The Diary of a Billionaire's Obsession

I only discovered Ian Chase's sick obsession with me from his diary.

Too bad he'd been dead for three years.

So jealous of Miss Vivian's dog. Wish she'd put a collar on me too.'

Dreamt of Miss Vivian woke up wet sheets again. I'm disgusting.'

Armed with the diary, I woke up ten years in the past.

Back to when Ian was at his lowest.

His eyes were icy when they met mine, like a stray dog refusing to be tamed.

I crooked a finger, smiling sweetly. "Smile for me, or I'll kiss that scowl right off your face."

The carefully constructed ice in his expression shattered instantly.

My Rolls-Royce pulled up to Stanford just as Ian was setting up his hot dog cart by the gates.

Six-foot-two, lean and lanky, a cheap apron tied tight around his narrow waist.

He must have sensed me, his head snapped up.

Those indifferent, world-weary eyes locked onto mine.

"Extra sausage? Five bucks." His voice was flat, emotionless.

I flashed my phone with a grin.

"Add me. How much?"

His grip tightened on the spatula, face stern. "Vivian, this isn't your playground!"

His voice was cold, putting miles between us.

I felt dizzy.

This wasn't the Ian Chase I remembered.

In my past life, Dad went bankrupt and died when I was twenty-five. My fianc got sent to prison.

I went from heiress to hitting rock bottom.

To pay off debts, I signed with a talent agency.

They had me live-streaming twelve hours a day.

Quit? The penalty was astronomical.

I thought my life was over.

Then some big shot bought the company. All the predatory contracts got torn up.

While signing the new deal, I learned the boss was Ian Chase.

My high school and college classmate.

Gone was the broke, sullen kid.

He radiated a quiet confidence, dressed in a bespoke suit that screamed old money.

He was completely out of my league now.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down.

He took the pen from my hand, his gaze lingering on my face.

Warm. Intense.

Ian asked if I'd marry him. He'd clear all my debts.

Seeing my shock, he explained calmly, I'd helped him in high school, Dad funded him in college.

I was his benefactor.

I racked my brain.

His help'? He'd done some part-time work for our family back then.

"If you don't want to, that's fine. Don't worry about the money."

I thought for exactly one second before saying yes.

Ian was silent for a moment, his dark lashes lowering.

"I'm not a good man. This is calling in a favor.

"I can give you time to think. Don't force yourself."

I shook my head.

"Mr. Chase, I want to."

To show I wasn't being forced, I carefully hooked my pinky with his.

Ian flinched. His whole body went stiff.

Like a caged beast breaking free, raw emotion swirling in his eyes.

His gaze was scorching, like he wanted to consume me whole.

It was a little frightening.

But seeing the tips of his ears turn bright red, I wasn't scared anymore.

I boldly threw myself nto his arms.

Ian treated me with respect after we married.

As the housekeeper said, he practically put me on a pedestal.

But Ian wouldn't touch me.

I'd shyly try to initiate something.

His eyes would darken, breath turning ragged, yet he'd gently tuck me into bed.

"Sorry down there it doesn't work." His voice was rough.

I'd glance down.

Liar.

You could practically see the outline straining against his suit pants.

I thought Ian didn't find me attractive. That he married me out of duty.

Until after he died, and I stumbled upon his diary.

Opening it made my heart pound.

Miss Vivian smells incredible. Can't get enough.'

So jealous of that ugly mutt, getting held by her. Why can't I be the dog? Not ugly enough?'

Dreamt of Miss Vivian woke up wet sheets again. I'm disgusting.'

If I die, will Miss Vivian cry? Better to just disappear quietly. Miss Vivian is prettiest when she smiles.'

I never imagined the cool, gentle Ian Chase harbored such a raw, insane desire for me.

That son of a gun left me hanging for three whole years!

This time around, I'm gonna break through that stubborn shell!

No joke, Ian was busier than the President.

Before dawn, he was slinging hot dogs.

By afternoon, he was bouncing between any part-time gig that paid cash.

