The Billionaire's Obsession

Chapter 17 - The Attempted Escape

Aria

I couldn’t breathe in my own apartment anymore.

Every wall whispered his name. Every curtain drawn felt like a flimsy shield. Damon Cross had seeped into every inch of my life—my café, my home, my routines. Even Jenny’s laughter had become a crack he could slip through, poisoning what little normalcy I had left.

I had told myself I could endure. That if I ignored him long enough, if I focused on powdered sugar and milk foam and the rhythm of a cash register, maybe he’d get bored.

But Damon didn’t get bored. He escalated.

When the café’s new lease agreement came in Damon’s company letterhead, I almost threw up in the break room. Jenny laughed it off—“Rich men and their empires, huh?”—but my hands had gone clammy. He owned the building now. He owned the walls around me while I brewed coffee.

The net was closing.

And tonight, I decided: I couldn’t stay.

I sat on my bed, the suitcase open in front of me. My hands shook as I stuffed clothes in without thought for order. Jeans, sweaters, a single dress. Enough to pass as normal, not enough to look like I was running. If anyone asked, I could say I was visiting family.

Family. What a joke.

Cash. That was the key. Damon could trace cards, phones, tickets. But the tip money from the café—the small bills I’d been hoarding under the loose floorboard by the bed—was mine alone. It didn’t look like much, but it would buy me a bus ticket out of the city and food long enough to find somewhere new. Somewhere he hadn’t touched yet.

I glanced at my phone, the glow stabbing through the dim room. Jenny had texted earlier: Movie night this weekend? Bring wine.

I typed a quick lie: Might be visiting my cousin for a bit. Rain check?

My finger hovered over the send button. Damon could read this, couldn’t he? He’d already wormed into every corner of my world. What if my phone was just another wire in his web?

I hit send anyway, then powered it down. If he was watching, I had to move fast.

The city streets after midnight were hollow and strange, the usual buzz gone quiet. I kept my hood up, suitcase rolling behind me, heart hammering at every shadow.

The bus terminal loomed ahead, all harsh fluorescent lights and chipped paint. A handful of travelers slumped in plastic chairs, their belongings clutched like shields. No Damon. No sleek suits or predatory smiles. Just people trying to get somewhere.

For a moment, I almost believed I could be one of them.

“One to Chicago,” I told the bored woman at the counter, sliding wrinkled bills across.

She counted them slowly, gave me a ticket without meeting my eyes.

I clutched it like a lifeline.

Chicago. Six hours on a bus, then I’d disappear into the sprawl. New name, new café, new life. Damon couldn’t own the whole world.

Right?

I sat near the back, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. The station’s grime blurred as the bus rumbled to life, pulling me away, away, away—

And still, my chest wouldn’t loosen.

Because what if he already knew?

What if he’d let me think I had a chance, just to watch me crumble when he took it away?

---

Damon

Marcus’s knock was discreet, respectful. He knew better than to interrupt without cause.

“She’s gone, sir.”

I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled. “Gone?”

“She packed a suitcase. Left her apartment around midnight. Bus terminal.”

I smiled. Predictable little flame.

“Let her run,” I said softly.

Marcus hesitated. “Sir—”

“Let. Her. Run.” My voice left no room for doubt. “Do you think I haven’t prepared for this? Do you think she could slip through my fingers by climbing onto a bus with crumpled dollar bills?”

Marcus inclined his head, retreating.

Alone, I turned to the bank of monitors. Aria’s last movements flickered across one feed—hood pulled low, suitcase in tow, walking with the desperate speed of prey.

She thought escape was possible.

Good.

She needed the illusion of freedom, the taste of hope, before I cut it away. Otherwise she’d never understand the truth: not distance, not disguise, not desperation could sever what bound us.

I wanted her to feel it.

So I let her go. I let her board her shabby bus, let her press her face to the filthy glass, let her heart pound with belief.

And then, when she least expected it, I’d be there.

Because Damon Cross was not a man to outrun.

---

Aria

Two hours into the ride, exhaustion tugged at me. The bus rattled endlessly, every bump jarring my bones, every snore from the man across the aisle grating like sandpaper. But it was movement. It was away.

