The cabin was quiet, tucked away in a valley that smelled of pine and summer heat. You were both supposed to be sleeping. But sleep was impossible with him in the next room.

You'd been best friends forever. Raised on scraped knees, late-night confessions, and inside jokes no one else could understand. This trip was supposed to be simple. Just the two of you. Like it had always been.

Except it wasn’t the same anymore.

He’d changed.

More silent stares. More tension in his jaw when other guys looked at you at gas stations. More fire in his eyes when you laughed too hard at someone’s dumb joke online.

Tonight it had exploded.

All because you answered a message from some guy.

---

He’d snapped.

“You think he gives a damn about you?” His voice was rough, low. He paced the small living room while you stood frozen, arms crossed over your chest.

“It was just a message,” you said calmly. “We’re not even talking.”

He turned sharply, eyes burning into yours.

> “You don’t get it, do you? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You stared at him, heartbeat pounding. “I’m not a thing to be owned.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he growled, walking closer. “I mean I’ve loved you since we were sixteen and you still don’t see it. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you pretend I’m just your best friend.”

Silence.

Thick. Unforgiving.

The kind that split the room in two.

He was inches from you now. Breathing hard. Chest rising like he wanted to scream — or kiss you.

---

> “I’ve seen you cry. Bleed. Sleep-talk about your fears. I know every version of you. And you’re gonna act like some guy you barely know means more than me?”

Your voice trembled when you answered.

> “I never said that. But you don’t get to claim me just because you’ve been here the longest.”

His jaw clenched. He turned away for a second—then spun back, fire still in his eyes.

> “Then why do you keep coming back to me? Every time you’re broken, every time you’re scared, you run back here. To me. Why?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you knew why.

But saying it meant no going back.

He stepped even closer. His fingers brushed yours, hesitant. Like he was afraid of breaking you. Or himself.

> “You don’t even see what you do to me,” he whispered.

“I hate every guy who touches you. I want to fight anyone who makes you laugh the way I used to. I’m jealous. All the time. I think about you in ways I shouldn’t. I dream about kissing you. Touching you. Hearing you say my name like it means something.”

You were shaking now. From his words. From the way your body responded. From the ache you’d buried for years.

> “Why didn’t you ever say it before?” you whispered.

He let out a dark laugh. “Because I was scared. Scared I’d lose you if I said it. But watching you smile at other people like they could have you? That’s worse. That’s killing me.”

You looked up at him, chest tight.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He blinked.

“I didn’t leave. I never do.”

---

Something shifted in his eyes. His hand reached for your face, fingers tracing your cheek like you were fragile and dangerous all at once.

> “If I kiss you now,” he breathed, “I won’t be able to stop.”

> “Then don’t stop,” you whispered.

And that was it.

His mouth crashed into yours — desperate, messy, full of years of unsaid things. His hands gripped your waist like he’d fall apart if he let go. You moaned against him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

This kiss wasn’t soft.

It was claiming.

---

When he pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

> “I’m not gentle when it comes to you,” he warned. “I get jealous. I overthink. I want you too badly.”

> “I don’t want gentle,” you replied. “I want you. All of it. The mess. The anger. The fire.”

His eyes darkened.

> “You have no idea what you just unlocked.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, lips crashing into yours again like he couldn’t breathe without you.

The bed creaked under your weight as he hovered over you, eyes scanning your face like a man starved. Like he’d waited years to touch you like this.

> “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, fingers brushing your shirt hem.

> “I won’t.”

---

That night, he didn’t just kiss you.

He worshipped you.

With his hands. His mouth. His words.

He held you like he’d dreamed of it for years.

Told you everything — how he used to stare at your lips when you fell asleep on his shoulder, how he almost confessed a dozen times but always choked, how he never once looked at another girl the way he looked at you.

> “You ruined me,” he whispered against your neck.

“And now that I’ve had you… I’m never letting anyone else touch you again.”

Genre: Billionaire x Broke Girl | Bad Boy | Tension | Drama | Slow-burn Romance

Setting: Late night city street, after a crash

---

🌙 [The Moment]

It was raining.

Hard.

You were on your way home — hoodie pulled over your head, heels ruined, rent overdue again — when you saw him.

A black Ducati lay on its side, still humming, headlights flickering.

And beside it — a man.

Tall. Bleeding from the side. Dark suit torn. Black helmet thrown to the ground.

You froze.

He groaned, trying to push himself up.

Something about him screamed danger. Expensive danger.

But your feet moved before your brain caught up.