And his nights? Dedicated to coding the startup he believed would be his ticket out.

The campus had unofficially crowned him the "Hottest Broke Boy."

Rumor was, when told he was campus king, Ian didn't even blink.

Just looked them dead in the eye and asked, "Can it be cashed out?"

Everyone said he was ruthlessly, relentlessly obsessed with money.

Which was exactly why I hired Ian as my art model for a measly two hundred bucks.

He stopped dead in his tracks the second when he saw me in the studio.

I slammed the door shut before he could bolt.

"Mr. Chase, took my money. Thinking of running out on our deal?"

He seemed to snap out of it, dragging his gaze from my face.

Sat stiffly on the chair, knees locked together, hands pressed flat on his thighs.

Lips tight. "Let's just get this over with."

I gave him my sweetest smile.

"Take off your clothes."

"What?"

He looked up, startled.

Like a stray dogthat had just been kicked.

"Life drawing models pose nude," I stated, all business. "Basic professionalism!"

A silent war waged between our locked gazes.

Finally, Ian closed his eyes. Surrendered.

His fingers went to the first button of his flannel shirt. It came undone, revealing the sharp line of his Adam's apple.

Then, the next, exposing pale skin and the stark architecture of his collarbones.

His hands moved lower

"Mmm," I offered sincerely. "Very nice!"

"You're blushing, Mr. Chase."

The nineteen-year-old version of Ian had none of the unshakeable composure of the man he would become.

A little teasing words, and a blush crept over his pale skin.

His knuckles were white where he gripped his belt buckle, a clear effort at self-control.

"Shut up," he muttered, flustered.

The studio AC was on full blast. Sweat snaked down his abs, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

I picked up a tissue and reached out, dabbing at the moisture.

Ian and his buddy both snapped to attention.

"Well, someone's eager!" I commented, my voice light.

His eyes following my gaze, Ian went completely rigid, his expression turning thunderous.

He snatched his worn backpack reflexively to cover up.

The tendons in his hand stood out, pure tension radiating from his entire body.

That same hand, in another life, had gently stroked my hair through countless nightmares.

He always insisted he was cashing in a debts, that he wasn't a good man.

But I knew better.

A man who loved money so much as he did, yet gave me his entire fortune without hesitation.

Such an idiot.

This younger Ian wasn't gentle.

"Done? I'm leaving." He bit out, his voice rough.

I knew it was just an act.

I stepped onto the base of the stool, rising to his level, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Good boy. That's all for today."

The tough-guy act crumbled. He stumbled back a step, his hand flying up to cover the kissed spot.

"What are you doing!" His dark eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated shock.

Like a maiden accosted by a villain.

I blinked innocently. "Your reward! Don't like it?"

"What do you take me for?" Ian gripped his backpack strap, his dark hair falling over his furious eyes.

"Vivian." His voice was rough, deliberate. "I'm not that kind of guy."

Angry color high on his cheeks, he turned and all but fled from the studio.

Soon, my phone chimed. A notification, Ian had refunded the two hundred bucks.

Dead set on drawing a line.

Fine. I could play that game too.

[Ian, that was my first kiss. You can't just pay it off with two hundred dollar.]

The reply came instantly, [It was my first kiss too.]

The message popped up. Then vanished. Message Withdrawn.

The typing indicator blinked forever.

I took a shower.

Twenty minutes later, my phone was blowing up. Ian must have calmed down, back to his studio stiffness,

[What do you want then?]

Five minutes later.

[Notification, $3527.24 received from Ian Chase.]

Then, his messages,

[That's everything in my checking account.]

[The rest is in savings. I can't touch it until tomorrow.]

A pause.

[Vivian, I'm not mad at you.]

[That stuff it's for people in a relationship. You're engaged.]

I accepted the transfer, then held down the microphone button and sent a voice note, my tone breezy and dismissive.

[Mr. Chase, I'll pretend it never happened. Won't tarnish your virtue.]

