The Billionaire's cruel obsession

The next day, the steady tick of the clock matched the pounding rhythm of my heart. Each second felt louder, heavier, as if the universe itself was counting down to something I couldn’t yet name. My new tasks for the day seemed simple: answering phone calls, noting down orders, passing slips of paper to the chefs but to me, each action carried the weight of survival.

I forced my shaky hands to write neatly, to sound confident over the phone, to smile when I delivered messages to the kitchen. It wasn’t a hard job, not really, but the pressure of responsibility pressed down on me like a lead blanket. One wrong move and I feared I’d be tossed out, just like all the other places that had rejected me.

The butlers handled the trays of food and wine, their polished manners carrying them like shadows through the hallways, while I stayed tucked in my corner, completing the small tasks that suddenly felt monumental. Eventually, the time came for me to collect the guests’ laundry.

Room after room, I worked with mechanical focus, ticking names off my list. Some guests smiled politely, others ignored me entirely, their gazes sliding past me as though I were invisible. My nerves eased slightly with each completed door until I came to the last one.

The billionaire’s suite.

My heart gave a violent lurch. I had purposely left it for the end, hoping the delay would somehow lessen the dread clawing at my chest. Everyone whispered it was safer that way. Safer not to disturb him too soon. Safer not to cross paths with him unless you had no choice.

Clutching the handle of the laundry cart, my palms clammy, I drew in a deep breath and lifted my hand to knock. But before my knuckles touched wood, I spotted movement down the hallway.

His assistant. Two suited men. They seemed to be leaving. Relief flickered inside me. If they were leaving, surely the suite was empty.

I greeted them politely, lowering my eyes like Sarah had warned me. Then, believing the room unoccupied, I pushed the door open.

I was wrong.

The sight inside rooted me to the spot.

A woman half-dressed, her lipstick smudged and hair in disarray, snapped her head toward me. Her eyes flared with fury, as though my presence alone were a crime. She snatched her clothes, hissed a curse beneath her breath, and stormed past me with the grace of a queen disgraced.

My lips parted, words tumbling on my tongue but never leaving.

And then he rose.

The billionaire.

Not in the shadows this time. Not striding through a lobby where distance gave me safety. No, this time he was here. Too close.

He rose slowly from the edge of the bed, his movements deliberate, controlled, terrifying. His eyes, those same piercing eyes, but darker now, sharper locked on me. And in a flash, he was in front of me, his presence suffocating, swallowing the very air I breathed.

“Are you a fool?” His voice thundered like a storm, vibrating against the walls, striking me like a physical blow. He shoved me hard, so hard I stumbled backward and crashed to the floor, the marble cold against my palms.

Each word cracked across my skin like a whip. “Don’t you know how to knock? Do you even use that tiny brain of yours?”

Tears burned hot behind my eyes. My lips trembled, but the sound refused to leave me. I was frozen, caught between humiliation, fear, and shame.

“Get out,” he roared, his anger a living thing, sharp and wild. “Before I do something I’ll regret!”

I scrambled to my feet, clutching at the air like a drowning woman, and fled. My vision blurred with tears, my chest heaving with sobs that tore through me like knives. I stumbled into the lobby and collapsed into my seat, my trembling fingers clinging to the desk as though it could anchor me.

Sarah rushed over, her eyes wide with alarm. “Rebecca, what happened? I heard shouting from the executive suite!”

Her words cut off when he appeared.

The billionaire himself.

He stormed out of the elevator, his fury unhidden, every step radiating the kind of power that demanded silence. Without a glance at anyone, he tossed his room card onto the floor. The sharp clatter echoed through the lobby, silencing every whisper, freezing every breath. And then he left.

Gone.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

That night, I went home broken. My best friend had prepared dinner, the scent of stew filling our tiny apartment, but I couldn’t eat. I ignored his coaxing smile, ignored the spoon he pressed into my hand, and retreated to my room instead. Under the covers, I curled up small and cried until sleep finally claimed me.

Days blurred into weeks. Slowly, I adapted to the rhythm of hotel life. Guests smiled at me, my confidence grew, and no complaints ever reached the manager. Outwardly, things looked brighter. But inside, disappointment gnawed at me.

I stopped checking my phone for news from Robert’s Group of Companies. That dream felt dead, ashes scattered by cruel winds.

Until one morning.

I was tying my shoes for another shift when my phone buzzed. Without much hope, I picked it up then froze as I read the sender’s name.

My heart leapt. My hands trembled as I tapped the message open.

And then I screamed.

The sound was so raw, so loud, it rattled the air.

“What happened?!” My best friend burst into the room, his eyes wide with panic.

Wordlessly, I shoved the phone into his hands.

He read, his eyes widening before a grin stretched across his face. “Rebecca, you got the job! At Robert’s Group!”

His arms crushed me in a hug, and joy exploded inside me. After all the heartbreak, after humiliation and endless waiting my dream was alive again.

The very next day, I resigned from the hotel. The manager accepted with a stiff nod, Sarah hugged me tight, and just like that, I walked away from the marble lobby and chandeliers.

The weekend was a blur of preparation. My best friend and I sorted outfits, practiced introductions, laughed nervously as we imagined what awaited me. I barely slept that Sunday night. My nerves chewed at me until dawn, but excitement thrummed in my veins stronger than fear.

Monday morning, I rose before the sun. I dressed with trembling hands, whispered a prayer, and forced down a meager breakfast before rushing into the city.

The building of Robert’s Group loomed before me, taller, shinier, more imposing than I remembered. Its glass walls reflected the morning light like a mirror to the heavens.

Inside, a manager greeted me with a calm smile, motioning for me to sit. “You should know something,” he said evenly. “You weren’t given the position you applied for. You were chosen for something higher. A better role.”

Shock jolted through me. My heart raced as he stood and led me toward the elevator. “The boss will explain everything himself.”

The ride to the top floor felt endless. My thoughts swirled violently, questions tearing through me. Why me? What kind of role? What awaited me beyond those gleaming doors?

And then they opened.

The executive office spread before me polished floors, sleek furniture, a panoramic view of the city that made my knees weak. It was the kind of place where power breathed, where silence itself bowed.

And then the air shifted.

He arrived.

The moment he stepped inside, the room itself seemed to bend to him. My lungs constricted. My heart lurched painfully against my ribs.

I lifted my head.

And recognition struck like lightning.

It was him.

The man from the hotel suite and the cafe. The one who had humiliated me. The one whose wrath still burned in my memory.

The billionaire.

Steve Robert.

My new boss.

And as his dark, unreadable eyes locked on mine, I knew my life would never be the same again.