The Billionaire’s Obsession with Green Ariza

Green brushed her hair over one shoulder, staring into the vanity mirror without really seeing herself. Behind her, Joseph walked past—silent, expression unreadable—as he reached for his signature oil cream. He applied it with calculated ease, the masculine scent drifting through the air and curling its way around her restraint.

He looked too perfect for her sanity. His tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist, the fabric whispering of power—deep navy with a black silk lapel, paired with a gray tie and a watch that likely cost more than her first apartment. He was devastating without trying.

They hadn't spoken since last night's argument. She had turned her back to him in bed and refused to speak. This morning, she'd found an immaculate breakfast—simple but expensive, honey-drizzled croissants, pressed orange juice, wild berry jam. He had cooked.. And while she sat in silence, eating slowly, he'd been shirtless in grey joggers, on the phone discussing billions with investors.

Now, inside the car, she fought the storm of want and anger swirling inside her. He sat beside her like nothing had happened, speaking briefly to Ken about Fredrick's assistant. When he opened the door for her, she caught the flicker in his eyes—like he was pretending to be fine, pretending he didn't want to kiss her until she melted.

She stepped out without a word. The car rolled to a stop in front of Leon Corp.

The skyscraper was steel and glass elegance. Its structure rose confidently into the sky, sunlight spilling across its polished windows like liquid gold. Sleek black cars lined the front —each one owned by shareholders and employees who made fortunes before lunch.

Joseph offered his hand. She took it—reluctantly, longingly—as they walked into the building. The Leon Corp lounge was nothing short of intimidating: glossy black floors, tall vertical garden walls, and a central lounge area where power dressed itself.

A long obsidian table stretched across the center, surrounded by men and women who looked as though they had never heard the word "no." They turned, eyes snapping to Joseph and the woman beside him.

Joseph smiled charmingly, shaking hands.

"This is Green," he said, finally. "The one who makes everything before me look like practice."

Green blinked. The compliment hit her like champagne—sweet, dizzying, and dangerous.

She smiled at people she would've once cowered before. Her seat was beside Joseph. Or so she thought.

Ariana walked in— radiant. She wore a silk cream dress that flirted with every curve and a necklace that says legacy money.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, brushing her hair behind one ear. "Dad's overseas. I'm representing him today."

She didn't wait for permission. She sat beside Joseph. Green was shifted two seats away.

The dinner began.

Wine poured. Plans discussed. Investments proposed. And through it all, Ariana leaned in too closely, laughed too softly, her eyes never leaving Joseph. Someone cracked a joke about the photos of Joseph and Ariana from the gala that trended for days.

Green stayed silent. Her stomach was sinking. She couldn't focus on the conversation. Couldn't care about logistics or numbers. All she could see was Ariana's hands moving, her smile bright, her interest crystal clear.

The meeting ended. People began to leave.

Green lingered by the corner of the room, heart thudding.

That was when she saw Ariana pulling Joseph aside near a marble pillar.

Joseph didn't resist. He wasn't at fault. It was just a polite conversation. Until he saw Green watching them. His heart sank.

Ariana tilted her head. "You still let her control who you talk to?"

Joseph's eyes narrowed. "She doesn't control me. But if I had a choice between you and her? I'd choose her a thousand times. Even when she's mad at me. Even when she won't talk to me. Even when she breaks my heart just by walking away."

Ariana tried to smile, unfazed, but her expression shifted.

She looked over—and locked eyes with Green.

Green didn't flinch. Didn't look away. She just stared, fury and heartbreak mixing in her veins.

Ariana walked out. She didn't greet Green. Didn't acknowledge her.

Joseph approached quietly.

He reached for Green's hand.

She pulled away.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "I want to be alone," she whispered.

And she walked away—without looking back.

—-

Joseph stepped into the penthouse, his chest tightening with a strange relief when he saw her heels by the door.

She came back.

She was here.

He wouldn't have to search the streets of Mexico tonight with panic seizing his lungs. She hadn't left him—at least not yet.

But the tension in the air was thick. He saw her in the living room, her back turned, one arm resting on the velvet couch, a wine glass poised in her fingers. She was sipping slowly.

She didn't look at him when he walked in.

"She was all over you," Green said, her voice low, her back still facing him. "I'm shocked that you didn't notice."

He swallowed but said nothing.

She turned to him—finally—and her eyes pierced through him. Glassy. Hurt. Raw.

"Who the hell is she?" Her voice cracked. "Why is she making me feel like this? Like I'm small? Like I don't belong in your world?"

"Green—" he started, but she stepped forward, anger and grief dancing in her trembling hands.

"You told me she's just your father's goddaughter. But looking at her today—God, Joseph—she touched your arm like she's done it a thousand times. She looked at you like she already knows how you taste. I could assume she's your lover. Maybe even your wife."

Joseph's eyes didn't leave hers. Calm, deep, sincere.

"I can't imagine making anyone my wife if it's not you," he said, voice steady, quiet as though it's a promise written in blood.

Green blinked rapidly. Her chin quivered.

"I'm starting to doubt that." Her voice dropped. "I could be just someone you use and discard. I was a nobody before you met me. You brushed me up, taught me how to stand straight, how to wear heels and say less. I would've still been on the streets of Mexico—starving—if you hadn't picked me."

Joseph's heart shattered.

He walked slowly toward her, each step filled with the weight of everything he'd never said out loud. When he reached her, he cupped her jaw gently, forcing her to look up at him.

"Don't you ever say that," he said, voice breaking in the middle. "Don't you dare reduce everything we've built into some twisted rescue story."

His thumbs grazed her cheeks. His forehead leaned close to hers. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You think I saved you? You're the one saving me every damn day."

She remained frozen, her lips parted slightly, as if caught between wanting to scream and wanting to sob.

"I love you," he said. "Not because you're beautiful or brilliant or stronger than anyone I've ever met. I love you because when everything else in my life feels fake, you feel real. You're the only thing that does."

Her eyes shut for a second too long. When they opened again, they were damp.

She stepped back a little, her jaw clenched. "Fredrick wanted to talk. I only accepted because he said he wanted to speak to you but you were occupied. You promised you'd come to my pitch, Joseph. I waited. I kept checking the door. I wanted you to be there. Proud of me."

"I am proud of you," he said softly.

"You wouldn't understand—"

"I do understand!"

His voice echoed across the room.

"I watched your pitch," he said, quieter now. "I watched it live on my phone. I was in another building, in a meeting I couldn't leave. But I watched. And I smiled the whole damn time."

She blinked.

"I couldn't be there physically, but I was watching. Always."

He didn't tell her why he wasn't there. That she was being targeted. That his enemies wanted to use her to ruin him. That he would rather die quietly than ever risk her safety.

Instead, he whispered, "Fredrick is my enemy, Green. And I'm scared. Not of him. Of losing you."

Tears welled in his eyes, but he swallowed them.

"I don't want to die before you realize how much I love you."

The silence between them ached.

Her chest rose and fell fast. Her eyes burned. "I want to believe you. I do. But I'm scared too. What if I'm just… "

Joseph didn't speak.

He just reached out—suddenly—and took her face in his hands.

"Shut up," he whispered.

And then he kissed her.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like a man trying to bring someone back to life with his mouth alone.

His hand slid into her hair, pulling her close. Her hands flattened against his chest, as if to push him away—but she didn't. Her body melted into him with a cry trapped in her throat. His lips moved against hers like he'd been starving for months. Their breath tangled.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, her lips almost swollen, his eyes red, they just stared.

No words. No apology.

Only a tension so thick it felt like the room might collapse.