That shut him down.

Anotheranother long pause. Two dry words from Ian,

[Okay.]

I flopped back onto my duvet, a grin spreading across my face as I pictured his conflicted, stormy expression.

Then, my screen lit up again. A new message, this time from Serena.

Serena Taylor was my cousin. After her parents passed, mine took her in and raised us like sisters.

I never saw her as anything less.

Until the Vivian empire crumbled. Then I saw the resentment she'd been nursing for years.

Jealous of our money, jealous of the love my parents gave me, and she despised me for marrying the man she'd secretly loved.

She was the one who leaked company secrets. She flirted with my fianc at my father's bedside, a confrontation that triggering his fatal heart attack.

Serena's voice was honey-sweet on the phone,

"Fighting with Zachary again? I booked us a table at The Velvet Rope tonight. I'll drag Zach along and make him apologize!"

It was always the same script.

Whenever Zach and I had a disagreement, Serena would insert herself as the peacemaker.

But her help' only ever drove a deeper wedge between us.

Hearing her saccharine tone, I let out a short laugh.

"Cousin Serena, overestimating yourself much? 'Dragging Zach'? What are you, his mother?"

Save the fake concern. I see you now!

Serena went silent for a beat. "Vivian! How could you say something so horrible to me!"

I shrugged though she couldn't see it. "I don't know. Must be how I was raised."

I hung up, booked a makeup artist for a killer smoky, dramatic look, and headed out, feeling fabulous.

Because I knew Ian worked the night shift at that exact bar.

It couldn't hurt to go check in on my future husband.

Ian was clearing glasses and wiping down tables.

Under the dim, moody lights, he worked with a quiet, intense focus.

He wasn't there to sell charm or flirt for tips. Just his labor.

That tall, broad-shouldered frame of his drew plenty of lingering looks.

He spotted me. His brow furrowed deeply.

Before he could speak, Serena glided out of a velvet booth.

She eyed Ian up and down. "Not bad. Is he your type?"

"I'm not," Ian stated, his voice cold and flat.

Serena waved a dismissive hand. "Then go get the manager. Send over your best male models."

She pulled me into the plush booth where her friends were already seated.

"Vivian, Zachary is being so stubborn. He refuses to apologizing." Serena beamed. "But there are plenty of fish in the sea! Ditch him, try something new! Make him jealous. He'll come crawling back."

Her friends chimed in. "Plenty of fish! Zach's a jerk!"

Serena clapped her hands. The private room's door opened, and a line of male models filed in, trailing a cloud of cheap cologne.

Ian brought up the rear, his expression unreadable, setting downa platter of fruit and drinks.

"Pick whichever one you like. My treat. Have some fun." Serena oozed fake sympathy.

I noticed her friends subtly raising their phones.

They were planning to film me, send it to Zach, and blow up my relationship. A cheap tricks I'd become all too familiar with after my fall from grace.

"Him, him, and him." I pointed at the three most expensive models.

Turned to Serena with a sweet, sharp smile. "Big appetite tonight, cousin. I hope your credit card's ready."

Our monthly allowances were the same, but Serena always burned through hers, desperate to keep up appearances. I'd always covered her mess before.

Tonight would max her out.

Serena smiled tightly. "Of course! Anything for my favorite cousin."

Looping arms with my pricey escorts, I glanced back and saw Ian, still silently arranging fruit on the bar.

So dedicated.

He was squeezing a watermelon wedge so hard it was turning to pulp in his hand.

Serena had booked me the penthouse suite upstairs.

Just as I reached for the keycard, it was plucked from my fingers.

Ian stood before me, breathing heavily as if he'd run. "Vivian, this isn't a game."

"I know. I was planning to go play somewhere else."

Ian paled.

The models around me snickered.

"What, the busboy wants a turn?"

"Looks too tense. Could he handle Miss Vivian?"

"Kid, stick to mopping floors."

Ian's lips pressed into a thin, white line. He remained silent.

