As I study the crowd, my gaze lands on the woman I’ve been obsessed with since last semester.
Lilac Lauren.
My heart stops, and I bite my lip.
She’s breathtaking—more beautiful than anything I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her lavender, wavy hair sticks to her temples, and her gray eyes are focused and intense as she dashes past me in a hurry, determination written all over her face. Her coat and denim jeans cling to her petite body, and her dark ankle boots click against the cobblestone ground.
I tuck the vape away and slip into her shadow, each step silent enough to keep me unseen.
Last year, she approached me with an idea—she wanted to live out her sex fantasies where I chase her and fuck her against her will. We were a fling before she found out I was engaged to someone else, which didn’t matter, because I’ve met the girl I was supposed to marry only once.
My eyes narrow and my jaw tightens.
In the American Billionaire Club, we have arranged marriages to create more power and money, which in turn will be passed down. It only works as long as the woman’s father is part of the club—otherwise, it’s against our law to marry the woman.
My father’s been on my back about finding another wife, and if I don’t, I’ll have to give up my position.
Lilac marches up to her friends, Winter and Lyrical, and they sit at their usual spot, the gazebo near the library.
Her smile flashes, but her metallic eyes stay flat—like an empty shell.
Her smile brings me to my knees. I’m a grown man who gets butterflies from a woman who’s completely closed off. My Lilac—aka my obsession.
She’s kept me at a distance for far too long, not returning any of my messages over winter break.
Lilac digs into her polka-dot bag, retrieves a piece of paper, and hands it to Winter.
The harsh weather numbs my fingers, so I blow air into them, and the icy wind bites at my cheeks.
I’m going to be late for class, but I don’t care. Stalking my princess is more important than fucking writing a paper.
Before she came along, I was lonely. I don’t have any real friends. I only speak to Jameson and Keanu because we’re going to run the American Billionaire Club together.
I’m in love with her, and even though she doesn’t understand it yet, she belongs to me.
My dick hardens against the zipper of my pants, so I adjust myself and continue to study her like a hawk. I remember what her pussy tastes like—and what she smelled like. She smelled like fresh lilac, clean and innocent.
She eases up from her seat at the gazebo, and I trail behind her at the right distance, close enough to track her, far enough that she’d never notice me unless she turns and searches the crowd.
She strides to Freud Hall, built with cobblestone and glass.
Warm air greets my face once I’m inside, and I track her into a classroom with rows upon rows of desks. A few students sit in their seats, and Lilac settles in the front. Once she sets her bag onto the floor, she shrugs off her coat and rests it on the back of the chair, exposing her walnut sweater.
I need to see her tonight, and I need to fuck her. I haven’t felt the warmth of her in sixty-eight days—and that’s too long for me. I haven’t fucked anyone else either because I’m a monogamousman. She’s the only person I’ve been with since the start of the school year.
I snatch my phone from my pocket and send her a text message.
Me:Come over to the mansion at 9.
I study her as she fishes her phone out and examines my message. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head, and sets the phone down on the desk. Once she digs into her bag, she slides her MacBook out with careful hands, setting it onto the desk.
I shoot her another message.
Me:Princess, you know better than to ignore me.
She picks up her phone, reads my message, scans warily around the classroom, then at the door. With my pulse pounding, I stand out of eyesight so she won’t see me. Sighing, I take another look at her.
She types on the phone.