> “Are you okay?!” you asked, kneeling beside him.

He looked up — and even through the blood, the glare, the sharp line of his jaw — he was beautiful. And furious.

> “Don’t touch me.”

You blinked.

> “You’re bleeding.”

> “Not the worst thing that’s happened to me tonight.”

He winced. You ignored his ego and ripped a strip from your scarf, pressing it against his side.

> “Let me help.”

He stared at you — confused, suspicious. Like no one ever did anything without asking for something in return.

> “Who sent you?” he muttered.

> “What?”

> “You want money? A reward? What’s your price?”

You pulled your hand back, insulted.

> “I was just trying to help. Forget it.”

You stood to leave.

His voice was quieter now.

> “Wait.”

---

💰 [The Billionaire]

You didn't know who he was — not yet.

But if you had your phone, and searched the name Adrian Vaireaux, you’d find:

Youngest CEO of Vaireaux Industries

Net worth: 12.9 billion

Known for cold deals, fast cars, and broken hearts

Rumors of illegal connections and dangerous investments

Never seen twice with the same woman

Right now?

He was leaning on you for support as you walked him to your building.

> “You live here?” he muttered, looking at the crumbling exterior.

> “Yeah. Problem?”

> “Not for me.”

You scowled. “You’re welcome.”

> “...Thank you,” he said, like the words hurt.

---

🖤 [The Tension Begins]

In your tiny kitchen, you patched him up with an old first-aid kit, sitting awkwardly close while he gritted his teeth.

> “You’re not a nurse,” he said.

> “Nope. Just a girl drowning in college debt and bad luck.”

He smirked — even as you wiped blood from his abs.

> “You don’t even know who I am.”

> “Should I?”

> “Maybe not yet.”

Silence fell. Heavy. His eyes lingered too long. On your lips. Your hands.

You stood.

> “You should go before someone sees you.”

He didn’t move.

> “What’s your name?”

> “Yours first.”

> “Adrian.”

> “Well, Adrian… try not to crash into anyone else tonight.”

You opened the door.

He walked out… but not before turning back.

> “You helped me when I didn’t deserve it.”

> “So?”

> “Now I owe you.”

---

💋 TO BE CONTINUED.....

( thank you for reading my story

Feel free to drop your thoughts

I like creating scenarios

These will be short stories

sometimes only one scene will be there

thanku ❤️

See ya soon

Previously: You helped a bleeding man on the street — mysterious, arrogant, way too attractive. He left with only a name: Adrian. Now, two days later, your life changes.

---

[Scene 1 – Your Apartment]

You’re pouring cheap coffee into a cracked mug when the knock comes.

Three sharp raps on your peeling wooden door.

Your heart jumps. Nobody knocks here — they yell. Or barge in.

You open it slowly.

It’s a man in a black suit, standing rigid.

> “Miss [Your Name]?”

> “Yes…?”

He doesn’t smile. Just hands you an envelope.

> “Mr. Vaireaux would like to see you. Your interview is in one hour. Car’s waiting.”

> “Interview?”

> “You’ll understand when you arrive.”

Before you can say a word, he nods and steps away — leaving only silence and a thick, ivory envelope.

Your name is written on the front. In elegant ink.

Inside: a single black card.

And an address.

Vaireaux Tower.

---

[Scene 2 – Vaireaux Tower]

The car that picks you up is… well, not the Uber you’re used to.

Sleek. Silent. Smells like leather and money. The driver doesn’t speak, just glides through the city until you’re staring up at the skyscraper.

It’s like something out of a movie. Glass and steel reaching into the clouds.

You swallow hard.

Inside, everything is polished marble, chrome edges, people in heels and black suits moving like they’re programmed. You don’t fit here — hoodie, worn-out jeans, nerves screaming.

The receptionist smiles — like she already knows who you are.

> “Miss [Your Name], Mr. Vaireaux is expecting you. Top floor.”

Top. Floor.

You ride up 73 floors in silence, heart pounding.

---

[Scene 3 – The Interview]

The elevator opens to silence. Private. Luxurious.

The office is massive — city skyline stretching endlessly behind floor-to-ceiling windows.

And at the center of it…

Him.

He’s leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. A bandage peeks out under his white shirt from where you patched him days ago.

He doesn’t look up immediately — flipping through a file.

> “You showed up.”

You cross your arms. “What is this?”

> “A job interview,” he says calmly. “Sit.”

You stay standing.

He sighs — finally meeting your eyes.