I reached for the keycard again. He caught my wrist and yanked me hard against his chest.

A solid arm locked like a steel band around my waist.

I struggled. He only held me tighter.

I looked up. His eyes were damp, his dark lashes trembling.

His hot breath hit my ear, his voice strained, almost broken. "Don't pick them. Pick me."

His voice was strained, almost broken. "Miss Vivian, pick me."

"I'm cleaner than them."

Finally understood why CEOs in romance novels fall for the spitfire heroine.

Maybe I'm not a good person.

Seeing Ian look so utterly wrecked just made me want to ruin him completely.

He half-dragged, half-carried me to the suite, his arm still a steel band around my waist.

He looking completely dazed.

Like he couldn't process his own actions.

"Vivian"

"Call me Miss Vivian." My finger traced the line of his lips, then pressed down hard.

"What's with the long face, Mr. Chase?

"Weren't you brave kicking those guys out?

"Claimed you were better. Was it here? Or" my touch drifted lower, "here?"

The muscle under my palm jumped as if electrocuted.

Before I could savor his flustered reaction, his hand shot up and caught my wrist.

"Vivian, is this really necessary?"

His eyes were dark, swirling with raw, untamed hunger that was deeper than the night outside.

Intense.

I tilted my head up and pressed a soft kiss to his Adam's apple.

Ian's controlled composure shattered.

His breath hitched, and he was suddenly chasing my lips.

Twenty-nine-year-old Ian was all calm power and gentle control.

The nineteen-year-old Ian? His complete opposite.

Like a wild animal, all raw, untamed force.

A little teasing made him lose it.

There was no finesse. Just clumsy, demanding kisses.

So painfully awkward.

I kissed his tense jawline. "Mr. Chase, who's the 'that kind of guy' now?"

He just glanced down, silent,his focus entirely focused on the task at hand.

"Mr. Chase is so hard-headed! And so hard... everywhere else."

"Stop talking." Ian covered my eyes, his voice thick with frustration.

The kiss he planted felt desperate. Almost worshipful.

Blindfolded, my other senses sharpened.

I dared to whisper. "Mr. Chase, you sound so good."

Okay!

His hand clamped over my mouth.

I felt twisted up like a human pretzel. Ian handled me like something precious, turning me over and over until the first light of dawn.

A frantic knocking started at the door. Ian instinctively pulled the duvet tight, wrapping me securely inside.

"Vivian! Open up! I know you're in there!

"You have the guts to cheat, but not to face me?" Zachary's furious voice boomed through the room.

Ian seemed to jolt awake. His eyes were bloodshot, darting away from mine.

His fingers clenched in the sheet.

"Should I hide?"

The air in the room was thick and intimate.

Ian's chest and back were a map of scratches. Not to mention his swollen lip.

He looked like a thoroughly used, submissive puppy.

Strangely, I didn't want anyone else seeing him like this.

Zach kept shouting outside.

I could hear Chloe's fake, placating voice mixing in.

So annoying.

I picked up my phone and dialed, immediately breaking into a dramatic wail. "Mom! Dad! Serena's pregnant with Zachary's baby!

"Yeah! He cheated on me! Waaaaah!"

I hung up. Within seconds, phones started ringing outside the door.

Zach and Serena's voices rose in a panicked scrambled to explain.

Slowly, the noise faded down the hallway.

Ian gently reached out and wiped away my completely fake tears.

His brow was furrowed in concern. "They betrayed you?"

"Huh? Yeah!"

"Don't cry. They're not worth it."

Romance heroes whisper sweet nothings.

Ian didn't. He just repeated the same line, his voice rough.

I looked up at him, making my eyes shimmer with unshed tears, hoping for more.

Ian was silent for a long moment. Then, his expression turned resolute.

"Vivian, I'll pretend this never happened."

"Won't want to tarnish your virtue."

For heaven's sake.

All that acting, wasted.

I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Ian, anything you want to confess to me?

"Who really saved me when I fell in the lake sophomore year?"