His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

Aria woke to warmth.

Not the kind that came from sunlight or blankets.

But the kind that came from skin.

From the low, steady thrum of a heartbeat under her cheek.

From the arm wrapped around her bare waist.

From the slow rise and fall of a man's chest beneath her hand.

Leon.

For a moment, she didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

Because this—this—felt too fragile to disturb. The way their bodies were tangled together. The way her leg rested lazily over his hip. The way his hand had drifted in his sleep to rest in the dip of her spine, fingers curved like he was afraid she'd disappear.

And maybe he was.

Because she didn't know what last night meant to him.

But she knew what it meant to her.

His breathing shifted.

She felt it before she saw it.

He stirred, exhaled deeply, and then—

"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Her heart stuttered. "Morning."

He didn't pull away.

Didn't retreat into silence or suit up like nothing happened.

He just lay there.

Holding her.

And somehow, that undid her more than anything else.

They stayed like that for a long time.

No rush. No obligations.

Just warmth and skin and the occasional brush of fingers in her hair.

Then Leon shifted slightly and murmured, "I was going to get up early."

She smiled against his chest. "You didn't."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

He looked down at her, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Because you're here."

He did eventually get up, but not without pressing a kiss to her shoulder first.

By the time she pulled on his shirt and padded out to the kitchen, he was already at the stove.

Aria blinked.

"You cook?"

He didn't look up. "I follow instructions. Don't get excited."

She grinned, stealing a strawberry from the cutting board. "Too late."

Leon glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes moved over her — her sleep-mussed hair, her legs bare beneath the hem of his white shirt — and something softened in his gaze.

"You look good in my clothes."

"Of course I do," she said, biting the strawberry with a wink.

He turned back to the pan.

But the corner of his mouth lifted in a rare, quiet smile.

They ate in the sunroom.

Side by side, no guards, no tension.

It felt dangerously... normal.

Like a life they hadn't meant to build but somehow had.

And maybe that's why Aria couldn't quite look at him for too long. Because if she did, she might say something she couldn't take back.

Like I'm already in too deep.

Or I don't want this to be temporary.

After breakfast, she stood by the window, arms folded, eyes on the skyline.

Leon came up behind her, hands sliding around her waist.

She relaxed into him instinctively.

But when he didn't speak, she turned in his arms. "You're quiet."

"I'm trying not to ruin it."

"Ruin what?"

"This."

She searched his face. "It's just breakfast, Leon."

"No," he said softly. "It's peace."

She leaned up, brushed her lips against his jaw. "Then don't overthink it. Just feel it."

Later, when she was getting ready to leave for a photoshoot, he surprised her again.

She stood in the doorway, heels on, bag slung over her shoulder.

"I'll see you tonight?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'll have dinner ready."

Her brows shot up. "So now you're trying to impress me with your culinary skills?"

Leon stepped closer, tugging lightly on her wrist until she was inches from him.

"I'm not trying to impress you," he said, voice low. "I'm trying to deserve you."

That stopped her breath.

"Leon…"

He kissed her—soft, quick, but full of meaning.

Then opened the door for her like a gentleman.

And Aria walked out into the world still tasting him on her lips, still feeling his warmth on her skin…

And wondering how she was ever going to survive losing him.

Meanwhile, Leon stood in the silence she left behind.

He stared at the spot where she'd stood just seconds ago.

And for the first time in years, he didn't feel alone.

But he did feel afraid.

Because he knew what came next.

Need.

And need, in his world, was a weapon.

One he wasn't sure he could survive twice.