His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Not after the contract.

Not after all the rules and terms and carefully negotiated boundaries.

And definitely not after he signed it, handing the power back to her like it didn't cost him anything.

But it had.

Leon knew exactly what it cost him.

And every time he looked at her—smiling softly at her tea, humming under her breath as she walked barefoot through the penthouse, leaving little echoes of herself in every corner—he felt it.

The craving.

Not for her body.

For her presence.

For the version of himself that only existed in her orbit.

And that scared him more than anything else ever had.

It started small.

He showed up at breakfast when he usually skipped it.

Didn't say much, just poured her coffee before pouring his own.

She looked up, surprised. "Morning?"

He nodded. "Morning."

Then walked away like it didn't mean anything.

But it did.

To her.

And to him.

The next day, it was lunch.

She'd settled into the reading nook in the library, laptop open, brows furrowed in focus.

He passed by and paused.

"Have you eaten?"

She blinked up. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "Lunch. I ordered."

"Oh." She hesitated, then smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded again, stiff but sincere.

Five minutes later, she found the dining table set with her favorite pasta, a sparkling drink, and a single note.

"Because skipping meals isn't power. It's neglect. — L"

She stared at the note for a long time.

Then tucked it into her journal like a secret.

By the third day, the craving had grown teeth.

Leon found himself listening for her footsteps at night. Not because he needed anything from her. But because her presence had become soothing.

A tether to reality.

He couldn't remember the last time someone made him feel calm just by being in the same room.

And that terrified him more than desire ever could.

He wanted her.

Yes.

But more than that…

He missed her when she wasn't around.

That night, she had a nightmare.

She didn't scream.

She just woke up in a cold sweat, breath shaking, vision blurred.

She didn't remember the dream.

Just that she'd felt alone.

She got up, made her way down the dark hall barefoot, and knocked once on his door.

It opened almost instantly.

He was already awake.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Leon said nothing.

He just stepped aside.

She slid into his bed like she'd always belonged there.

He wrapped his arms around her without a word.

And in his embrace, she finally fell asleep again.

He didn't sleep at all.

He stayed awake the whole night, staring at her.

One hand tangled gently in her hair.

One thought running on repeat:

"I'm not going to survive this."

The next morning, she didn't leave his bed.

She stretched against the sheets like a cat, sleep-heavy and warm.

Leon stood by the window, bare-chested, tie undone around his neck, phone forgotten on the table.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

"No," she said softly. "You stayed."

"I did."

"Why?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Then: "Because I wanted to."

She sat up, blanket pooling around her waist.

"Then stay again tonight."

His throat worked.

He crossed the room.

Kissed her forehead.

And said, "I will."

But that night, things changed again.

This time, it wasn't Aria who came to him.

It was Leon who knocked on her door.

And when she opened it, he looked… unraveled.

Suit jacket missing. Shirt unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled.

He didn't speak.

He just stepped inside.

Closed the door.

And pulled her into his arms like he'd been holding back all day.

Their kiss was softer now.

But no less hungry.

Their mouths moved in sync, slow and deep, lips brushing and parting with practiced urgency.

Her fingers undid the rest of his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars along his ribs.

He let her see him.

All of him.

Without turning away.

And when she ran her fingers over one faint scar near his heart, he whispered, "That one's from someone I trusted."

Aria looked up. "Did they hurt you?"

"Yes."

"Are you afraid I will too?"

He didn't answer.

She kissed the scar.

Then the space over his heart.

Then leaned up and said, "I'm not asking you to trust me yet. I'm asking you to let me try."

Leon closed his eyes.

And nodded.

They didn't go all the way.

Not yet.

But they slept skin to skin.

And in the dark, when she thought he'd already fallen asleep, he whispered against her hair:

"You're the only thing I want that I didn't plan for."

She didn't respond.

But her hand slid across his chest and settled over his heart.

And for once, it didn't feel like a threat.

It felt like home.