Page 64 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
The intercom on his desk buzzes, shattering the moment. Eleanor's voice, professionally neutral: "Mr. Ambrose, your three o'clock is here."
He pulls back, and I feel the loss like a physical ache.
"We'll continue this discussion later," he says, standing. "My assistant will see you out."
I gather my things with numb hands and flee.
That night, I dream of him for the first time.
Not a nightmare. Something worse.
In the dream, I'm not running. I'm not fighting. I'm standing in his arms, letting him hold me, letting him whisper things I can't quite hear but understand anyway.
And when I wake, tangled in sheets and gasping for air, the wanting doesn't fade.
It's getting worse.
I'm losing this battle.
And part of me—the dark part, the broken part—doesn't want to win anymore.
Chapter 16 - Gabriel
She's barely been gone an hour when I make the call.
"Eleanor." My voice is steady, betraying nothing of the chaos beneath. "I need you to contact Ms. Rivers. There's an urgent issue with the gala arrangements that requires her presence at the estate tonight."
A pause. Eleanor is too professional to question me, but I can hear the curiosity in her silence.
"What time shall I tell her to arrive, sir?"
"Eight o'clock. And Eleanor—I won't need staff this evening. Send everyone home by seven."
"Understood, sir."
I end the call and stand at my office window, watching the city sprawl below. The sun is beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.
She'll know it's a pretext. The gala is a month away; there's nothing that requires urgent consultation on a Tuesday evening. She'll know exactly why I'm summoning her.
And she'll come anyway.
The certainty of it burns through me like whiskey—warm and intoxicating. She'll come because she can't stay away any more than I can. She'll come because whatever is building between us has become a force neither of us can control.
I leave the office early, canceling my remaining meetings with a brusqueness that makes my assistant's eyes widen. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. I don't care about any of it—not the business, not the Brotherhood, not the carefully constructed empire I've spent my life building.
I only care about her.
The estate is quiet when I arrive. I move through the familiar rooms, seeing them through her eyes—the serpent motifs, the shadowed corridors, the ballroom where I touched her face and felt her tremble. Every space holds a memory of her now, a ghost of her presence that haunts me even when she's not here.
I shower and change, selecting my clothes with more care than usual. Dark trousers, a black shirt left open at the collar. I want to look like what I am—not the polished businessman, not the charming philanthropist, but the predator beneath.
By seven, the staff has gone. The house settles into silence around me, empty and waiting.
By eight, I'm standing in the entrance hall, watching the door.
Headlights sweep across the windows. A car door opens and closes. Footsteps on the gravel drive, hesitant but approaching.
She's here.
