The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession

Sophia's hands were shaking so badly she could barely button her blouse.

Her mind was a storm of fractured thoughts, none of them settling long enough to make sense. The red marks on her skin stared back at her like accusations. The ache between her thighs was a constant, throbbing reminder of what had happened. What she had done.

Leonardo. Oh God, Leonardo.

If he found out, he would destroy her. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. He would end her life with the same cold precision he used to end everything else that displeased him. The boy who had sworn to punish her every day had grown into a man who kept his promises.

She scanned the room with frantic eyes, gathering her scattered belongings. Her shoes. Her purse. Her phone, screen cracked from the fall to the floor. She bent down to check under the bed, under the sheets, behind the nightstand. Nothing could be left behind. Nothing that could trace her back to this room, this night, this mistake.

But in her desperate rush, she didn't notice the thin silver chain that had slipped from her wrist and slithered beneath the edge of the bed. The small pendant a delicate lily flower, her namesake caught the morning light for just a moment before settling into the shadows. The same necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. The same necklace Leonardo had once ripped from her neck in a fit of rage, only to return it the next day without explanation.

She didn't notice it was gone.

Sophia cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. Empty. Silent.

She slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click. Her legs still trembled. Her body still ached. But she was out. She was free. She just had to make it to the elevator, through the lobby, and into the first taxi she could find. Then she would go home, pack her things, and disappear before Leonardo ever knew she had been here.

She turned to leave.

And froze.

Bianca was walking toward her down the hallway.

Sophia's first instinct was relief. Bianca was her best friend. Bianca would understand. Bianca would help her. But then she saw the expression on Bianca's face not concern, not worry, but something sharper. Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

And then she saw Marcus.

He was walking just behind Bianca, his hands shoved into his pockets, his jaw tight. His eyes, when they found Sophia's, were not the eyes of the man who had kissed her forehead and called her his sunshine. They were cold. Disgusted.

"Bianca?" Sophia's voice came out small and broken. "Marcus, I can explain—"

Bianca shook her head slowly, her perfectly glossed lips curving into a pitying frown. "Oh, Sophia." Her voice dripped with theatrical disappointment. "You whore. Breaking Marcus's heart like this on your anniversary night?"

The word hit Sophia like a slap. "What? No, I didn't—I was—something happened—"

"Something happened?" Marcus's voice cut through her like broken glass. "Yeah, something happened. You happened. You ran to another man's bed."

Sophia stepped toward him, her hand reaching out, tears already burning at the corners of her eyes. "Marcus, please. It's not what you think. I was drugged, I didn't know—"

He stepped back.

The recoil was worse than any blow.

"Don't touch me." His voice was quiet now, quieter than she had ever heard it, and somehow that was so much worse. "You disgust me, Sophia. I thought you loved me. I waited two hundred days for you. Two hundred days I respected you. And on our anniversary, you spread your legs for someone else?"

The hallway was no longer empty. Doors had cracked open. Heads peered out. Guests in bathrobes and hotel staff in uniform watched the scene unfold like it was morning entertainment. Sophia could feel their eyes crawling over her skin, their whispers slicing through the air.

"Is that her?"

"Look at her neck. Is that a hickey?"

"What a slut."

"Marcus, please," Sophia begged, tears streaming freely now. "Just let me explain. I would never—you know me—"

He raised his hand, and she fell silent.

"Shut up." The two words were flat. Final. "You're a bitch, Sophia. A lying, cheating bitch. And we are done. Right here. Right now."

He turned and walked away. He didn't look back.

The crowd parted for him like he was a prince and she was nothing.

Sophia stood frozen in the hallway, her chest caving in. The tears were falling faster now, hot and humiliating. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't move.

Bianca stepped closer.

Sophia looked up at her best friend, the one person who was supposed to be on her side, and searched her face for some trace of comfort. She found none.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Bianca murmured, her voice barely above a whisper so only Sophia could hear. "Now I'm ashamed to call you my friend. I mean, really, Sophia. Like mother, like daughter."

