The Billionaire's Obsession Novels & Stories

Me in that silver dress, standing far too close to Alexander Lancaster. His hand was at my waist. I remembered the moment his touch, the confusion in his eyes. And now it was plastered across the internet. The headline was bold and cruel: **'Nichole Adams Caught in Scandal with Billionaire Alexander Lancaster — Betrayal Runs in the Family?’** My stomach dropped. “Oh God…” Claire exhaled slowly. “It’s already everywhere. T*****r, gossip sites, even some business pages.” I took her phone, scrolling through the comments.

Sitting at my desk, I felt like hitting my head on it. I'd all but propositioned a complete stranger that I had quickly become obsessed with. I found my self willing her to reply, re-reading what little contact we have already had. I'm pathetic. I've worked hard to build my billion dollar empire, I have several research facilities, labs and dispensaries, properties that range fom modest and affordable to luxurious and down right extravagant. I'm the director of several charities and own hotels and restaurants and yet here I am, losing my mind over a beautiful girl.

My turbulent thoughts crash into Andrei's gaze, and it's like the whole world has come to a standstill… Those gorgeous brown orbs are igniting a fire… down South. “Why now?” he asks with a smirk, his eyes taunting me as he strides closer, “What's gotten into you? We're in the middle of a storm, and here you are, wanting to throw caution to the wind and dance in the rain.” What's gotten into me? I've lost my mind. The evidence? My obsession with a certain billionaire CEO. It's like I've been infected by some sort of love bug, a disease that's eating away at my common sense and leaving nothing but a trail of reckless, head-over-heels infatuation in its wake.

“You sound like an old woman. Come on, Clara. We’ll just go for a bit—one drink, one dance. You might even find inspiration for your interview tomorrow.” I gave her a side-eye. “Inspiration? At a nightclub?” She grinned. “Inspiration or a rich man—same difference.” I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re ridiculous.” “I’m serious!” she said, pointing at me with her makeup brush. “This is New York—the city of miracles, money, and mistakes. You never know who you’ll meet.” “I already know who I’ll meet,” I said. “My future boss. Elias Thorne—billionaire CEO, known playboy, and rumor has it he fired his assistant because she brought him coffee that was ‘too sweet.’”

"True dynasties require dedicated foundation work." The London rain continued its gentle percussion as Nathan proceeded to demonstrate exactly why he was considered Europe's most dangerously seductive billionaire. Each caress, each heated glance, each moment of perfect understanding between us reinforced the precious truth of our connection – that we had found something transcendent in each other's arms.

Every student he passed instinctively moved out of his way, terrified by the fury radiating off him. He was Xyrius Dale f*cking Smith—a multi-billionaire, from the most influential and powerful clan in all of Asia. The grandson of Guillier Morreti Black, one of the most feared mafia leaders in the continent. He got what he wanted. No one said no to him. "Babe!" "Xyrius!" He didn't bother turning around when someone called him. He just rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for flirting. "Babe!" Emma shouted angrily, grabbing his arm.

The bright, red light rolls through the floor numbers at what feels like a snail's pace. “Obsession?” he snorted. “The only thing that I’ve ever been obsessed with is money. The word you’re looking for is curiosity. You see, Azure Blackwood is an enigma. I’ve heard plenty about him, and nothing at all. I’ve tried to dig into his past, hell, even the past of Finnick Gray, but it’s almost as if neither of them existed to the world before Blackwood Industries shot to the top. He refuses investors, turns down contracts that could make him millions, and yet,” he steps forward again, and my breath hitches. “He seems to have always been smitten with you.”

In her place stood Aria Laurent—art consultant, European educated, mysterious enough to be intriguing but respectable enough to be trusted. "Of course not," Sophia said, clearly not believing her. "No one's interested in a billionaire under forty who looks like he walked off a magazine cover." *A billionaire whose family destroys lives without consequence*, Isabella thought. *Whose father drove mine to suicide and never lost a night's sleep over it.* "I heard he's looking for a wife," Isabella said casually, swirling her champagne. This was the opening she'd been engineering for months. "Something about his grandfather's will?"

I knew he would refuse, that he would see it as another form of control or an attempt to buy him. I let him keep that small piece of mundane worry; it was what kept him tethered to reality. I left the house feeling the cold mountain air purify my lungs. I got into the car and, as I drove back to my life of appearances, I realized that although I was the man with billions, it was Kyle who held all the keys. When I entered my penthouse, the silence that used to suffocate me seemed, for the first time, less hostile. I tossed the keys onto the console table and sank into the armchair, staring at the New York skyline.