All Chapters of PROPERTY OF THE BILLIONAIRE: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

He noticed my silence and smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, it’s just work, babe. You know how it is." I wasn’t sure how to respond. My stomach churned as I forced myself to stay calm. The fact that Cassidy was staying the night, and he’d failed to mention it until now, stung. It’s just work, he said. But it didn’t feel like just work. Cassidy, oblivious to the growing tension, smiled brightly at me. "Don’t worry, Janice. It’ll be fun. We’ll keep it quiet, won’t we, Layden?" I clenched my fists at my sides, struggling to keep my composure. I didn’t want to make a scene—didn’t want to show just how hurt and betrayed I felt. But the thought of her here all night, so close to Layden, made my skin crawl. Layden caught my eye again, but this time his expression softened. "Jan, it’s really nothing to worry about," he said, his voice almost coaxing. Nothing to worry about? I could feel my frustration bubbling up, but I pushed it down, swallowing the bitte

The afternoon melted away in a haze of snacks, laughter, and the soft glow of the TV. The heaviness in my chest, which had been my constant companion for weeks, began to loosen its grip, thread by thread. I lay sprawled across Andra’s lap, my head resting on her thighs as her fingers idly twisted through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp in a rhythm that felt like a lullaby.She took a sip of her wine, her lips curling into a smile as she hummed along with the movie’s soundtrack. “You know,” she said, her voice light but deliberate, “I think you should let me style your hair tonight. Something bold. Something that says, ‘I’m not just Jan anymore. I’m Jan, the goddess of bad decisions and good wine.’”I snorted, tilting my head to look up at her. “As long as ‘bad decisions’ don’t involve scissors, I’m in.”Andra gasped, clutching her wine glass like a scandalized Victorian lady. “Scissors? Darling, I would never. But a little volume, a little drama—oh, Jan, you’re going to make Lay r

The bell rang loudly, a sharp chime cutting through the thumping bass—a signal that our time was up. I sighed, disappointed, my fingers reluctantly slipping from the pole as reality crashed back in. He didn't come out. I had felt his eyes on me, scorching, unrelenting. I had danced for him, dared him to reveal himself. But now, as I scanned the club one last time, all I saw were faceless men, eyes filled with lust but none carrying that dark, possessive intensity. Had I imagined it? Before I could dwell on it, Andra came barreling toward me, her heels clicking against the floor. "Girl!" she squealed, throwing her arms around me. "You were on fire! And guess what?" She pulled back, her grin wide with excitement. "You've been booked for a private show." My stomach flipped. A private show. "Oh," I muttered, realization hitting me like a slap. I had completely forgotten that Andra had signed us up for private shows. A sharp pang of guilt twisted in my chest. My eyes drifted to th

I wiped my tears roughly with the back of my hand, the saltiness lingering on my skin. I shouldn’t give Layden the satisfaction he wanted. I wouldn’t let him see me break. Not again. I tossed my robe to the floor, the fabric pooling at my feet as the cool breeze from the open window caressed my bare skin. I padded toward the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath my feet, the dim glow of the vanity lights flickering on as I stepped inside. Soft shadows danced along the tiled walls, the room bathed in a muted, golden hue. I paused, my gaze catching my reflection in the mirror. Dark bruises—hickeys—scattered across my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. Evidence of his touch. Of the way his mouth had worshipped me, claiming me in a way that was both possessive and reverent. The marks stood out starkly against my pale skin, a map of desire I couldn’t ignore. I should feel ashamed, disgusted. But as my fingers traced over the marks, a deep heat curled in my stomach. My pulse quic

I busied myself preparing Eleanor’s green tea first, steeping the bag with measured patience, as if the ritual could center me. The rhythmic chop of vegetables followed, the scent of garlic and onions filling the air as I focused on dinner.I didn’t hear Layden come down, but I felt him before I saw him. The air shifted—the quiet weight of his presence settling over me like an old habit.“Smells good,” he murmured. turned my head slightly and found him standing at the threshold of the kitchen, dressed in loose sweatpants and a white shirt that clung just enough to his still-damp skin. His hair was tousled from the shower, beads of water clinging stubbornly to the ends before trailing down the curve of his neck.He smirked, stepping forward with that lazy confidence, hands sliding into his pockets.I turned back to the stove. “Excuse me,” I said, shifting to the side, expecting him to move.He didn’t. Instead, he pressed in behind me, his voice low. “Relax, Jan. Just wanted to help.”