His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

The boxes didn't look like much.

Three medium-sized ones. One suitcase. A worn leather tote bag.

That was it.

That was all Aria brought into the penthouse when she moved in.

No stylist. No entourage. No fanfare.

Just her, a box balanced on her hip, hair in a messy braid, wearing a white tank top and faded jeans that had clearly seen better days.

Leon opened the door and stared at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "You gonna help, or just admire?"

His lips quirked. "I'm leaning toward admiration."

She breezed past him, dropped the box on the entryway floor, and turned. "You really need to get over that awe phase. We're cohabiting now."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, I don't see a proposal on the table," she teased, brushing past him toward the elevator inside.

"Yet."

Aria stopped.

Glanced back.

But Leon was already reaching for the next box, casual as ever.

And just like that… she couldn't breathe for a second.

The move-in was quieter than she'd imagined.

No drama. No declarations.

Just the slow process of putting herself into his space.

A toothbrush beside his.

Lip balm in his nightstand drawer.

Two mugs on the bathroom counter instead of one.

They argued briefly over closet space.

He offered her the entire walk-in.

She insisted on "earning her half."

By the end of the day, his shirts were wrinkled from being folded wrong, her skincare bottles overtook his minimal shelf, and one of her bras had somehow ended up on the doorknob of his study.

Leon stared at it that night with a faint, bemused expression.

Aria leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching him.

"You okay?" she asked.

He turned.

Met her eyes.

And for a beat too long, didn't answer.

Then, softly: "You're really here."

She tilted her head. "Did you think I wouldn't be?"

"No," he said, walking toward her. "I think I didn't believe it until I saw your moisturizer in my sink."

She laughed.

He kissed her.

That first night, everything felt new.

And terrifyingly normal.

They brushed their teeth side by side, hips bumping.

He reached over and wiped toothpaste off her chin.

She snorted. "This is dangerously domestic."

"You're dangerously cute with mint foam on your mouth."

"Leon," she warned.

He kissed her anyway.

Later, curled up in his bed — now their bed — Aria lay on her side, watching him read.

"You do realize you can stop pretending now," she said.

He looked over his glasses. "Pretending what?"

"That you're not secretly thrilled to have me here."

"I'm not pretending."

"Oh?"

"I'm absolutely, openly thrilled."

She smiled into the pillow.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I don't want to be a guest."

Leon put the book down.

Reached for her hand.

Twined their fingers together under the covers.

"You're not. This… is yours now, too."

In the middle of the night, she woke to find him watching her.

Eyes open, arm tucked behind his head.

"You're staring."

"I'm memorizing."

Aria rolled toward him, burying her face in his chest.

"You're a sap."

He stroked her hair.

"You make it easy."

The next morning, Aria stepped into the kitchen wearing only one of his button-downs.

Leon was already at the stove.

She stole a piece of bacon off the plate and popped it in her mouth. "So. How does it feel?"

He raised an eyebrow. "To have my kitchen stolen by a barefoot woman in my clothes?"

"To live with me."

He considered.

Then leaned forward, murmuring in her ear, "Like waking up on the right side of the world."