The Billionaire’s Obsession with Green Ariza

The sun spilled through the silk curtains like melted gold, it poured long beams over their tangled bodies.

Joseph Leon stirred slowly, blinking against the light. His lashes fluttered once, twice, before his eyes adjusted. He turned his head—

And there she was.

Green Ariza.

Naked beneath the cream-colored sheets, her shoulder bare and glowing in the morning light. One hand tucked beneath her cheek, her lips slightly parted, soft snores rising like a melody he never wanted to stop hearing.

He smiled, warm and lazy. Propped himself on one elbow and just stared.

She always looked so fierce when awake—sharp-tongued, unpredictable. But in sleep? She was soft. Untouchable. His.

His hand reached out, brushing a stray curl off her cheek. "You snore, you know that?" he whispered, amused.

She didn't stir.

Joseph's chest tightened, a familiar ache spreading through him. What the hell have you done to me, Green Ariza? He kissed her shoulder lightly before sliding out of bed. The sudden exposure to the cold morning air made him curse softly.

He picked up the sheets and gently tucked them over her bare body. Then he stood for a moment, letting himself watch her a little longer before finally leaving the room.

Downstairs, his matte-black Pagani waited, parked like a panther outside her apartment complex. Joseph slid into the driver's seat and pulled out his phone.

8:42 a.m.

Shit. He was late.

He shot her a quick text.

Good morning, mi vida. Last night was everything. I still feel you in my blood. Let's have dinner tonight. I'll send you something pretty to wear.

He tucked the phone into his jacket and drove off.

Joseph entered the tower through the private elevator, clean-shaven and devastating.

His dark Armani suit was custom-tailored to perfection—every line sharp and whispering power. His skin glowed with health, smooth and sun-kissed from a recent deal in Dubai. His black hair which was freshly cut, slightly tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed looking like a fashion spread. His lips were full and serious. Eyes unreadable. Every step he took left a trace of quiet command.

"Sir," said Ken, his executive assistant, jogging beside him with a tablet in hand. "The board is already seated."

Joseph didn't break stride. "And?"

Ken hesitated. "Also… the Saudi acquisition? That deal alone is worth a billion and change. You'll want to reconsider—"

Joseph glanced sideways. "Cancel it."

Ken blinked. "Sir?"

"I said cancel all my evening appointments. I have something more important tonight."

"But—"

"It can wait."

Ken stopped walking. Joseph didn't.

Inside the sleek marble conference room, cameras flashed as Joseph stepped in. Heads turned. The shareholders murmured, some straightening nervously as the man they feared and admired walked past like he owned every atom of oxygen.

At the end of the long table sat Isabella Villanueva, the daughter of their second-largest shareholder.

She stood as Joseph approached.

Tall. Stunning. Wearing a backless designer dress with stones that shimmered. A sapphire teardrop necklace glittered at her throat, matching the stones on her ears and the envy in every other woman's eyes.

"Mr. Leon," she said with a slow smile. "You're even more devastating in person."

Joseph offered a smile so faint it almost wasn't there. "And you're punctual. A rare quality."

She blushed as he extended a hand—not to kiss hers, but to shake it. Business, not pleasure.

"Let's begin," he said, voice steady. "I'd like this wrapped before my next mistake-free dinner."

They talked oil. Acquisitions. Territory rights. Environmental sanctions. Trillions in circulation.

But Joseph's mind wandered—to Green.

Meanwhile…

Green finally woke around noon.

She stretched, one arm over her head, hair tangled, lips dry. Then she reached for her phone and read his message. A smile crept across her face.

She sat up in bed, pulled the sheets around her, and sent a voice note back:

"I can't wait for dinner either. Send me something red. Or black. Or red. No pink—I'm not soft. You know that."

She laughed softly and poured herself coffee, glancing out the window at the sun-lit city.

And that was when the call came in.

Unknown number.

"Meet me at 4PM. The café on Calle Roma. Don't tell Joseph. It's about your uncle's surgery."

Green's heart dropped.

Her hands began to shake.

Don Frederick.

She knew the name. Knew the voice. He had promised her mother the surgery, but only if Green gave him one hour of her time. One conversation. One chance.

"It's not cheating," her mother had said. "It's business. You're doing it for your family."

But Green knew better.

Frederick never offered anything without a price.

She looked at Joseph's message again. She felt his kiss still lingering on her collarbone.

And yet…

She typed a message she never thought she'd send.

"I'll be there."

As Green stepped into her closet to dress, her phone buzzed again.

Another unknown message.

This one wasn't from Frederick.

It was a photo.

Of her and Joseph in bed.

Taken from outside her apartment.

—

Green adjusted her coat, guilt twisting inside her as the Rolls-Royce Phantom slowed in front of the luxury French restaurant. The golden glow from the chandeliers spilled onto the cobblestone path, painting her in soft light—but she didn't feel soft.

She felt like a traitor.

She hadn't replied to Joseph's messages.

She hadn't worn the dress he sent.

She hadn't even told him she was leaving.

She was here.

With the man Joseph warned her about.

The car door opened, and she stepped out into the cold night air, wrapping her arms around herself. She almost turned back. Almost ran back, into his arms, into the bed still warm with memories of last night. But then—

"Green," came the deep, drawled voice.

"What a pleasure to see you, sexy."

Don Frederick.

Older. Broader. Smiling like a shark in a suit.

He walked up in a perfectly tailored midnight-blue Tom Ford tux, all charisma and calculation, reaching out to kiss her cheek.

Green stepped back, turning her head.

He blinked.

"Your mother said you'd come," he added, as if he'd already won.

"I'm here. That's all you get," she replied coldly.

He smiled again. "I made a reservation for the whole place. Just for you. Shall we talk?"

She nodded and walked in first, her heels clicking like defiance.

The restaurant was empty. Lit candles danced on every table. A string quartet played something soft and expensive in the background. She was seated at a velvet booth, across from him. The waiters poured wine, brought plates—truffle risotto, lobster thermidor, duck confit with cranberry glaze.

"Hope you love them," Frederick said, watching her just like a collector watches a rare item. "Only the best for the woman I want."

She didn't touch the food.

When he reached out to graze her hand, she pulled it back like it burned.

His eyes darkened.

"Still loyal to your oil prince?" he asked.

"Sweet. But naive."

"I'm not for sale, Don."

"You're already bought. He just paid first," he said smoothly. "But I can give you more. Power. Protection. A future that doesn't depend on his moods."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't want your power. Or your protection."

"You will," he said.

"When Joseph leaves you broken. When his empire collapses. When you realize he was just a boy playing a billionaire's game."

"Let me help you win. Let's destroy him together."

Her chair scraped as she stood up. "You don't know a thing about love."

"No," he said calmly. "But I know everything about revenge."

Her phone buzzed.

She froze.

The screen lit up with "MOM".

She picked it up.

Her mother's voice—low, trembling, guilty—whispered:

"Green… listen to him. He's trying to help you. This is for your uncle… for our family…"

Green's jaw clenched. Her mother was in on this.

She looked at Don Frederick.

He lifted his glass and smiled.

"Cheers, sweetheart. To beginnings."

As she stormed out of the restaurant, her phone buzzed again.

Another message.

From Joseph.

"Did you enjoy dinner with my enemy?"

She stopped breathing.

She hadn't told him.

And yet—he knew.