The Billionaire's Obsession: He Won't Let Her Marry His Uncle

"Charisse, think it over again. We're talking five million just for one night with Mr. Grant."

Charisse Walton stayed silent. After a long pause, she finally reached for the sheer black dress-the one with barely-there straps, a neckline that plunged like a dare, and a hem that flirted with scandal.

Every inch of fabric a reminder of how much she needed to be noticed. It wasn't her style.

But tonight, she had no choice but to wear it.

It wasn't about pride or shame-her dad's medical bills couldn't wait.

The hotel manager saw her reaction and immediately smiled, whispering, "Don't worry, I'll keep everything under wraps. Owen won't find out."

Charisse let out a hollow laugh and shook her head. "We're done.I'll break up with him."

Selling her body for money-it tore through every boundary of right and wrong she'd ever known.

And yet, the worst part wasn't what she had to do-it was knowing she'd never look Owen Carter in the eye the same way again.

She changed into the dress, sent Owen a breakup message, and stepped into the private elevator.

The penthouse was cold, sleek, and unapologetically extravagant-glass, marble, chrome. But she didn't spare it a glance.

Not even at the man seated with his back to her, staring out the towering floor-to-ceiling windows.

He said nothing.

Eyes lowered, voice flat, Charisse asked,

"So... are we getting straight to it, or do we shower first?"

A long pause.

Then the faint rustle of movement.

He stood.

Calm, unhurried footsteps echoed across the marble floor. As he neared, a subtle scent of cedar reached her-clean, sharp, cold.

Suddenly, his hand caught her chin, tilting it up with rough precision.

Her breath caught.

Their eyes met.

And everything stopped.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"Why is it you?!" she gasped, the words barely more than a whisper-but heavy like a scream.

-------

A rush of memories flashed through her mind, racing back nineteen years, when she was six.

The nanny returning from her hometown had brought along an eight-year-old boy, saying with gratitude, "Thank you, sir and ma'am, for giving Elliot the chance to study in the city. I truly don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you.."

Then she brought the boy to stand in front of her, saying, "Elliot, this is Miss Charisse I told you about. Be respectful, and help her when she needs it."

The two kids looked at each other-Charisse with entitled pride, Elliot with a hint of nervous curiosity.

Now, the tables had turned. The power she once held was gone. He stood above her now-calm, controlled, and in complete command.

Hold on-wasn't he Elliot Davis? What the hell is this Mr. Grant thing?

Compared to her shock, Elliot Grant looked coldly composed.

He stared down at her with no expression, voice dripping with mockery. "Wow, Miss Walton, I almost didn't recognize you. So this is what falling from grace looks like?"

She fired back without missing a beat. "And