The Billionaire's Obsession: He Won't Let Her Marry His Uncle

Their bodies were so close they were practically sharing air, the atmosphere tinged with something unspoken. Seeing the icy sharpness in Elliot's eyes, Charisse oddly felt a little more at ease.

Yeah, she had zero experience. Still, five million.

She knew damn well this was just Elliot trying to humiliate her. But... five million.

So she psyched herself up in record time. Just when she was about to pull off his underwear, Elliot suddenly flipped her over, pinning her beneath him.

A sharp sting on her lips-he took control before she even knew what hit her. Unlike her hesitant mess of moves just now, Elliot kissed like he meant business. He pried her lips open, tangled with her tongue, even her breathing started syncing to his rhythm.

It felt like her brain exploded into fireworks-blank, dazed, gone.

She clearly had no technique, but her awkwardness somehow hit Elliot in a way that made his nerves light up like a live wire. Something hot and wild burst inside him, making him deepen the kiss.

One strong arm clutched her waist tight, anchoring her like he was claiming territory. His hand slid across her shoulder, and with terrifying ease, he tore straight through the thin fabric of her dress, sending a cold shiver racing through her.

The kiss was too intense-Charisse couldn't keep up, and a gasp escaped her lips. That sound triggered something, thickened the air, like flipping a switch.

Elliot's lips trailed from the edge of her mouth, down to her neck, then brushed her ear.

She panted hard, so breathless her tongue felt numb.

His breath was hot, voice low and hoarse, brushing right against her skin as he asked, "Charisse, tell me-who am I?"

Charisse's mind was mush, not a single solid thought in her head. But that question-it sounded super familiar. Owen asked that question during her time with amnesia.

So she blurted his name. "Owen..."

It was like someone upended a bucket of ice-cold water over their heads. Whatever heat was in the room vanished in a blink.

All the desire in Elliot's gaze disappeared, replaced by a chill so cutting it burned. He stared at her for a long beat, face unreadable. Then he pushed off her, cool and detached, like the guy from just seconds ago had never existed.

Cold didn't even begin to describe his voice now-it was laced with something darker. "Wow, Miss Walton. Even now, you're still thinking about your useless boyfriend."

He turned his face away, refusing to look at the chaotic mess she'd become, lighting a cigarette and taking a hard drag.

"Talk trash about me if you want. But don't bring him into this."

The fact she was still trying to defend that loser? Elliot's expression turned even worse.

"What, you think he's actually someone special?" he scoffed, "Then how come he lets you sell yourself for cash?"

"Isn't that a bit much from you, Mr. Grant?" Charisse slowly sat up, casually smoothing out her crumpled dress. "People can't live on pride alone-money still matters."

"Five million is a serious overestimation," Elliot said flatly. "You're really not that good. Total turn-off."

"Oh? But judging by your performance just now, you didn't seem too turned off. More like someone who's been starved for years and finally got a bite."

"Hard not to be curious? A rich girl turned call girl-that's not something you see every day."

Charisse responded calmly, "At least I came out ahead. Unlike you, Mr. Grant-five million down the drain just to sleep with someone 'worthless'? Sounds like you're the one taking the loss."

His tone stayed cool. "Still as sharp-tongued as ever, aren't you, Miss Walton?"

"'Still'? You're funny tonight. I thought we were strangers meeting for the first time?"

That caught him off guard for a second, and Charisse felt a quiet satisfaction wash over her. Just like back when they used to clash as kids at the Walton's house.

Elliot stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray and asked casually, "If this is how you treat your clients, I'm guessing you don't get much repeat business."

Charisse's fake smile froze and was about to speak when Elliot interrupted, "You work at Luna Heights too, don't you? Figures. Maybe they should start handing out some pink slips."

Right. She wasn't the old Charisse anymore. She was selling her body. And he? He's the one paying her bills. She had no right to act high and mighty now.

Besides... she couldn't afford to lose her job.

She bit her lip, forcing a pretty, practiced smile. "Any other requests, Mr. Grant? Just say the word-we'll make sure to fulfill them."

"No need," he replied blandly. "I'm not into unclean things."

Charisse nearly blurted out, "You came to me-so maybe don't act high and mighty like you're kind of saint."

But she swallowed it back-for the sake of her job.

Right then, her walkie-talkie crackled to life. A colleague's voice came through: "Charisse, aren't you at the post? Owen's here looking for you. Seems urgent."

"Got it."

She knew Elliot was done talking, so she got ready to leave.

"Didn't your parents always want you with someone powerful?" Elliot said coolly. "So how'd you end up with a guy who can't even scrape together five million? That's your boyfriend?"

One line, and he threw dirt on everyone close to her.

"Things aren't always what they seem. There's a lot more going on beneath the surface," Charisse said softly, her gaze steady, eyes clear, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Not exactly something a stranger would understand."

That word-stranger-drove the wedge between them even deeper.

Charisse knew it better than anyone. She was twenty-five now. No longer the six-year-old girl he first met, nor the sixteen-year-old they'd said goodbye to. She had grown. And so had the distance between them.

Time had stretched wide between them. The world spinning faster only pushed them further apart.

She hadn't treated him specially back then, and didn't expect any kindness from him now, either.

Today was just the beginning. Everything after this-if she wanted to keep her job-she had no choice but to go along with it.

"Looks like you're not in the mood tonight, Mr. Grant. I'll head out now. If you need anything later, you can call me." Her voice was calm, well-practiced.

Elliot let out a low chuckle. "I thought Princess Walton wouldn't want to see me again."

"You're the guest. Serving you is part of the job," she replied smoothly.

He gave a faint smile, pulled out a check, signed it, and handed it to her.

She glanced at the number-one million.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Kiss fee."

Charisse blinked, stunned. She thought since nothing had really happened, she wouldn't get a dime.

But here it was, painfully real. That check screamed loud and clear-he only saw her as a hostess. Do the job, take the money, end of story.

And yet, for some reason, her chest tightened in a way she hadn't expected. It hit her out of nowhere, with no logic behind it.

A million for a kiss-what was there to feel bitter about?

"How generous of you," she said, lifting her chin slightly, trying not to let that ache show. Her voice was almost playful as she added, "Actually, we could rethink the original five million... Say, a million per kiss? Five kisses, deal done."

Elliot raised a brow, voice unreadable. "Five kisses for five million?"

"If you think that's too steep, I might even throw in a kiss for free." Her smile was dazzling, cheeky even-like the kind of vendor at a night market who sells at a loss but gains pride.

Maybe, just maybe, if she could make the rules feel like hers, she wouldn't feel so damn small.

Elliot casually rolled up his shirt sleeves, then replied in a mild tone, "Alright."

He did it. Pulled out a new check, wrote five million, and slid it toward her.

She reached out to take it, but his fingers were still pressing down lightly on one corner-she couldn't pull it away.

"When's the free one you promised happening?" he asked casually.

"Whenever you feel like it," she answered.

He curled his thin lips upward-a smile with just enough charm to be dangerous. Probably the first time he looked genuinely pleased all night.

"In that case, I feel like it now."

"No, not now!" she said quickly. Owen was waiting downstairs. She couldn't...

But Elliot didn't give her a chance to finish. He pulled her over, pinned her against the wide, two-meter-long wooden desk.

He didn't kiss her much this time. It was rough. Quick. Just enough to draw blood from her lip.

"There. Done." He straightened up, wiping her blood from his mouth with a slow grace. "Go ahead. Your boyfriend's probably wondering where you went."