Discarded Fiancée: The Ruthless Billionaire's Obsession

The metal doors of the VIP elevator are two inches from sealing shut when a massive hand, clad in black leather, shoves through the gap.

The heavy doors shudder and violently retract. Jeannette startles, taking a half-step back.

A man with a thick neck and an earpiece-clearly a head of security-stands in the opening. His eyes are cold and assessing as they sweep over Jeannette. He steps forward, opening his mouth to order her out.

Before he can speak, a sharp, aggressive scent floods the small space of the elevator. It's dark cedarwood mixed with the faint, expensive bite of tobacco.

A rhythmic thud, click, thud, click echoes on the marble floor outside.

A man steps into the elevator.

He is devastatingly tall, dressed in a bespoke, midnight-black suit that screams terrifying wealth. He holds a custom silver-handled cane in his right hand. The air pressure in the elevator seems to drop the second he enters.

The security guard, Mickey, reaches out a hand toward Jeannette. "Ma'am, I need you to step out. This car is private."

The tall man raises his left hand. He doesn't look up. He just flicks two fingers in a silent, absolute command.

Mickey immediately shuts his mouth, steps back into the corner, and presses the button for the top floor.

Jeannette is forced to share the suffocatingly small space with this stranger. She crosses her arms over her chest, annoyed by the blatant display of power.

As the elevator begins its smooth ascent, the man slowly turns his head.

Kian Koch looks at the woman standing beside him.

The moment his eyes lock onto her face, a jolt goes through him, so powerful it feels like his heart has stopped. He grips the handle of his cane, the silver chilling his palm, anchoring him against the tidal wave of six years of searching that threatens to break through his carefully constructed facade.

Six years. He has torn the world apart looking for the girl from the Monaco security footage. The girl who dragged his bleeding, half-dead body into an alley and saved his life.

And now, she is standing two feet away from him in a red dress.

He forces his jaw to lock, his facial muscles tightening into a mask of cold indifference to hide the absolute chaos roaring in his blood. But his eyes-pitch black and dangerously intense-remain fixed on her.

Jeannette feels the weight of his stare. It's physical. It prickles the skin on the back of her neck. She turns her head and meets his gaze.

Her heart instantly skips a beat.

There is something terrifying in his eyes. A dark, obsessive intensity that makes her stomach flutter in a way that has nothing to do with fear. She doesn't know him, but the way he is looking at her makes her feel entirely exposed.

She takes a subtle step backward, her spine pressing against the cold metal wall of the elevator, trying to put physical distance between them.

Suddenly, the old hotel elevator dings softly, stopping at a lower VIP floor. The doors slide open, and a rowdy, intoxicated group of minor socialites attempts to push their way into the already suffocatingly small space. One of the men, oblivious and stumbling, nearly crashes right into Jeannette.

Jeannette, balancing on seven-inch stilettos, tries to step back, but there is nowhere to go. A gasp escapes her lips as the man's elbow swings dangerously close to her face.

Kian doesn't even think. He shifts his weight, his cane tapping sharply against the floor. His long arm shoots out, his large hand wrapping securely around her bare, slender bicep. He yanks her out of the way and toward him with terrifying strength, using his own massive frame as an impenetrable shield against the intruders.

Jeannette crashes hard into a wall of solid muscle.

Her nose presses against his chest, inhaling a lungful of that intoxicating cedar scent. She can feel the hard, rapid thud of his heart through his suit jacket. The heat radiating from his body sears her skin through the velvet of her dress.

Kian's other hand instinctively wraps around her waist. His fingers splay wide, gripping her tightly. The moment he feels the warmth of her body pressed against his, a low, ragged sound tears from his throat. His breathing turns instantly harsh, heavy.

Jeannette feels the sudden, dangerous shift in his energy. Panic flares in her chest. She shoves her hands against his chest and pushes herself back as if she's been burned.

She stumbles back, her hands shaking slightly as she smooths down the front of her dress, desperate to hide the sudden, erratic hammering of her pulse.

"Thank you," she says. Her voice trembles. The cold, calculating woman who planned a corporate execution ten minutes ago is completely gone, replaced by a woman entirely unnerved by a stranger's touch.

Kian slowly lowers his hands. His fingertips tingle with the ghost of her warmth. He stares at the floor, his jaw clenched so tight it aches.

"You're welcome," he rasps. His voice is impossibly deep, rough like gravel.

"Get out," Kian snarls, his voice a low, lethal rumble that instantly freezes the drunk socialites in their tracks. Mickey, the bodyguard, immediately steps forward, shoving the man back out into the hallway and hitting the 'close' button.

The doors slide shut, cutting off the apologies of the terrified guests. The elevator resumes its ascent. The silence in the car is deafening. The sexual tension is a thick, suffocating blanket that makes it hard for Jeannette to draw a full breath.

Ding.

The doors slide open to the penthouse ballroom level. The sound of classical music and chatter spills in, breaking the spell.

Jeannette practically flees. She steps out of the elevator and walks quickly down the hall, not daring to look back.

Kian remains standing in the elevator. His dark eyes are pinned to the sway of her red dress until she disappears around the corner.

Mickey bends down, picks up the cane, and hands it to his boss. "Sir? Do you want me to run a background check on her?"

Kian takes the cane. A slow, dark, possessive smile curves his lips.

"No need," Kian says softly. "I've been looking for her for six years."

He turns to Mickey, his eyes turning instantly lethal. "Notify the perimeter detail. I don't care what happens in that room tonight. No one touches the woman in the red dress. If someone tries, break their hands."

Kian adjusts his cuffs, steps out of the elevator, and walks toward the ballroom. The hunt is on.