All Chapters of The Billionaire's Hidden Obsession : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Clara's pov The screen lit up, and there she was, Mom, sitting in the middle of the new living room. Her hands rested on her lap, and her eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, as if she was trying to take it all in at once. Even through the video call, I could see her chest rise and fall with excitement, just like it always did when she felt proud or overwhelmed.“Clara… my child… is this real?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “This… all of this… you… you’ve done this?”I smiled, though my throat felt tight. “Ẹ má sunkún mọ́, Màmá. Mi ò tíì parí,” I said softly. Don’t cry again, Mama. I’m not done yet.Her lips trembled as tears slipped down her cheeks. “You… you’ve given us stability… security… my child, my pillar…” She paused, letting her words linger. “I… I can’t even… I don’t know how to thank you.”I swallowed hard. My eyes stung. This was why I pushed myself every single day—the reason I faced long nights, made sacrifices, and dealt with pressure. Not for fame. Not for luxury.

Zara's pov By the time I finally sat down, my feet were on fire. Not the kind of “heels pain” people joke about. This was deep. It climbed from my toes to my calves and just stayed there, throbbing, reminding me I had been standing since morning, smiling, bending, adjusting, pretending my body wasn’t begging for rest. I slipped off my shoes under the table and stretched my legs, rolling my ankles slowly. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself. Workdays like this always made me question my life choices. Styling looked glamorous online, but no one saw the sore back, the cramped fingers, or how my brain stayed on even when my body was done. Still… I loved it. That part always surprised me. I glanced at myself in the mirror across the studio. My hair was packed into a messy bun. My lip gloss was half gone. My face was tired but glowing. Not the makeup kind of glow. This was different. It came from knowing I did good work. “Zara,” the receptionist called softly, peeking in. “Your last client is h

Elias’ POV Composure used to come easily to me. I didn’t practice or think about it. It was as natural as breathing automatic and constant. People often mistook it for confidence, sometimes for power, and sometimes for arrogance. I never corrected them. Letting others decide who you were gave a form of control. Composure was how I survived. I learned early that emotions were liabilities. They clouded judgment, invited interference, and gave others leverage they didn’t deserve. Distance created clarity. When you didn’t need people, you could see them more clearly. You could predict them and manage them. That belief shaped my life more than any decision I made. Until Clara stopped needing me. The thought came uninvited as I stepped into the boardroom that morning, and I resented it immediately. It didn’t belong there. This was familiar ground glass walls, polished table, low hum of conversation layered with quiet ambition. A space I understood instinctively. Control shou

Clara’s POV Charity dinners felt like performances masked as generosity. Everyone arrived with kindness as an accessory. Smiles seemed rehearsed, laughter was measured, and voices dropped just enough to sound important. The air mixed expensive perfume, champagne, and ambition pretending to be humility. Tonight was the same. Crystal chandeliers glowed above us, casting light across silk gowns and sharp suits. A string quartet played somewhere near the stage, the music soft enough to fade into the background as conversations grew serious. I stepped inside beside Elias, my arm resting lightly through his. Not gripping. Not clinging. Just present. The room noticed. It wasn’t dramatic. No heads turned. No obvious stares. Just a subtle pause, like a breath held too long. Conversations dipped. Someone laughed a second late. Eyes followed us, quickly looking away, then back again. I felt it settle on my skin. Heavy. Familiar. My gown was emerald silk, smooth and flowing, skimming m

Elias’ POV The atmosphere shifted when Clara arrived not louder or busier, just more aware, as if something significant had entered the room and everything adapted around her. I stood by the glass wall of the executive corridor, pretending to read emails on my tablet. Pretending. She walked across the open workspace below with calm confidence, her heels clicking softly on the floor. She wasn’t rushed or trying to attract attention. She moved like someone who knew her destination and didn’t need to announce it. She wore a navy dress today simple, with clean lines. Long sleeves pushed slightly at the wrists. Nothing dramatic. Nothing over the top. Yet, people noticed. One after another. Not because she demanded it, but because she didn’t seek it out. Someone greeted her, and she smiled, pausing to listen fully before responding. She wasn’t distracted or politely empty. Present. That was the word. I felt it in my chest before I recognized it. Pride. The kind that arrives uninvited an