His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

Leon wasn't used to silence feeling comfortable.

For years, silence had meant power. Control. Isolation he could curate like fine art.

But this—this was something else.

This was Aria, curled in his arm on the couch in the sunroom, sipping tea with her legs draped over his lap, and not speaking just to fill space.

This was her hand resting lightly on his chest like it belonged there.

This was his body at war with itself — every instinct screaming to keep her close, while every defense he'd built told him she was a threat to everything he'd spent years protecting.

And yet…

He didn't want her to move.

Didn't want her to leave.

And that terrified him.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," she murmured, eyes still on the rain streaking down the glass.

Leon hesitated.

Not because he didn't have something to say—but because she might actually listen.

And that was scarier than anything else.

"I don't believe in forever," he said finally.

She turned to him slowly. "Why?"

"Because everything I've ever held on to," he said, "was eventually taken from me."

Aria didn't say she was sorry.

She just shifted, draping her body over his lap more fully, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

"I'm not asking for forever," she whispered. "I'm just asking for right now."

Later that day, Aria made her next move.

Leon had a midday board meeting at the office downtown. She'd declined the invite — not out of disinterest, but because he hadn't asked.

So instead, she got dressed.

Intentionally.

Black satin slip dress. No bra. No jewelry except for the delicate chain around her ankle — one Leon had noticed weeks ago, and stared at ever since.

She let the driver take her to the building unannounced.

The receptionist recognized her immediately.

Thirty minutes later, she walked into Leon's private conference room like she owned it.

Every head turned.

Except his.

He was seated at the head of the long glass table, crisp in navy and steel. Sharp angles. Cold edges. Pure control.

Until he saw her.

His gaze flicked up.

And then dropped—slowly—taking in her dress, her bare shoulders, her quiet confidence.

His jaw tensed.

"Miss Rousseau," he said calmly, even though his voice was just slightly lower than usual. "Did you need something?"

She tilted her head, letting a strand of hair fall over one eye. "I just wanted to see how the king behaves when he's not on his throne."

Murmurs.

The room stilled.

Leon stood slowly, buttoning his jacket. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us."

A moment later, they were alone.

Aria didn't wait for him to speak.

She walked up to the table. Leaned forward on her hands. The neckline of her dress dipped dangerously.

Leon's eyes followed every movement.

"Was that necessary?" he said.

"No," she replied. "But it was fun."

He stared at her.

Then moved around the table like a predator circling his prey.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"I learned from the best."

His mouth twitched—just barely. "And what exactly are you trying to prove?"

"That I know exactly how far I can push you."

She stepped into him now. Pressed a hand to his chest.

"Do you know what it does to me," she whispered, "when you act like you don't want to touch me?"

His breath caught.

"Do you know what it does to me," he growled, "when you walk in here looking like that and expect me to behave?"

She smiled sweetly.

"I don't want you to behave."

He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the satin. His voice was pure smoke.

"You want to be punished, Aria?"

"I want to be wanted," she replied. "Without all your rules."

He stared at her.

Then kissed her.

Hard.

It wasn't a sweet kiss.

It was rough, devouring.

He backed her against the glass wall, hands everywhere. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His control snapped the second her body arched into his.

She gasped as he lifted her up against the window, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

"Say you want this," he rasped.

"I want this."

"Say you're mine."

"I am."

He kissed her again.

This time slower.

Deeper.

He wanted to memorize her. Every breath. Every sound. Every shift of her mouth against his.

Because in this moment, there were no contracts.

No expectations.

Just her.

And the unbearable truth that he didn't know how to let her go anymore.

They stopped just short of too far.

Again.

She straightened her dress with shaking hands. He adjusted his tie with a clenched jaw.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Then Aria reached into her purse, pulled out a new version of the contract — still hers, still firm — and placed it on the table.

"Your signature goes at the bottom," she said. "But this time, you're not signing to own me."

Leon looked down.

"And what am I signing for?" he asked.

She met his eyes.

"To earn me."

That night, he signed it.

Not in front of her.

But alone.

With a pen he hadn't used in years.

One he'd once reserved for deals that actually mattered.

He scrawled his name at the bottom of the page.

Not as her owner.

But as a man who was slowly, irrevocably, falling.