His Property: A Billionaire Possession Romance

Aria didn't sleep.

She lay awake for hours, replaying every second of what didn't happen—his hand on her jaw, his breath on her lips, the heat that had curled between them like a secret they both refused to say aloud.

He had wanted her.

And he'd stopped himself.

She didn't know whether to be furious or relieved.

When dawn broke, she finally slid out of bed, threw on a long cardigan over her silk camisole, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The penthouse was quiet, sunlight leaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows in soft golden slants.

She expected to be alone.

She wasn't.

Leon stood at the far counter, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly messy—real, for once. Human.

He poured hot water into a French press and stirred slowly.

He didn't look at her.

"You're up early," he said.

"I never went to sleep," she replied, walking past him to the fridge.

Leon didn't respond, just pressed the coffee with slow, steady pressure.

She watched him from the corner of her eye.

He looked different in the morning light. Less like the ruthless CEO and more like a man who hadn't had a full night's rest in years.

She reached for the cream. "So… is this the part where we pretend yesterday didn't happen?"

Leon's movements paused just slightly.

Then he said, "You can pretend. I won't insult either of us like that."

That startled her.

She turned, eyebrows lifted. "So you are capable of being honest."

His eyes met hers over the rim of his coffee cup. "Only when it's inconvenient."

They stood there, just looking at each other.

Not fighting.

Not flirting.

Just seeing.

Aria leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. "Why didn't you kiss me?"

"I told you," he said quietly. "Because if I started, I wouldn't stop."

"Don't I get a say in that?"

Leon set his cup down with a soft clink. "You think I haven't noticed how you look at me? How you react when I touch you? You want me, Aria. But you don't trust me. And that combination is a recipe for regret."

She hated that he was right.

Because she did want him.

And she didn't trust him.

"Then what's the point of all this?" she asked. "The contract, the rules, the restraint? If you're not going to touch me, why keep me at all?"

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then said, quietly, "Because having you near and not touching you… is still better than not having you at all."

Her breath caught.

For a moment, the room was too small. Too warm.

She didn't know what to say.

Didn't know how to handle a version of Leon that felt like longing.

So she said the only thing that came to mind.

"Are you always this emotionally constipated in the mornings?"

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Just a fraction.

But it was enough to unravel her a little.

Leon straightened and reached for his coffee. "I have meetings. You have a wardrobe fitting at ten."

"Another event?"

He nodded. "Private dinner. Partners from Zurich."

She took a sip of her own drink, voice casual. "And what's my role there? Trophy? Pawn? Conversation starter?"

Leon glanced at her over the rim of his cup. "Distraction."

Her eyebrows lifted. "For you?"

"For them," he said. "They'll be too busy trying to figure you out to notice the terms I'm manipulating under the table."

She let out a dry laugh. "So I'm camouflage."

"No." His eyes flicked over her slowly. "You're the red dot of the laser before the shot hits."

She blinked.

And for a second, she forgot how to be annoyed.

The dinner was hosted at a private rooftop lounge in Midtown, sleek and expensive, with an imported wine list longer than most novels. Leon looked as unflappable as ever in a steel-gray suit, while Aria wore a deep emerald dress with a slit that made even the stoic elevator attendant stare.

Leon's hand rested on her lower back as they entered the room. Just a touch. Nothing overt.

But her entire body was aware of it.

The Zurich partners were middle-aged, rich, and clearly used to getting their way. But as soon as Aria entered the conversation, the dynamic shifted.

She wasn't just a pretty face.

She was witty. Sharp. Unapologetically blunt in that way only a fallen heiress could be.

Leon watched her, quiet but intensely focused.

She was, for once, not something he was controlling—but something he was admiring.

And she felt it.

Felt it in the way his hand tightened every time she made someone laugh.

Felt it in the way his eyes dipped to her mouth when she sipped from her wine glass.

Felt it in the heated silence between them when they rode the elevator back up to the penthouse after midnight.

Neither of them spoke.

Not until the doors opened.

Not until she stepped into the living room and turned to face him.

He didn't follow her in.

He just stood in the open elevator, eyes shadowed.

"You were incredible tonight," he said.

She tilted her head. "Surprised?"

"No," he said. "Just… impressed."

Her heart beat faster.

He looked at her for one long, loaded moment.

Then the doors slid shut.

And she was alone again.

Later, long after she'd changed out of the gown and washed her makeup off, Aria wandered into the den and found herself staring out the window.

The city stretched out below, glittering and restless.

Much like the man who lived above it.

Much like her.

She didn't know what was happening between them.

Didn't know if it was manipulation or momentum or something dangerously close to real.

But she knew this:

She wasn't falling anymore.

She was floating—suspended in that maddening in-between.

Not his property.

Not quite free.

Just… his.

And it scared her more than anything.