All Chapters of The Billionaire's Obssesion: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The contrast was obscene: the Nappa leather, the carbon fiber dashboard, and beside me, a young man whose clothes smelled of despair and whose life I helped shatter. The silence in the car was tense, charged with an electric expectation. Kyle didn't waste time. He knew what I wanted, and he needed what I had in my pocket. As he leaned toward me, my mind had one last flash of that abandoned building, of Jason and Alexander laughing, of fifteen-year-old Kyle begging please. The shock of the memory merged with my current lust, creating an explosive mix that made my hands tremble on the steering wheel. "You're too tense." He murmured, his cold hand sliding up my thigh, nimble fingers already seeking the button of my pants. "I'll take care of that." I closed my eyes when I heard the sound of the zipper opening. The outside world vanished. The law, ethics, the Vance empire, and the therapist's advice... everything was swallowed by the darkness of that backseat. I was about to h

I felt the blood thumping in my temples, my vision blurring as I watched the top of his head, the straight black hair between my fingers. The pleasure came like a shockwave, devastating and absolute, tearing me from the ground. When the climax hit me, it was so violent that I lost control over what I was saying. My voice came out in a low growl, loaded with a despair I had kept for thirteen years: "Kyle... oh, God, Kyle..." The silence that followed was sudden and sharp. He pulled back abruptly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his green eyes wide, injected with a terrifying clarity. He leaped up from the floor, backing away two steps until he hit the small table. "How do you know my name?" His voice trembled, but not from the cold. It was a growing panic. "I never told you my name. Who are you?" I tried to stand up, my legs feeling shaky, my hands trembling as I tried to close the button of my pants and the zipper. The air in the apartment grew thin. "Kyle,

The silence beneath his skin was absolute. He had no pulse. “No… no, no, no! Kyle, wake up!” My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold him. “Please, don’t do this to me! Kyle!” This couldn’t be happening. I felt like the most useless person in the world. I didn’t want to believe what was real right in front of me. The white, sterile light of that hospital room hit Kyle’s face like a physical assault. I watched him from the armchair, feeling every second of silence weighing down on my shoulders. He began to wake up slowly, his senses groggy, as if trying to emerge from a sea of mud. I could see the effort it took. First, the dry discomfort in his throat, then the furrowing of his brow from the throbbing pain that, I knew, must be hammering behind his eyes. The constant beep of the heart monitor filled the emptiness between us, a rhythmic reminder that he had almost not been here anymore. When he finally managed to focus his vision and saw me sitting there in the le

I just nodded, lowering my head slightly. The weight of the truth was an anchor. “I know, Kyle. I know it’s our fault.” My passive acceptance seemed to make him even more furious. He came at me, stopping just inches from my face, his hands shaking with pure hatred. “Cut that shit out! Stop pretending you understand! You have no idea what it’s like to be ripped away from yourself at fifteen! You broke me, Vance. You fucked up my head in a way that can’t be fixed. I don’t find joy in anything. I don’t feel anything. I haven’t even felt pleasure with anyone since that day. Nothing feels real. Nothing is good enough!" The air left my lungs. That confession caught me completely off guard. I had expected the hatred, expected the accusation of ruining his career or his health, but hearing that he lived in the same emotional desert as I did… it was too cruel a mirror. I felt the heat of shame rise up my neck, but the need for an honest connection for the first time in my life overpower

It’s been two days since I’ve been trying, with an almost sickening discipline, to ignore the fact that Kyle is living in my private refuge. Ever since Dr. Mason’s team was disbanded, the constant flow of information has stopped, along with that sense of control I used to numb my anxiety. Now I depend on brief reports from Corine, who goes up the mountain every morning to clean, and from Jeff, who keeps the garden in order. They give me crumbs: “He had breakfast,” “He walked on the porch,” “He seemed calm today.” I’m genuinely happy,if I still know what happiness is,that he has overcome the critical phase. The poison is leaving his bloodstream, and knowing that Kyle agreed to continue treatment with anxiolytics gives me a breath of hope. I wished he would stay there forever, or at least long enough for the dirty asphalt of the city and the memories of those street corners to become nothing more than a distant blur. I wanted to keep him protected from his own life, but I know the