Page 11 of Possessive Billionaire's Twisted Hunt

The car eventually came to a stop in front of a grand, luxurious mansion. The estate loomed tall with its modern decor—floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a sprawling garden, and even a charming European-style room visible from outside. Warm yellow lighting bathed the interior, highlighting the cozy couches and large fireplace.

Ivy’s heart clenched.

Five years ago, she had briefly mentioned to Christian the kind of home she wanted to live in. She had described it vaguely—just a passing thought at the time.

And this… this was exactly it.

Chapter 4 Seattle

She stood frozen, her breath catching, until Christian took her hand and gently pulled her forward.

“Come on.”

She hesitated but followed him inside. The moment they reached the hall, she yanked her hand out of his grasp.

“Where are we?” she demanded.

Christian turned to her, his gaze flickering down to the hand she had just pulled away. A brief frown crossed his face, and his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to take her hand again.

“My house,” he answered simply.

Ivy’s patience snapped. “Why would you bring me here? Did you really think I’d stay with you?” She turned sharply, heading straight for the door.

But Christian was faster. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him.

“I just want to have dinner with you.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. “Just dinner. I promise.”

Her eyes darted to his hand gripping hers, then to the door.

“Fine,” she muttered. “One hour. Then I’m leaving.”

His lips curled into a small smile. He followed happily, and just as quickly, he reached for her hand again, leading her toward the plush couches. Gently, he nudged her down.

“You can sit here,” he told her. “Or roam around. The entire house is yours.” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her cheek before pulling away. “I’ll go cook for you.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the open kitchen across the hall.

Ivy remained seated, unmoving. But her gaze wandered—to the house, to the furniture, to the man in the kitchen.

Christian had removed his coat, leaving him in just his dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms lined with veins as he rinsed ingredients, stirred—his movements smooth and precise. Her eyes lingered on his hands for too long.

Then, suddenly, his gaze lifted. Their eyes met.

Ivy quickly turned away, her pulse skipping a beat.

Half an hour later, Christian returned with dishes, setting them neatly on a small dining table. Then he walked over and took her hand once again.

“Come. Dinner is ready.”

She followed, mostly to get it over with as quickly as possible. Taking a seat, she watched as he served her steak, soup, and a few side dishes.

“Here,” he said, sliding the soup toward her. “Taste it. I made the one you like.”

Ivy glanced at the bowl, untouched. “It has coriander.” She set her spoon down. “I don’t like coriander.”

Without a word, Christian nodded, set his utensils down, and pulled the bowl toward him. Without a hint of irritation, he grabbed a fresh spoon and, with meticulous precision, began picking out every single piece of coriander.

Ivy watched in surprise.

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