Billionaire's Addiction

Kathleen Garrido.

“The cab just dropped me off. I am heading up now,” I said, clutching my phone close to my ear.

“I am glad you made it safely.” Noelle’s voice was soft but firm. “Listen, please make sure you eat and take your pills. I put some extras in your handbag, all right?”

I sighed, a small and weary smile touching my lips. “You are a lifesaver, Noelle.” My fingers hovered over the door handle. “All right, I am here. We will talk soon, yes?”

“Take good care of yourself,” she murmured before the call ended.

I knocked lightly, but the door creaked open under the pressure.

My brows knit together in confusion. Noah never forgot to lock his door. He was, in fact, annoyingly meticulous about it. I hesitated for a long moment, then nudged the door wider and stepped inside.

The air in the apartment was warm, almost suffocating. Something felt profoundly wrong.

A lacy bra was dangling from the arm of the couch. A woman’s purse perched on the opposite armrest. A man’s tie lay in a careless coil on the stairs.

My pulse spiked with a sudden, cold dread.

Noah had not mentioned having company. If his sister were visiting, she certainly would have called me first. Just yesterday, everything had seemed perfectly normal. He had been fine, his voice steady and familiar.

I followed the scattered trail of clothing, each item winding my stomach into a tighter, more painful knot. A blouse. A pair of heels. Trousers.

Then, from the top floor, came the unmistakable sounds that turned my blood to ice.

Moans.

My breath hitched in my throat. No. This could not be happening. This was not real.

My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs as I crept up the stairs and pushed the bedroom door open.

The sight before me froze me in place.

Noah. Naked. And the woman beneath him was his own sister.

He jerked upright, scrambling for a pillow. His face drained of all color. “Jesus, Kat!”

I could only stare, the world tilting and spinning around me. I could barely draw a breath.

“I… I do not want to hear it,” I choked out. My voice wavered terribly, but I held his gaze, a scalding rage simmering just beneath my shock. “You two… you are sick.”

His sister snatched at the bedsheet, her face a mask of shock and shame.

“Kat, please wait! Just listen to me!” Noah stumbled out of the bed, one hand clutching the pillow against himself as if it could shield him from the monstrous reality he had created.

I turned and bolted down the stairs, snatching my bag on the way out. His frantic footsteps thundered behind me.

“KAT! PLEASE!”

I reached the curb just as a cab appeared, as if a pitiless fate had decided to throw me a single lifeline.

“The airport,” I rasped as I climbed in, barely holding back the wrenching sobs. The door slammed shut, cutting off Noah’s desperate shouts.

In the rearview mirror, I glimpsed him standing outside in nothing but his boxers, his hands tangled in his hair as if he were the victim.

The cab blurred into streaks of city lights and muffled sound. My chest ached with a hollow, relentless pain, and my thoughts spiraled into a dark, dizzying vortex.

How could I have been so blind? The man I had trusted completely, the man I had loved, had been lying to me all along.

“Ma’am?” The driver’s voice snapped me back to the present.

I wiped my face roughly with the back of my hand. “What?”

“You did not say which terminal at the airport.”

“Just Bengaluru Airport,” I muttered. My own voice sounded hollow and foreign to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his kind gaze flickering to the mirror.

I was not. My fingers trembled violently in my lap, and my mind was a broken record, relentlessly replaying the scene of Noah’s ultimate betrayal.

“I am fine,” I lied.

The driver did not push further, but I caught his concerned glance once more before he turned his attention back to the rain-slicked road.

.

.

.

The sixteen-hour flight loomed ahead, yet my mind remained stuck in that bedroom, replaying the image of Noah and his twisted betrayal.

I barely noticed the man taking the seat beside me until he spoke.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind switching seats? I would prefer the window.”

I turned and blinked up at him. He was tall, with sharp features and eyes as cool as ice. His jet-black hair fell just enough to soften his otherwise intimidating presence.

“No,” I said flatly, turning back to stare at the window.

“Please?” His voice was smooth but insistent, and it was laced with something that hinted at practiced charm.

“I said no,” I repeated. My voice hardened. The very last thing I needed was a pushy stranger.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I did not mean to bother you.”

I expected him to sulk or mutter something under his breath. Instead, he chuckled, a deep, rich sound that caught me off guard.

“What is so funny?” I muttered.

“You,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I suppose I figured you would be the polite type.”

“I guess I fooled you,” I shot back without looking at him.

“You definitely did,” he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice. He held out his hand. "I am—"

He paused when he saw I made no move to take it.

“Okay, rude type,” he teased, dropping his hand back to his lap.

Despite the heavy weight in my chest, I felt my lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.

I glanced at him again. His expression had softened into something more apologetic. With a frustrated sigh, I grabbed my handbag and shifted to the aisle seat.

“Thank you,” he said, sliding gratefully into the window seat.

Hours Later

Sleep would not come. My mind simply refused to quiet, replaying the betrayal in an endless, torturous loop.

Beside me, the man shifted restlessly in his sleep. His breathing quickened, and soft, distressed murmurs escaped his lips. His face twisted with discomfort, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his brow.

I tried to ignore him at first, but his pained moans grew louder, more urgent.

“No…” he muttered, his fingers twitching against the armrest. His entire face contorted as if he were trapped in something dark and inescapable.

I hesitated. Should I wake him? Was it my place?

Another ragged, pained breath slipped out, and his hand brushed against mine on the armrest. His skin was clammy and cold.

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached out and gently laced my fingers with his.

The change was instant. His trembling eased, and his ragged breathing slowed into something deeper and more even. The deep tension in his face faded, and his hand relaxed completely in mine.

He shifted closer in his sleep, his head coming to rest lightly against my shoulder.

I froze. But instead of feeling discomfort or intrusion, I felt a strange and sudden calm. His presence, his steady warmth, somehow settled the frantic chaos churning inside me.

Later That Night

A sharp, physical need to use the restroom jolted me awake. Carefully, I eased his head back onto his own seat and slipped past him into the dimly lit aisle.

A flight attendant guided me to the vacant restroom. The tiny, sterile space felt suffocating as I leaned against the sink, letting the cold water run over my fingers and cool my face.

Get it together, Kat, I told my reflection.

As I finished and zipped my jeans, the faintest whisper of movement sounded behind me. Before I could even turn, a hand slid around my waist.

My entire body went rigid.

“I woke up the moment you left,” a deep voice murmured against my ear. I recognized it immediately.

I twisted sharply in his hold only to find the man from my seat standing there, his icy blue eyes locked intently on mine.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, my hands coming up to push against the solid wa