All Chapters of One Night And A Billionaire Obsession : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Kelly’s POVI stepped into the office lobby, the polished marble reflecting the fluorescent lights above, and felt the weight of the week already pressing down on my shoulders. My laptop bag was slung over one shoulder, neatly packed with my notebook, pens, and a couple of spare folders in case Michael decided to throw another surprise on my plate.The company-wide strategy meeting was scheduled for 9 a.m., but arriving early always gave me a sense of control, or at least the illusion of it. The conference room was filling quickly as I stepped in, colleagues already chatting quietly, their coffee cups steaming in hand. My own pulse picked up, partly from nerves, partly from anticipation.Michael entered without fanfare. He didn’t look at anyone, not even the assistant at the front. He moved to the head of the room, placing his laptop on the podium and tapping a few keys. The click of the remote echoed in the quiet room, and immediately, all chatter ceased. The presence he carried,

Kelly’s POVThe rhythm of my mornings had started to form its own shape, it had become structured, predictable, and almost comforting. In a strange way, working under Michael Donovan was the closest thing to consistency I’d had in months. The irony wasn’t lost on me, because the man himself was anything but predictable. He was cold, controlled and quietly intense. Yet the routine around him never faltered.I woke before my alarm rang, staring up at the ceiling of my studio apartment. The place was small, but it held a sense of privacy that grounded me. I rolled out of bed, pulling my hair into a bun, and started getting ready in silence, letting the hum of my old fridge fill the room.The moment I stepped outside my apartment, the chill of Seattle morning air was enough to clear my mind to face the day. By the time I reached Donovan Corp, my nerves had already sparked to life. They always did when I knew I’d be interacting with Michael, whenever he was around in the office.Even t

Kelly’s POVHope’s apartment always felt like stepping into another version of the world, a brighter one, bolder, and a little chaotic, but it was warm enough to soften the hard edges of my week. She greeted me with a dramatic hug the second I stepped inside, waving a wooden spoon coated in tomato sauce.“Baby girl you look like you’ve been wrestling on a battlefield all week,” she announced. “Come in before you collapse on my welcome mat.”“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice already sounded lighter just breathing her air. “Just tired.”“Tired is when you yawn once. Whatever you are right now, that’s serious exhaustion.”The smell of garlic and simmering tomatoes floated through the space. Music played softly from her little speaker on the counter. The place was smaller than my studio, somehow, but it never felt cramped. It felt lived in, and alive with Hope’s personality plastering itself to every surface… neon sticky notes, mismatched pillows, and a crocheted blanket she swore sh

Michael's POV Owen as usual never knocked, he would just barge in like whatever room he was entering belonged to him. That was my brother for you, the last of the three Donovan boys, and the most carefree one among us.I was going over some documents when the door opened and his voice filled the office. “You’re here, good. Thought maybe you might have gone to your many meetings again.”I looked up. “You’re supposed to schedule an appointment like everyone else, Owen.”He grinned as he dropped into the chair across from my desk. “And miss seeing that vein in your forehead pop when I walk in uninvited? Never.”I set my pen down. “What are you really doing here? You’re supposed to be in your office working like any other responsible adult.”“I was,” he said. “Then I remembered how much I hate it.”Owen Donovan, twenty-eight years old, same family name, but none of the discipline. He had my father’s charm and none of his restraint. I still wasn’t sure how someone raised under the same

Michael’s POV Ryder texted me around the time I left work, which was at five in the evening. He was asking if I was “alive, functional, and wanted to meet for a drink.” I ignored the message and refused to answer, but by eight, I was restless and bored in my penthouse; there was nothing to do, and I didn't want to be alone at the moment. So I finally sent him a short reply, grabbed my jacket, and called my driver. It wasn’t just about wanting company, it was also because I wanted my thoughts to shut the hell up for one night. The driver dropped me in front of a high-end lounge downtown, the kind of place with tinted windows, warm gold lighting, and music low enough that people with money could pretend they were relaxed. Ryder was leaning against the entrance rail, hands in his pockets, looking like he had just come from a gym session, instead of spending a day in his office when I walked in. He spotted me immediately, and he didn't waste time to insult me “There he is,” he