in the mood.” “I didn’t ask if you’re in the mood. I said get up.” Then she added, “Forget that billionaire giving you a headache. Let’s find you a caring millionaire who will give you peace of mind.” I burst into laughter through my tears. “Millionaire? Where will you find one?” She winked. “Leave that to me.” I eventually sat up. “This feels wron

Adrian’s pov Morning in New York always hits different. The air is sharper, louder, somehow more impatient than the cities I’ve lived in. Berlin has a cold, clean quiet. Munich has elegance. "New York is too sweet, really." He finally got into his car, but instead of heading home, he drove toward the mall across the street. Something was pulling at him, something he couldn't explain. Once inside the mall, he headed straight to the fragrance section. He didn't know why. He hadn't planned it. But when he spotted a soft, delicate perfume—one he imagined would suit a quiet smile and shy eyes—he stopped. Clara. The girl from the club. He picked up the bottle. “Would you like it wrapped?” the salesgirl asked. “Yes,” he replied softly. He didn't understand why he was doing this for a girl he had met only once. A girl who wasn't his. A girl he didn’t know was connected—contract or not—to his friend. He grabbed the small wrapped bag and walked out. Just as he rea

Clara’s POV The Uber slowed briefly before moving again, swallowed by the morning traffic. New York at 9 a.m. was loud without trying: horns blaring, engines humming, people rushing like time was chasing them. I leaned back in the seat, watching as tall buildings slid past the window, one after another, as if they all had somewhere more important to be. Zara sat beside me, legs crossed, phone in her hand as she scrolled through messages with a smile that hadn’t left her face since we got in the car. “See your face,” she teased, nudging my arm. “You look like someone Contract withgoing to court, not work.” I exhaled slowly. “I just want today to go smoothly.” She laughed. “Smooth? With Elias involved? Please.” “Zara,” I warned. She raised both hands dramatically. “Okay, okay. I’m serious now. Today is business. Strictly business. No emotions. No soft eye contact. No unnecessary conversations.” I turned to her. “I know.” “Do you?” she asked, arching a brow. “Because th

Clara’s POV By the third day, I understood something clearly. Silence could be louder than shouting. Elias hadn’t raised his voice at me. He hadn’t questioned me. He hadn’t made a single inappropriate comment. If anyone were watching from the outside, they would say he was the perfect employer, calm, professional, and distant. Too distant. And that distance pressed against my skin like invisible hands. I arrived early that morning, not because I was eager, but because staying home with my thoughts had become unbearable. The office smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood, a controlled environment where emotions were not welcome. I liked that—or at least, I wanted to. I set my bag down, powered on my system, and inhaled slowly. Focus. That was the word Zara kept repeating in my head. Focus on work. Focus on growth. Focus on yourself. I told myself I could do that. But the moment Elias stepped out of his private elevator, I felt it. Not his presence. His res

Elias’ POVThe house always announced my father before he did. Not with noise, but with presence. I felt it the moment I stepped through the door. The air was warmer than usual and thicker, carrying the faint scent of oud and something richer beneath it slow-cooked food, not the quick meals my mother tolerated when he was away. The lights were also brighter, not glaring, just deliberately alive. He was home.I loosened my tie, fingers moving automatically, though my shoulders remained tense. The day had already worn me down. Meetings, decisions, pretending I was unaffected by things that shouldn’t have bothered me. Still, my chest tightened as I took another step forward. “Elias.” His voice came from the living room steady, calm, familiar. I turned toward the sound. My father stood near the wide window, his back partially to me, city lights reflecting off the glass behind him. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, posture relaxed but alert to the stance of a man