The Billionaire’s Obsession with Green Ariza

The room was cold. Damp. The walls were concrete, stained with time and old blood. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering slightly — just enough to reveal the rusted chains bolted into the floor. The air was metallic, thick with sweat, blood, and fear.

Ken walked slowly, boots echoing as he circled the figure slumped in the middle of the room.

The man was on his knees, his hands chained behind his back. His face was swollen and bloodied — one eye nearly shut, his lip split. Sweat streamed down his temple despite the chill. His head hung low, but Ken could see it — the flicker of calculation still in his eyes.

They had found him trailing Green.

He was good — almost too good. He'd followed her in a black sedan with tinted windows. Shopping trips. A visit to her uncle's house. Even a brief stop at a pharmacy. Always two cars behind. Never getting too close.

But Joseph's men were better.

They'd caught him on a drone feed — his vehicle appearing one too many times across multiple routes. It was subtle, but consistent. One of the men hacked a traffic camera network, tracked the license plate, and cross-referenced it with a list of known associates tied to Fredrick.

The moment the connection was made, they'd boxed the car in near a red-light district and yanked the man out before he could even reach for his phone.

Now here he was.

Ken crouched before him, grabbed his jaw hard, and tilted the man's bruised face toward the light.

"Why are you following her?" Ken asked softly, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

The man didn't flinch. Not at first. His eye twitched, but he kept a twisted, arrogant grin on his lips.

"I've been told you've been tortured," Ken said. "And yet, here you are, still playing brave."

No answer.

Ken narrowed his eyes. "Then perhaps we raise the stakes."

He stood and snapped his fingers.

A man in a black suit stepped forward, silently tapping on a tablet. The screen lit up with a video. It played on the far wall — large enough for the prisoner to see.

His wife, kneeling in a dim room. Tears streaming down her face. A baby crying faintly in the background. A masked figure stood behind her, arms folded. No violence. No words. Just fear, alive in her eyes.

The man's mouth parted. His chest rose and fell erratically.

"Stop it—" he gasped. "Please. Please, don't touch them. I'll speak."

Ken crossed his arms and stared coldly.

"Then talk. Why are you following Miss Green Ariza? Why did you take that photo of her with Joseph?"

The man hesitated. Just a moment.

But the sound of the woman's cry from the screen jolted him.

He caved.

"Don Fredrick ," he said, breath hitching. "He… he ordered it. He told me to monitor her. They want her taken."

Ken's eyes narrowed sharply. "Why?"

The man's voice cracked. "Because she's the only one who can break Joseph. He's like stone — impossible to reach. But she? She's his weakness. She's his heart. Hurt her, and you shatter him."

Ken's jaw clenched. "And who else is behind this?"

The man's gaze dropped. "Blood, isn't it? Mr. Josiah. His cousin."

"Josiah was adopted," Ken snapped. "He shares no blood with the Cains."

"Then maybe that's why he wants Joseph gone," the man replied, voice thin. "He wants it all. The company. The empire. The legacy. If you're not ahead of him already… it might be too late. There are more men. I was just the one you found."

Ken's stomach twisted.

He stepped forward. "And Leon Cain's death?"

The man swallowed. "Fredrick wanted it. But someone beat him to it."

"Who?" Ken asked quietly, deadly.

"I don't know," the man whispered. "But whoever it was — they hated Leon more than Fredrick ever did."

Ken stepped back, thinking.

The man raised his head, one eye filled with broken defiance.

"Josiah?" Ken murmured aloud, almost to himself.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he did it," the prisoner said, his voice hoarse.

Ken didn't waste another second. He dialed Joseph's number.

Joseph stood in the bedroom, buttoning the cuffs of his black shirt. A formal dinner awaited — one with key stakeholders who needed reassurance after Leon's death.

But his eyes were on Green.

She sat at the vanity, brushing out her long hair, lost in thought. Her reflection caught his gaze and softened something in him. There she was — the calm in his storm.

