His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

The invitation came with less than 24 hours' notice.

A charity gala hosted by a global tech magnate. Red carpet. International press. CEOs, royalty, and the kind of people whose last names carried more weight than most governments.

Leon hadn't intended to go.

But when the final guest list arrived and Aria's name was absent—when he saw the name of the woman who was invited in her place, a leggy heiress his board had once tried to pair him with—he picked up the phone.

"Add Aria Rousseau to the list," he said coldly. "And remove Eveline Hart."

"But sir, Miss Hart—"

"I said remove her."

Click.

Aria wasn't surprised when Leon told her they'd be attending.

She was surprised when he sent the dress without a note.

No warnings. No commands. No "wear this."

Just a box in signature black, soft tissue folded around a gown of molten champagne silk that shimmered with every shift of light.

She ran her fingers down the fabric.

It wasn't possessive.

It was reverent.

The gala was held in a sprawling estate just outside the city, drenched in white light and whispered money.

When Aria stepped out of the car, camera flashes exploded instantly.

She could feel the pressure—the weight of eyes, the heat of judgment, the silent buzz of scandal.

She'd been here before.

On carpets. In borrowed diamonds. Wearing another man's image like armor.

But tonight was different.

Because Leon stepped out behind her...

And reached for her hand.

In front of everyone.

Aria blinked.

He didn't look at her.

Didn't explain.

Just laced his fingers through hers like he'd been doing it for years.

And together, they walked into the lion's den.

Inside, the room glittered with silk and scorn.

Women turned to stare. Men whispered. Journalists followed from a distance, lenses sharp, questions sharper.

And Leon?

He didn't let go of her hand.

Not once.

He led her through conversations. Introduced her not as a date or a companion—but simply, Aria.

No qualifiers. No performance.

Just her.

When one particularly ambitious young CEO made the mistake of flirting too openly—his gaze lingering too long on Aria's dress—Leon stepped in with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Careful," he said smoothly. "You're looking at something that's already mine."

Aria's breath caught.

The man laughed, nervous. "Didn't realize the contract covered eye contact too."

Leon didn't blink.

"There's no contract anymore."

"Oh?"

"There's just us."

And with that, he moved on—hand still firmly around her waist.

Later, on the balcony, Aria took a moment to breathe.

She stared out at the gardens, champagne untouched in her hand.

"You're causing a stir," came a voice behind her.

She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Eveline Hart.

The woman she'd replaced on the list.

Tall. Blonde. All old-money perfection with a razor tongue.

Aria kept her gaze ahead. "Then I suppose the night isn't wasted."

Eveline stepped closer. "You know he's only doing this to make a statement."

"Funny. I thought I was the statement."

Eveline's smile was tight. "Leon Castellan doesn't fall in love. He builds empires. When he's finished with you, you'll be forgotten like the rest."

Aria finally turned.

And smiled.

"You don't scare me."

"You should."

"Why?" Aria asked, setting down her glass. "Because you were almost something to him once?"

Eveline's face froze.

Aria stepped closer.

"Don't mistake my silence for weakness. You want to rattle me? You'll have to do better than secondhand envy."

Then she turned her back.

And walked away.

Leon found her moments later, back inside, calm and collected.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him.

Searched his eyes.

"Would you have defended me if I hadn't already handled it?"

He didn't hesitate.

"No. Because you don't need me to."

She smiled faintly. "Good answer."

Then added, "But I wouldn't mind you watching me while I do it."

He stepped closer.

Mouth near her ear.

"I could watch you burn this whole place down."

"Would you stop me?"

"I'd bring the matches."

They didn't stay long after that.

The whispers were enough.

The message was clear.

Aria wasn't a contract clause anymore. She was a choice.

And Leon Castellan didn't make careless ones.

The drive back to the penthouse was silent but charged.

She sat beside him, fingers still warm from his touch, skin still humming from his kiss earlier in the evening—soft, fleeting, tucked between toasts and murmurs.

He hadn't kissed her like it was for show.

He kissed her like it was a secret only they understood.

And she couldn't forget it.

Not even now.

When they got home, he held the door open for her again.

She stepped inside.

He followed.

And then—without a word—he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her like he'd been holding it in all night.

Her hands went to his jacket, tugging it off, pushing him toward the bedroom between gasps.

"I'm still in heels," she whispered.

"Then leave them on."

The moment they hit the sheets, it was different from the first time.

This was rougher.

Hungrier.

But still layered with something that felt dangerously like…

Emotion.

After, they lay tangled again, breathless, bare.

Leon ran his hand up her thigh, tracing the curve of her hip.

"You handled Eveline well," he said quietly.

"She was nothing."

"No," he murmured. "She was exactly what I needed to see."

Aria turned to him. "Why?"

"Because watching you hold your own while the world watched…" He shook his head. "It made me realize something."

She waited.

He looked into her eyes.

"I don't want to protect you. I want to stand beside you."

Her breath caught.

And when she kissed him this time, it wasn't to prove anything.

It was to say thank you.

Without words.