The Billionaire's Secret Obsession: She Is Mine

Aidan stared through the dark tint of the window, his eyes locked on the man running toward Julianna. A stranger in a cheap grey suit.

He watched as the man reached her. He watched as the man's hand reached out and grabbed Julianna's arm, hauling her up. He watched as the man's thick arm wrapped casually, intimately, around her shoulders.

Something inside Aidan snapped. It wasn't a clean break; it was a violent, jagged tearing of his sanity.

His breathing turned harsh. Thick, red veins spiderwebbed across the whites of his eyes. His chest heaved against the steering wheel.

He slammed the palm of his hand against the high-beam lever.

Twin pillars of blinding white light exploded from the Maybach, striking the two of them like a physical assault.

He saw Julianna flinch and turn her face away. His stomach twisted with guilt, but he refused to turn the lights off. He needed to see the face of the man touching what belonged to him. He needed to burn it into his memory.

The man in the grey suit marched up to the car and slammed his fist against the reinforced glass.

The heavy thuds vibrated through the cabin, but Aidan didn't blink. He stared at the man with the cold, detached calculation of an executioner.

Aidan's finger hit the window switch. The glass lowered exactly two inches.

The freezing air from the AC poured out. Aidan knew his scent—the sharp cedarwood he had worn since he was twenty—would hit her instantly.

He watched Julianna's head snap up. He saw the shock, the wild confusion, the sudden vulnerability pooling in her eyes.

His heart skipped a violent beat. She remembers.

The realization poured gasoline on the fire in his chest. The jealousy and possessiveness raged so hard he felt physically sick. He wanted to roll the window all the way down, grab the man by the throat, and drag Julianna into the passenger seat.

But he saw the way she shrank back. He saw the defensive wall slam down over her eyes.

If he stepped out now, as the billionaire heir to the Caldwell empire, he would terrify her. He would lose her before he even had her back.

He forced his finger to pull the window switch up. The glass sealed shut.

He shoved the gearshift into reverse and slammed his foot on the gas. The Maybach roared, the tires screaming against the concrete as he threw the car backward, intentionally missing the man's body by a millimeter.

He watched her shrink in the rearview mirror until he hit the exit ramp and shot out into the Manhattan traffic.

The air inside the car was suffocating. Aidan hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel.

"Jennings," Aidan barked, his voice laced with pure venom.

"Yes, Mr. Caldwell?"

"The man in the grey suit in the B2 garage. Find out everything. His name, his bank accounts, his blood type. I want to know exactly what his relationship is with Julianna Pitts. If they've so much as shared a cup of coffee, I want to know in thirty minutes."

He killed the call. He ripped the tie off his neck and threw it onto the passenger seat.

He rolled down all four windows. The freezing November wind whipped through the car, but it did nothing to cool the raging fever in his blood. All he could see was the man's hand on her shoulder.

He slammed on the brakes, pulling the car violently to the curb. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned.

He grabbed his phone and typed a rapid, manic text to Jennings.

Buy white Lisianthus. The most expensive you can find. Have them in my apartment before I get there.