The Billionaire’s Obsession with Green Ariza

The sniper steadied his breath from the high-rise across the street, finger grazing the trigger.

Inside the penthouse hotel suite, Don Fredrick stood with a drink in hand, back turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bang—

The glass exploded.

Fredrick stumbled, pain slicing across his arm as the bullet tore past him and hit the wall. He fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding bicep.

"Target missed," the sniper muttered into his earpiece, already packing up the rifle. Within seconds, he disappeared from the rooftop, like he'd never been there.

Inside, Fredrick hissed, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wrap the wound. Then, calmly, he lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. He took a long drag, then blew the smoke toward the shattered window.

A smirk curved his lips.

"Wrong move, Joseph."

He grabbed his phone and made a call. "Initiate the retaliation plan. No more waiting."

Elsewhere in the quiet hills of Western Mexico, Joseph stood in a cold, opulent glass mansion perched over the sea—the kind of house billionaires bought when they wanted the world to forget them. He'd purchased it the same night the photo was leaked. He hadn't told a soul. Not even Ken.

The scent of the ocean couldn't drown out the fire boiling inside his chest.

His phone kept buzzing with unread messages from her. Green.

He'd read every single one.

He'd listened to her voice notes on loop.

He knew she'd gone to all three of his houses in the city—driving that emerald Bugatti he'd gifted her on her birthday. He imagined her wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, calling his name in tears.

And still… he didn't reply.

She wasn't the one holding Fredrick when that photo was taken.

But she hadn't run fast enough either.

He exhaled and sat at his grand obsidian desk, fingers trembling as he reached for the thick, monogrammed paper. He began to write,

Green,

I thought I knew what pain felt like until I saw that photo.

I thought I was above the kind of love that makes a man lose sleep, lose reason, lose himself.

But you?

You made me need you.

Like oxygen. Like madness.

I don't know if you meant to break me. I don't even know if you meant for it to happen. But it did.

And now I don't know how to forget the shape of your smile, the sound of your laugh, or the scent of you that still lingers in every room I walk into.

I wanted to leave. I packed my bags. I swore I'd never see you again.

But I can't.

You live inside my veins, Green. You've ruined every other woman for me. You've ruined me.

And I still want you.

God, I still want you.

But I can't forgive you. Not yet. Not while that man still breathes.

Goodbye.

— Joseph

He stared at the letter for a long time. Read it three times.

His fingers hovered.

Then, with a deep breath, he lit a match.

The flames ate the letter whole, curling the paper into ashes on his marble floor.

Joseph pressed a hand to his chest.

He couldn't breathe.

His phone rang. Ken.

"We traced the person who took that photo of You and Green in her apartment. It was someone in Fredrick's house—his assistant. Direct connection."

Joseph said nothing.

"We could retaliate. Go after him. His wife just gave birth. They're vulnerable. We could hold them to draw Fredrick out."

A long silence.

Then Joseph muttered, "No… They're not the ones at fault."

Ken nodded grimly. "Understood."

Another call buzzed in on Joseph's line.

A different voice. Coded.

"Mission failed. But not denied. Orders?"

Joseph's eyes narrowed as he looked out at the endless ocean.

"Don't go for his blood," he said darkly. "Go for his crown."

"Understood. We'll make a move on his empire."

As the sun set over the sea, Joseph stood alone in silence, heart shattered but vengeance ignited. If Fredrick wanted to play war—then Joseph would bring fire. And Green… she was still the reason it all burned.

—-

The crystal glass swirled between Joseph's fingers, reflecting the amber hues of the hundred-thousand-dollar Château Lafite Rothschild 1982. He stood barefoot on the black marble floors of his coastal mansion, moonlight pouring in from the tall windows. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks below.

But his mind wasn't quiet.

It was with her.

With Green.

He'd sent silent shadows to follow her, not out of distrust, but protection. He knew when she left her apartment, when she visited his old penthouse. He knew she'd spent the night curled in his bed two nights ago, wrapped in his shirt, asleep beside the scent of him.

He had watched the camera feed.

And God—he almost drove straight to her.

To hold her.

To kiss her.

To make love to her like he was starving for her skin.

But he didn't.

Because he was still bleeding from that photo.

He took another slow sip of the wine, trying to burn her out of his system.

That's when the phone rang.

Not the main line.

His father's line.

Joseph froze.

He hadn't heard from the estate in days, but last week—he remembered it clearly. Green had been curled up beside him, and they'd been on speaker, talking to his father. Laughing. His father had teased Green, telling her to eat more, stroked her stomach through the screen and said he couldn't wait to carry his grandkids.

It was the first time Joseph had seen Green blush.

He had smiled like he hadn't in years.

The phone rang again. Something cold crept down his spine.

He picked it up.

The voice on the other end was trembling. One of the house staff.

"Mr. Joseph… your father… he's dead."

"What?"

The glass slipped from his hand, shattering.

"There was… an incident. Sir, we—we don't know what happened. The cameras were down. His heart… something's not right. There's blood. We already called the police—"

Joseph's mind spun.

This wasn't natural.

His father had been in perfect health.

"Who was the last to see him?" he demanded.

"We don't know, sir. His body was found in the wine cellar…"

Joseph ended the call.

His breathing was shallow.

His eyes darkened.

He knew who did this.

There was only one man twisted enough to hit where it hurt, to break him slowly.

Don Fredrick.

This wasn't just a warning.

This was the beginning of a war.

Without saying a word, Joseph walked to his private vault. Pressed his thumb against the scanner.

The lock released with a hiss.

Inside were old blueprints, confidential folders, photos… and weapons.

Within the hour, Joseph had disappeared. No public statement. No funeral announcement. No sightings.

He was gone.

Vanished from the world.

Green woke up in Joseph's bed, expecting a knock, a call—something. But there was only silence.

And halfway across the world, Joseph stepped off a jet, his eyes colder than death itself.

If Fredrick wanted blood,

he would get a flood.