Page 13 of The Billionaire's Obsession

The elevator reaches the parking garage, but he makes no move to exit when the doors open. Instead, he presses the "door close" button and turns to me fully.

"Here's what you need to understand, Lucy." His voice is quiet, almost gentle, but with a core of steel. "You don't set the boundaries in this relationship. I do. That was the agreement you signed."

He raises his hand, and for a wild moment I think he might touch me again. Instead, he adjusts his already perfect tie. "I don't want to smother you. I want to possess you. There's a difference."

The brutal honesty leaves me speechless. No pretense, no corporate doublespeak—just the raw truth of what he expects.

"If that's unacceptable to you, say so now." His gray eyes hold mine. "Break the contract, return to your struggling student life. The debt stays clear either way. I'm not a monster."

But he is dangerous. Every instinct tells me so. Yet walking away from this opportunity seems equally impossible. Not just because of the money, but because some treacherous part of me is drawn to him, to this intensity, to being the focus of such concentrated attention.

"I'll stay," I hear myself say.

Something flashes in his eyes—triumph, satisfaction, hunger. "Good girl."

And I don’t know why, but my entire body warms at that praise.

The elevator doors open again at his command, and he places his hand at the small of my back as we walk to his car—a sleek, black Aston Martin that probably costs more than most houses.

As he opens the passenger door for me, his hand lingers on mine for a moment too long to be professional, his thumb tracing a small circle on my wrist.

"You won't regret this, Lucy," he says, but it sounds more like a promise to himself than to me.

I slide into the butter-soft leather seat, my heart racing with something between fear and anticipation. As Damon walks around to the driver's side, I catch my reflection in the side mirror. I look the same as I did this morning, but I feel fundamentally changed—marked in some invisible way.

He starts the engine, the powerful purr vibrating through the car. "By the way," he says casually, pulling out of the parking space, "I've taken the liberty of clearing your class schedule for the next two weeks. You'll need time to adjust to your new role."

Before I can protest, his hand covers mine on the console between us, firm and warm and brooking no argument. "Don't worry. I've arranged for private tutors to ensure you don't fall behind. Nothing about your education will suffer. In fact, you'll find working closely with me provides a far more valuable education than any classroom."

His fingers interlace with mine in a gesture too intimate for an employer, too possessive for a mentor. I should pull away. I don't.

"Remember what I said, Lucy." His eyes remain on the road, but I feel his attention on me like a physical touch. "You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the happier we'll both be."

As the car merges into traffic, carrying me toward a future I can barely comprehend, I realize the truth in his words. For better or worse, I belong to Damon Blackwell now—not just my time or my skills, but something deeper, something I didn't fully understand I was giving away when I signed that contract.

And the most frightening part isn't his possession of me, but the small, secret thrill I feel at being possessed.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Damon

I lockthe bathroom door behind me, my fingers lingering on the cool metal handle. The click of the lock echoes in the pristine space, a sound of finality. Privacy. Something I rarely permit myself.

But she's infected my thoughts again—Lucy—with her defiant eyes and that stubborn mouth that refuses to yield to my power. My body betrays me as it always does when she enters my mind, hardening painfully against the expensive fabric of my suit pants.

I need release.

I need control.

I need her out of my head.

The bathroom is all sharp angles and cold surfaces. Like me. Polished chrome fixtures gleam under the recessed lighting, throwing back my reflection in fractured pieces. White tiles stretch across the floor in perfect symmetry. Everything in its place. Everything ordered. Everything except the chaos she's created inside me.

My tie feels like a noose. I loosen it with one finger, watching my reflection change. The man in the mirror is unfamiliar—pupils dilated, a flush creeping up his neck. Thirty-six years of ruthless self-discipline, and I'm reduced to this by a college girl who probably doesn't know the difference between hedge funds and hedge clippers.

But Lucy isn't just any college girl.

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