He walked over and wrapped his arms gently around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"You'll host the strategy pitch this quarter," he said, voice low against her ear. "I'll be there. You'll be brilliant."

Green turned to him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he said, smiling. "My father believed in you. I do too."

She rested her hand on his arm and leaned into him. "Don't be late."

"I won't," he said. "I'd rather lose the company than miss watching you shine."

His phone buzzed.

He checked it. Ken.

He stepped into the hallway to answer.

"What is it?" Joseph said, voice low.

Ken didn't waste time.

"They've been following Green. We caught one of them. He confessed. Fredrick's behind it. But not just him… Josiah too. They're planning something."

There was silence on the line.

Then Joseph spoke, voice cold and precise.

"They want to touch my woman?"

Ken didn't respond.

Joseph hung up.

He turned back into the room. Green stood now, watching him, eyes curious.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He walked up, took her face in his hands, and kissed her hard — a kiss that lingered with something fierce and unspoken.

Then he leaned in and whispered:

"I'll burn the world before I let anyone hurt you."

—-

Soft jazz played through the marble-tiled penthouse, a mellow saxophone weaving its way around the sleek, modern furniture and the clink of ice in a glass. Josiah Cain leaned back into the leather armchair, swirling a glass of bourbon, the city lights glinting through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he reviewed the files on his tablet — photos, route maps, timestamps — all tracking Green Ariza.

She was the key. And once she was out of Joseph's life, so too would Joseph fall.

He was mid-sip when the knock came.

Three sharp raps. Unmistakable. Official.

Josiah frowned, glanced at the time, and stood. No one was supposed to come at this hour.

He opened the door — and froze.

Two men in dark uniforms stood tall, badges flashing under the hallway light. Behind them, more officers waited, and just past them…

Joseph.

Josiah's fingers gripped the door.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice slick with composure. "How may I help you?"

One of the officers stepped forward. "Mr. Josiah Cain, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Leon Cain. You are suspected of orchestrating his death at the Cain estate wine cellar on the night of March 18th."

Josiah blinked. "What?"

The officer continued. "We have video footage retrieved from the estate's disabled surveillance — footage that was wiped but later recovered. Alongside a confession from an operative working under Mr. Fredrick Marten, who claimed you gave the final order. The assistant also supplied the missing time logs and a burner phone tracing back to you."

Josiah's smile faltered — just for a second.

He stepped back. "No. You must be mistaken. I didn't kill my uncle. I demand to speak with my lawyer—"

"That won't change the evidence," Joseph's voice cut through just like ice.

Josiah's gaze snapped toward him.

Joseph stepped forward slowly, hands clasped behind his back, his tone calm — too calm.

"I hope you rot for as long as you deserve, cousin."

His words carried no anger, just cold finality. But his eyes betrayed him — burning with restrained fury. Not just for his father… but for Green.

"You're behind this," Josiah said, his voice tightening. "You think you've won?"

Joseph didn't flinch.

"It's not about winning. It's about justice," he said. "And you crossed the line when you went after her."

Josiah scoffed, but there was a crack in his confidence. Still, he smiled — that familiar, arrogant grin returning.

"I'll get back at you when I'm found not guilty," he said. "You know how this works. Power, politics, legacy… it doesn't end with handcuffs. I'll walk out of this and when I do—"

"I hope you do," Joseph interrupted, stepping closer. "If you make it that far. For now, enjoy the silence that comes after everything falls apart."

The officers moved in.

Cold steel snapped around Josiah's wrists. The once-polished heir to the Cain name stood cuffed in his tailored suit, his pride dented but not yet broken.

They led him out of the apartment — a towering architectural beauty with glass chandeliers, imported sculptures, and a grand piano no one ever played.

Joseph lingered behind for a moment, scanning the space. Lavish. Hollow. It looked like a man had tried to build a throne here.

He walked away, silent.

But justice was rarely clean — and far from final.

Because as the elevator doors closed on Josiah Cain,

one of the officers escorting him…

wasn't wearing a real badge.