His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

The bracelet was starting to itch.

Not physically. But psychologically. It pressed against Aria's skin like a reminder—constant and subtle—that she was on borrowed time.

Thirty days.

A countdown.

A cage.

She sat on the edge of the massive penthouse bed that wasn't hers, flipping through the contract she'd been given the day Leon bought her. The one she hadn't fully read. The one that felt more like a leash than a legal document.

The language was cold. Clinical. Every clause written with surgical precision.

Clause 8B caught her eye.

"Companion agrees to exclusive public and private cohabitation for the contract's duration. Overnight stays are expected unless otherwise directed. Physical intimacy is neither required nor prohibited, but subject to mutual discretion. All appearances and interactions reflect directly on Mr. Castellan's reputation."

Aria's brows furrowed.

Physical intimacy. Subject to mutual discretion.

So that was his loophole.

He wasn't forcing anything. But he'd designed the environment to make her feel like resisting was optional—when it wasn't.

She tossed the folder aside and stood, pacing the room.

She hated how she'd started noticing things.

The way he never raised his voice but could command silence with a glance.The way the staff looked at him—like he was a man you didn't cross, and didn't know how to please.

And worst of all, the way her body reacted when he entered the room. Like she was a match and he was the spark.

It was late when she wandered out of her room and into the kitchen, dressed in one of the silk robes the housekeeper had left behind. She hadn't seen Leon since the gala, and she told herself she didn't care.

She told herself that twice as she poured water from the fridge.

But when she turned around—and saw him leaning against the kitchen island, shirtless, in dark slacks—her breath caught anyway.

He didn't speak.

Neither did she.

His eyes skimmed over her robe, her bare legs, the curve of her collarbone. Slowly. Without shame.

"You don't sleep much," she said finally, breaking the silence.

Leon picked up a glass of whiskey from the counter and sipped it before replying. "Sleep is inefficient."

Aria leaned against the opposite side of the island, gripping her glass with both hands. "You know, for a man obsessed with control, you're surprisingly bad at telling me what you actually want."

His gaze darkened. "You assume I want something."

"You bought me at an auction, Leon. That assumption is kind of built into the situation."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then he said, "What I want isn't the issue."

"Then what is?"

Leon set down the glass and walked around the counter—slowly, deliberately—until he stood a few feet from her.

"You read Clause 8B," he said.

Aria tensed. "So you do have cameras in my room."

He ignored that. "You don't understand what this contract protects."

"Enlighten me," she said, lifting her chin.

Leon took another step closer. "It protects you. From me."

Her throat tightened.

"You think I don't want you?" he murmured. "You think I'm not tempted every time you talk back, or roll your eyes, or walk past me in one of those goddamn robes?"

He stopped directly in front of her, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched.

"I want you, Aria. In ways that would break this deal. That would break you. But I gave you rules. Because if I cross them…"

He trailed off.

She looked up at him, searching for the man behind the steel.

"What happens if you cross them?" she asked softly.

Leon's voice dropped. "Then I'm no better than the men who bid on you like meat."

Silence again.

Aria felt the ground shift between them—not just with lust, but something heavier. Guilt. Restraint. And a level of control that felt… not cold, but fragile.

"Why me?" she asked suddenly.

Leon's expression tightened.

"Why buy me?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded document. He handed it to her.

She unfolded it slowly.

A non-disclosure agreement. Already signed—with her name.

"I don't remember signing this."

"You did. At the auction. Before you walked out. Standard protocol."

Her eyes scanned the fine print. Then something at the bottom caught her eye.

A clause about media silence, listing her name… and her father's company.

She looked up sharply. "You knew who I was."

Leon didn't flinch.

"You didn't just buy me," she whispered. "You targeted me."

He stepped back, just slightly.

"That's why you had my size, my preferences, my schedule. You knew everything."

His silence said more than words.

Aria's pulse pounded. "This wasn't about desire. It was about revenge."

"No," he said quietly. "At first, maybe. But not anymore."

She shoved the paper at his chest. "You should've told me. You should've been honest."

"You would've walked away."

"Damn right I would've."

Leon's voice was low, even—but raw. "And that's why I didn't."

They stood in silence for a long time.

Aria felt something shift inside her. Not quite betrayal. Not quite understanding. Just a dawning realization:

Leon Castellan was a man who planned everything.

Except her.

He turned and walked toward the hallway. Paused at the edge of the dark.

Then he said, without looking back, "Go to bed, Aria. Before I forget the clause that protects you."

She didn't move.

Not until he was gone.

And even then, the question burned at the back of her mind:

If this was all a game to him… why did he look like he was losing?