Tycoon's Growing Obsession

3: Seduced

Alexander was stunned into stillness, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. He never expected to be seduced—however innocently—by a drunk young girl.

Two could play this game.

He reached out and gently scratched under Lydia's chin with his long fingers. "Is that so, little kitten?"

"Mm!" Lydia's expression melted into one of pure contentment, exactly like a cat being scratched in just the right spot. She practically purred.

Alexander's heart clenched. Dangerous, he thought. This girl is dangerous.

"I'm a little sleepy," Lydia murmured, her eyes drooping. Without any hesitation or self-consciousness, she leaned against his shoulder, nestling into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Then sleep," Alexander said softly, his arms coming up to hold her carefully, as if she were made of spun glass.

He pulled her closer, adjusting her position so she'd be more comfortable against him. His gaze toward her was deep, intense, and slightly amused.

This bold girl has no idea whose arms she's fallen asleep in, he thought. No idea who I am, what I'm capable of.

He'd thought he was just a little interested when she first stumbled in. Curious about the beautiful intruder. But now, after she'd stirred his heart multiple times throughout the evening, after she'd made him laugh and feel things he'd thought himself incapable of feeling...

Now he wanted to keep her.

This lovely person who'd wandered into his world by accident—he wanted to keep her by his side forever.

When Lydia's breathing had evened out into sleep, Alexander carefully lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her gently on his bed—his bed, where no one else had ever slept—and wrapped her in the blanket that still carried his scent.

As he tucked the blanket around her, Alexander felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle in his chest.

She'll smell like me when she wakes up tomorrow morning, he thought with dark pleasure. She'll be marked as mine, even if she doesn't realize it yet.

He accepted this unexpected surprise of the evening with both hands.

Leaning down, Alexander lifted Lydia's small hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—a gesture that felt like a solemn ceremony, a claiming, a promise.

"Now that you've barged into my world," he whispered against her skin, "you're not allowed to leave. Do you understand, little kitten? You're mine now."

Living Room, Two Hours Later

Alexander sat on the sofa, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand and a thick file folder in the other. Marcus had delivered it personally an hour ago—every detail of Lydia Chen's life, compiled with the ruthless efficiency his organization was known for.

He ran his fingers over her photo clipped to the first page. "Poor little girl," he murmured.

The file painted a picture that made his jaw clench with barely suppressed rage.

Lydia Chen had taken her mother's surname. Her parents—Jiang Hong and Lin Ye—had been college sweethearts who'd built a business empire together from nothing. But success had corrupted Lin Ye. He'd started an affair with his secretary, a woman named Zhou Mei.

He'd thought he'd kept it a complete secret, but Jiang Hong had known. She'd known everything.

But instead of becoming hysterical, instead of exposing him and tearing apart the company they'd built together, Jiang Hong had remained the perfect wife. Gentle. Supportive. Loving.

Behind the scenes, though, she'd been planning. Quietly, methodically, she'd been transferring her shares, her assets, everything she'd built, into accounts and trusts that only her daughter could access. She'd been building a fortress around Lydia, ensuring that when she was gone, her daughter would be protected.

Because Jiang Hong had known her days were numbered. The stress and overwork from the early years of building the company had damaged her heart irreparably. The doctors had given her two years, maybe three.

She'd used every moment to secure Lydia's future.

When Jiang Hong passed away three years ago, Lydia had been only seventeen. Lin Ye had immediately married Zhou Mei, and together they'd tried everything to get their hands on Jiang Hong's fortune. But the legal protections were ironclad.

So they'd made Lydia's life hell instead. Emotional abuse. Isolation. Control.

Until Lydia had finally found a way to escape.

She'd spent months carefully planning, playing the obedient daughter while secretly arranging to transfer the remaining assets abroad. Three days ago, she'd boarded the Santa Fe, telling her father she was competing in a piano competition in another province.

And last night, she'd been hiding from her aunt—Lin Ye's sister, Lin Zhao, who'd always been his spy.

Alexander's eyes darkened as he read. His grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"I don't want to see that woman on the Mariane," he said quietly, his voice like silk over steel.

Marcus, standing at attention nearby, nodded immediately. "Yes, sir. I'll handle it personally."

That woman definitely didn't refer to the lady currently sleeping in the boss's bed. It was Lin Zhao who would be dealt with.

Marcus had worked for Alexander Ashford for eight years. He'd seen his employer destroy companies, end careers, eliminate threats without a flicker of emotion. But he'd never seen this particular look in Alexander's eyes before.

Possessive. Protective. Dangerous.

Someone had hurt the girl sleeping in the next room, and they would pay for it.

After reviewing every page of the file, committing every detail to memory, Alexander returned to the bedroom.

Lydia was curled up in a small ball on his massive bed, her little face flushed from sleep and alcohol. She looked impossibly young, impossibly vulnerable. One small hand was tucked under her cheek, and her lips were slightly parted.

Alexander's chest tightened painfully.

He desperately wanted to climb into bed beside her, to pull her into his arms and hold her through the night, to wake up with her nestled against him.

But for the sake of their long-term future—because there would be a future, he'd already decided that—he had to restrain himself.

She was drunk. She was vulnerable. And despite what the world thought of him, despite the monster he could be, Alexander had lines he wouldn't cross.

Not with her. Never with her.

"It's alright," he whispered, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "We have plenty of time in the future. All the time in the world."

He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, content to watch her sleep.

"Sweet dreams, baby," he murmured.

If anyone from his world could see Alexander Ashford now—the man who controlled global markets with a word, who commanded underground networks across three continents, who'd been called the Devil of Wall Street and the Shadow King—they would have been utterly astonished.

This man, sitting in a chair watching a sleeping girl with an expression of tender devotion, couldn't possibly be the same ruthless tycoon who'd destroyed his enemies without mercy.

But he was.

And that was what made him so dangerous.

Because Alexander Ashford had just found the one thing in the world he wanted more than power, more than wealth, more than his empire.

And heaven help anyone who tried to take her from him.