The words were a knife slipped between her ribs.

Sophia's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Bianca pulled back, and for just a split second so fast Sophia almost doubted she saw it Bianca smiled. A real smile. The smile of someone who had gotten exactly what they wanted.

Then she turned and walked away, her hips swaying with each step, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a victory march.

The murmurs around Sophia grew louder. More fingers pointed. More eyes judged. She could feel them crawling over her skin like insects.

Run.

The instinct was primal, older than thought. She shoved past the onlookers, her shoulder colliding with someone's chest. Her purse slipped from her grasp and hit the floor, its contents spilling everywhere. Her wallet. Her keys. The crumpled receipt from the taxi ride.

A man knelt down to help her.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, not looking at his face. Her hair fell like a curtain around her cheeks, hiding her from view. "I'm so sorry."

"Take your time," the stranger said quietly, gathering her things and pressing them back into her hands. His voice was calm. Steady. Kind in a way that made her want to cry harder.

Sophia took her belongings and fled without looking back.

She didn't see the man watch her go. She didn't see the way his brow furrowed with concern. She only felt the cold air hit her face as she burst through the hotel's side exit and ran.

The taxi dropped her in front of her small apartment thirty minutes later.

Sophia paid the driver with shaking hands and stumbled through her front door. The silence of her home was deafening. She stood in the middle of her living room for a long moment, still in her rumpled burgundy dress, still wearing the evidence of the night before on her skin.

Then she walked to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

She scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed.

The water burned. Her skin turned raw and pink. But the red marks wouldn't fade. The bruises on her hips remained, dark purple fingerprints that no amount of soap could wash away. She sank to the floor of the shower, pulled her knees to her chest, and sobbed.

She cried for Marcus. She cried for herself. She cried for the fourteen-year-old girl who had walked into the Ferri mansion and never stood a chance.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. Minutes. Hours. Time had stopped meaning anything.

When she finally emerged, wrapped in a towel and hollow-eyed, a single thought crystallized in her mind with terrifying clarity.

Run.

She had to run. Before Leonardo found out. Before he tracked her down and made good on every threat he had ever whispered in her ear. She had to disappear so completely that even a man with his power and reach could never find her.

Her hands were still trembling as she opened her laptop and booked a one-way ticket to a country she had only ever seen in photographs. Somewhere far. Somewhere small. Somewhere Leonardo would never think to look.

Leonardo woke to the sound of hammering inside his skull.

He groaned and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. The light filtering through the curtains was too bright. The sheets beneath him were too soft. Everything was wrong.

He tried to piece together the night before. The meeting with the investors. The whiskey, too much of it. The call from someone who? And then...

Nothing. A black void where his memories should have been.

The doorbell rang, and the sound was a spike driven through his temples. He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on the hotel robe hanging by the bathroom, and yanked the door open.

Jason stood on the other side, looking far too amused for this hour of the morning.

"Well, well, well." Jason's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline as his gaze swept over Leonardo. "What do we have here?"

"What are you doing here?" Leonardo growled.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing with those?" Jason pointed at Leonardo's neck, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Did the great Leonardo Ferri finally break his dry spell? Did you actually sleep with a woman?"

Leonardo's blood ran cold.

He shoved past Jason and strode to the bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back at him like a stranger.

His neck was littered with bruises. Dark purple hickeys trailed from his jaw to his collarbone. Red scratches ran across his chest, barely visible above the robe's edge. And when he turned back to look at the room the rumpled sheets, the clothes scattered across the floor, the faint, lingering scent of something floral and feminine the pieces began to click together.

A woman had been here.

A woman he didn't remember.

A woman who was now gone.

His hands gripped the edge of the sink. His reflection showed something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

"Find me the woman," he said, his voice low and lethal. "Now."

Jason's grin faded. "Leo—"

"Find her." Leonardo's fist slammed against the marble counter. "I don't care what it takes. I don't care how long it takes. Find me the woman who was in my bed last night."

He lifted his head and met his own eyes in the mirror.

"And bring her to me."