> “You’re stubborn. I like that.”

> “I’m not some stray you can throw money at.”

He stands, slow and deliberate. His presence is… consuming. You can feel it press into your chest.

> “You saved my life,” he says. “You didn’t ask for anything. That bothers me.”

> “Why?”

> “Because no one does anything for free. Which means either you’re stupid—” he takes a step closer “—or dangerous.”

> “Maybe I’m both.”

A smirk. Dangerous. Lethal.

> “Good. Then you’ll survive this.”

---

[Scene 4 – The Offer]

He gestures to the chair across from his desk. You finally sit, jaw tight.

He slides a folder toward you.

> “This is a job. Personal assistant. You’ll work under me. Schedule meetings. Take calls. Travel. Disappear when I say so.”

> “Disappear?”

> “You’ll be mine when I need you. No questions.”

You blink. “That’s not a job. That’s servitude.”

> “You want a paycheck or a debt clearance?”

He taps the folder. Inside:

Your full student loan debt

Your rent receipts

Your medical bills from your mom’s last hospital visit

You freeze.

> “How did you get all this?”

He leans forward.

> “You helped me. Now I’m helping you. If you sign this, your debt’s gone. But you work for me. I own your time.”

> “Why me?”

> “Because I don’t trust anyone,” he says. “Except the girl who kneeled on the pavement and ignored the blood.”

Silence.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until he notices — and his voice softens, just barely.

> “You can walk out. I won’t stop you.”

> “And if I stay?”

He smiles. Not soft. Not sweet. Possessive.

> “Then you’ll find out exactly who I am.”

---

[Scene 5 – The Decision]

You sign.

You don’t know why.

Desperation. Curiosity. The way his eyes never left yours.

Maybe you just wanted to feel like you had a choice.

As soon as your pen lifts, he speaks:

> “You start now.”

You blink. “Now?”

> “My schedule’s already been updated. You’ll ride with me tonight.”

> “Tonight?”

He stands. Walks over. And hands you a black garment bag.

> “You’ll need to look like you belong.”

---

[Scene 6 – That Night]

The dress is silk. Deep navy. It hugs in all the wrong (right) places.

When he sees you waiting by the car, he stops mid-step.

Eyes dragging down your body, slow, unreadable.

> “That’s mine?”

> “The dress or me?”

A pause. Then a chuckle. Low and quiet.

> “Both.”

In the back of the car, silence hums between you. But not comfort.

Charge.

He watches you like a puzzle he already owns but still enjoys solving.

> “You looked terrified this morning.”

> “I was.”

> “And now?”

You glance at him. “Still am.”

> “Good.”

You arch a brow.

> “Fear means you’re smart,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Stay smart. Don’t trust anyone at that party tonight. Especially me.”

> “Why bring me then?”

> “Because I like having you close.”

---

[Scene 7 – The Party]

It’s a rooftop gala. Champagne. Laughter. Diamond everything.

You feel like a walking fake.

But Adrian?

He owns the room.

Power drips from every glance he gives. Every handshake. And every time someone approaches, he slides an arm around your waist like a silent warning:

> She’s with me.

One woman — tall, stunning, clearly someone from his past — brushes her fingers down his arm.

> “New assistant, Adrian? You’re hiring pretty now.”

Before you can react, he smiles — sharp and cruel.

> “She’s not just pretty. She’s expensive.”

> “How much?”

His eyes flash.

> “More than you can afford.”

He turns to you, smirking, like you’re in on the game.

Like you’re his weapon.

Your heart thunders.

But you don’t look away.

---

[Scene 8 – The Rooftop]

Later, you step away to breathe — champagne untouched, city lights sprawling below.

He finds you.

> “They bore you?”

> “They scare me.”

> “Good. You’re still sane.”

He stands beside you. Close.

Too close.

> “What happens when you’re done helping me?” you ask.

> “I don’t do ‘done.’”

> “So I’m yours forever?”

> “Until I say otherwise.”

You turn. “You’re insane.”

> “Probably.”

He steps closer — a hand brushing your lower back.

> “But you did sign, sweetheart. That makes you mine.”

> “What if I want out?”

He leans in — lips almost brushing your ear.

> “Then you’ll have to run.”

Your breath catches.

But instead of moving away…

You whisper:

> “Then maybe I’ll make you chase me.”

He freezes.

Then laughs — deep and real — before looking down at you with something dark and wild in his eyes.

> “Careful. I always catch what’s mine.”

---

✨ TO BE CONTINUED…

What next?