I let my eyes drift shut.

Dreams clawed at me. Damon’s voice curling against my ear, Damon’s eyes in every shadow, Damon’s hand on the bus driver’s shoulder steering us straight off the road.

I woke with a gasp. My ticket slipped from my lap, crumpled.

The bus slowed, pulling into a rest stop glowing with neon. People shuffled off to stretch or smoke.

I stepped outside too, needing air, needing proof the world was still wide and real and Damon-free.

The night air was sharp with diesel and fried food. I hugged my jacket close, looking up at the endless dark sky. Freedom. I could almost taste it.

Then I felt it.

That weight. That prickle at the back of my neck.

Like eyes.

My head whipped around. Just tired travelers. A woman rocking a crying baby. A man lighting a cigarette.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

I hurried back to the bus, pulse a frantic drumbeat.

When the doors hissed shut and we pulled away again, I told myself it was in my head. Just nerves. Just paranoia.

But deep down, I knew.

He was here.

---

Damon

I watched her from the tinted window of a black car parked just beyond the rest stop lights.

She stood stiff, arms wrapped around herself, gaze flicking everywhere but nowhere. The way prey does when it knows the predator is close but can’t see the teeth.

I didn’t move. Didn’t reveal myself.

Not yet.

I wanted her to get back on that bus, clutch her seat, tell herself she’d imagined me. I wanted her to believe she was safe until the last possible second.

Because when the illusion shattered, it would break her more completely than fear alone.

I leaned back in the seat, amused. She had fire—I’d give her that. But fire without fuel burns out quickly.

And I was already stripping her world of oxygen.

---

Aria

The bus rolled into Chicago at dawn, sunlight slicing through the dirty windows. My body ached from the cramped seat, but my heart leapt.

I made it.

The station was bustling, loud, alive. People shouted greetings, taxis honked, the air was thick with city grime and promise.

I wheeled my suitcase into the chaos, breathing it in like salvation.

Step one: find a cheap motel. Step two: get a burner phone. Step three: vanish.

My boots echoed against the tile as I moved toward the exit.

Then I froze.

Because there he was.

Leaning casually against a pillar, suit immaculate despite the hour, eyes locked on me like he’d been waiting all night.

Damon Cross.

My suitcase slipped from my hand, thudding against the floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t chase. Just smiled.

“Morning, little flame.” His voice slid across the crowd, straight into my bones.

The noise of the station roared around us, but I couldn’t hear any of it. Just him. Always him.

“No,” I whispered. My throat was sandpaper. “No, you can’t—”

“I told you.” He pushed off the pillar, slow, deliberate. The crowd seemed to part for him. “You can run. You can even believe you’ve escaped. But I’ll always be one step ahead.”

I stumbled back, bumping into strangers, panic clawing at my chest. “Stay away from me!”

But his smile only widened.

“Stay away?” He tilted his head, eyes burning with cruel amusement. “Aria, I own the building you work in. The apartment you sleep in. Do you really think geography changes a damn thing?”

Tears stung hot. My legs refused to move, rooted by fear and something darker—something traitorous that sparked every time his gaze seared into me.

“Go home,” he said softly, command threading every syllable. “Pack away your little fantasies. Because there is no leaving me.”

And just like that, the station’s noise came crashing back. Announcements blared, luggage wheels scraped, a baby wailed. The world moved on, oblivious to the trap snapping shut around me.

I bent to grab my suitcase, hands trembling, because what else could I do?

I couldn’t fight him.

I couldn’t outrun him.

All I could do was survive.

For now.

---

Damon

Her tears. Her shaking hands. Her collapse into resignation.

It was delicious.

She’d tasted freedom for a handful of hours, and I’d snatched it back. Now she knew how futile it was. Now she understood that I wasn’t a man who could be escaped.

And the beauty of it was—I didn’t have to drag her back kicking and screaming. She would walk, suitcase in hand, because where else could she go?

The leash was invisible, but it was there all the same.

I fell into step behind her, close enough for her to feel me, far enough to let her pretend she still had choices.

I would give her that illusion. For now.

But soon enough, she would see the truth:

Aria Morgan was mine.

And she always would be.