The Billionaire’s Obsession with Green Ariza

It was past midnight when Joseph returned.

He didn't knock.

He never did.

The key still worked. He stepped into the quiet apartment, shutting the door softly behind him. The hallway was dim, the living room untouched. She was here—he'd been told so. That was enough.

He walked silently toward her bedroom.

The door was cracked open. A golden glow from her bedside lamp fell across the sheets, and there she was—curled up, sleeping soundly in a silk nightgown that clung to her.

Joseph leaned against the doorframe.

He didn't speak. Just watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips. God, he'd missed her.

Ten days away felt like ten years.

The board, the betrayal, his father, —it had all clawed at him. But this—this moment right now—was what he'd been holding on for.

Quietly, he crossed the room, lowering himself onto the edge of her bed. He rested his chin on his palm, brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face with the tips of his fingers.

"You're mine," he murmured, voice low. "Mine alone."

Green stirred.

She yawned, eyes fluttering open.

She blinked once.

Then again.

"Joseph?" Her voice cracked. "Oh my god… you're—" She jolted up, grabbing him, fists pressing weakly into his chest. "You're here? Where the hell have you been?! I thought— I thought—"

She choked on tears.

"I thought something terrible happened. And the thing with Fredrick—please—it's not what it looked like. I swear, I never meant—"

He touched her face.

His thumb ran over her lips—then he caught them with his.

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a collision.

A desperate, claiming, breath-stealing moment. She melted against him instantly, hands tangled in his shirt, mouth giving in like she'd been waiting all her life for that exact second.

Their kiss deepened.

And deepened.

And never stopped.

They were on fire—pulling, gasping, groaning softly into each other as days of silence and longing erupted in their mouths. His hands ran along her bare thighs, tracing the soft silk of her nightie as it bunched at her hips. She moaned against his mouth, and his hands moved with more urgency—lifting the hem, then sliding it upward.

She helped him with his shirt, fingers fumbling at the buttons, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. She kissed along the curve of his jaw, down his throat, while he whispered her name like a prayer.

"Green…"

His body hovered above hers, his skin hot, eyes blazing.

She wrapped her arms around him. He was solid. Real. Here.

"I missed you," she breathed.

He slid the nightgown off her shoulders, his mouth following its path down her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts, until it fell away completely.

He drank her in like he'd been parched.

He couldn't get enough.

Her scent. Her voice. The taste of her skin.

It was his addiction.

Their bodies moved like they were made for each other—raw, aching, delirious in the way only people who had once feared they'd lost one another could be.

He gripped her waist as they moved together, slow at first, then desperately fast, like time was running out. Her breath hitched. He kissed her again.

Again.

Again.

And when they finally collapsed, breathless and entangled in each other's arms, he held her face gently in his palms, staring into her eyes like he was still trying to memorize her.

She was trying not to cry.

"Why did you leave?" she whispered. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he kissed her forehead, and while her eyes fluttered shut once more, he leaned in close and whispered the only truth he could say:

"You're mine. Forever."

—-

The sun streamed through the curtains, casting golden slants across the marble floors. The apartment smelled like sizzling butter and something slightly sweet—vanilla, maybe.

Green yawned, barefoot and wearing Joseph's oversized T-shirt, her hair lazily pinned into a messy bun. She sniffled lightly from last night's tears but smiled when she saw him in the kitchen.

Joseph stood shirtless at the stove—his broad back flexed with each movement, muscles sculpted like art, veins trailing down toned arms that moved with practiced grace. A tattoo curled just above his left shoulder blade, partially hidden by tousled strands of dark hair. He wore only grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing just enough to remind her that this man—this impossibly dangerous man—was all hers.

She padded across the cool tiles.

"What delicacy is in the air?" she teased, sliding her arms around his waist.

"My queen," he murmured with a grin, "I made breakfast."

"You cook now?" she raised an eyebrow as she kissed his cheek.

"Tutorials." He shrugged, lips grazing her forehead.

They walked hand-in-hand to the already-set dining table—linen napkins, glistening silverware, and breakfast laid out like it belonged in a five-star resort.

As they ate, Joseph fed her a bite of eggs. She returned the favor with a playful laugh.

"Mmm, yummy," she said between bites. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Empire."

"I'm glad you like it." He took her hand across the table and kissed it slowly. "I was also impressed about the shareholder meeting. You held your own."

Green beamed, heart swelling with pride.

"And because of that… I have a surprise for you."

She tilted her head. "You didn't have to. I did it for you."

"But I want to," he said. Then his tone shifted. A pause. A flicker in his gaze.

"…But before I tell you, there's something else."

Green leaned in. "What is it?"

Joseph looked down, jaw tense. "You really shouldn't trust me."

Her breath caught. "Joseph?"

He finally looked at her. There was pain in his eyes. Regret. And something else she couldn't quite place.

"My father is dead."

The world stilled.

Green's smile faded instantly. "No… No, that can't— When?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her chest ached. Joseph moved beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

"Please don't cry," he whispered, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "I hate it when you do."

She trembled in his arms, whispering, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He didn't answer.

Not directly.

Instead, he kissed her hair and said, "Because I needed to become colder. Smarter. And more dangerous than I've ever been."

A beat of silence passed between them.

Joseph stood, walked to a sleek black briefcase on the shelf, and pulled out a file—leather-bound, confidential. He didn't open it. He didn't need to.

"I recently found out something from one of my intelligence aides," he said. "About my cousin. Josiah."

Green furrowed her brows. "I don't know him."

"You will." Joseph's voice turned glacial. "He's family. And he's the reason my father is dead."

Joseph dropped the file on the table with a soft thud.

"He's been conspiring with our enemies. Feeding them information. Moving pieces behind my back."

His eyes met hers—sharp, unreadable.

He leaned closer, voice quiet and cold.

"…and I've come back to bury him."