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 what about the guy hiring prostitutes? Real role model material, huh?"

Elliot's hand slid from her chin to the back of her neck. With one swift push, he pulled them closer, so close their noses nearly brushed.

His eyes were icy, and his presence felt suffocating. "Miss Walton, when you dumped me like I was disposable, did it ever cross your mind we'd be standing here like this?"

Charisse's lips pressed into a tight line. "That was years ago. I barely remember anymore."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I had an accident at seventeen. Lost almost a year's worth of memories. Still haven't gotten them back."

Elliot let out a laugh, sharp and humorless. "And that's the best excuse you've come up with after all this time?"

He leaned in, laughter vanishing, his tone suddenly freezing. "Or did you just think I'd still be dumb enough to believe you, like before?"

"I never lied to you."

"You think just 'cause you don't remember it, that means it didn't happen?"

Elliot would never forget the icy words Charisse had thrown at him when they broke up. Not in this life.

Even when he was hanging by a thread after the accident-unconscious, hooked up to machines, fighting for his life-she didn't show. Not once.

He was barely breathing, still calling her name in his sleep.

And her?

She didn't even pick up the phone.

She sent a bank card through someone else with a one-line message: "Cover the bills."

Then she vanished-off to some island with her friends, drinking champagne by the ocean while he lay half-dead under hospital lights.

She never asked if he made it out alive.

To her, he was just another problem that could be solved with money-and forgotten before the next cocktail arrived.

So now she acts like none of it matters? Like her coldness back then didn't leave a mark?

He suddenly let go of her wrist, walked over and slumped onto the sofa. His eyes had gone stone-cold. "Since you don't remember, let's just pretend this is our first time meeting."

Charisse lifted her chin, calm and composed. "That's fair."

He was riding high; she'd hit rock bottom. If they were talking history, she'd be the one reaching up.

"Alright then, let's start. I hope Miss Walton lives up to the price I'm paying."

She didn't even flinch at the jab. "You're being so generous, Mr. Grant. I'll make sure you get your money's worth."

Charisse had figured it out-he'd known who she was all along. He called her here on purpose.

A setup.

All to humiliate her.

All to make her pay.

She moved closer, settling beside him, taking a steadying breath as she leaned in.

But just as their lips were about to meet, Elliot turned his head-only slightly, but enough.

She froze.

No words were needed. The message hit like a glass of cold water.

She'd seen it before. Some men don't kiss girls they pay.

Kissing, to them, is too personal-too intimate.

And girls like her?

They don't get intimacy.

They get instructions.

Charisse pressed her lips together, bitterness rising in her throat.

Right now, in his eyes, she was no different from those women working the hotel floors.

Dirty. Disposable.

A soft clink broke the silence-she'd unfastened his belt.

Elliot sat still, face unreadable. But when her hand reached for him, his jaw tightened, sharp enough to cut.

"With your mouth," he said, voice deep and low.

Charisse paused, then nodded. "Okay."

She sank slowly to her knees, the delicate fabric of her sheer dress pooling around her as it slipped from her shoulders, baring the elegant line of her smooth back.

With a tentative hand, she traced the protrusion through his black underwear. Beneath her fingertips, it stirred and grew, its form defined and urgent. A deep breath filled her lungs-a silent preparation for a sacrificial offering.

Her hesitation and clumsiness made his demand seem cruel, even vulgar. But back then, when he'd laid his whole heart out for her and she stomped all over it, did she ever stop to think she'd gone too far?

Elliot towered over Charisse, his gaze engulfing her. Though hatred scalded his heart, a more complex feeling began to rise.

Suddenly, Charisse stood back up and sprang at him, lips crashing into his.

It wasn't a kiss-it was more like a bite, wild and a little unhinged.

And when she pulled away, she stared him dead in the eye, that smile twisted and defiant. "If you're gonna make me sick, I might as well gross you out first."

Their bodies were so close they were practically sharing air, the atmosphere tinged with something unspoken. Seeing the icy sharpness in Elliot's eyes, Charisse oddly felt a little more at ease.

Yeah, she had zero experience. Still, five million.

She knew damn well this was just Elliot trying to humiliate her. But... five million.

So she psyched herself up in record time. Just when she was about to pull off his underwear, Elliot suddenly flipped her over, pinning her beneath him.

A sharp sting on her lips-he took control before she even knew what hit her. Unlike her hesitant mess of moves just now, Elliot kissed like he meant business. He pried her lips open, tangled with her tongue, even her breathing started syncing to his rhythm.

It felt like her brain exploded into fireworks-blank, dazed, gone.

She clearly had no technique, but her awkwardness somehow hit Elliot in a way that made his nerves light up like a live wire. Something hot and wild burst inside him, making him deepen the kiss.

One strong arm clutched her waist tight, anchoring her like he was claiming territory. His hand slid across her shoulder, and with terrifying ease, he tore straight through the thin fabric of her dress, sending a cold shiver racing through her.

The kiss was too intense-Charisse couldn't keep up, and a gasp escaped her lips. That sound triggered something, thickened the air, like flipping a switch.

Elliot's lips trailed from the edge of her mouth, down to her neck, then brushed her ear.

She panted hard, so breathless her tongue felt numb.

His breath was hot, voice low and hoarse, brushing right against her skin as he asked, "Charisse, tell me-who am I?"

Charisse's mind was mush, not a single solid thought in her head. But that question-it sounded super familiar. Owen asked that question during her time with amnesia.

So she blurted his name. "Owen..."

It was like someone upended a bucket of ice-cold water over their heads. Whatever heat was in the room vanished in a blink.

All the desire in Elliot's gaze disappeared, replaced by a chill so cutting it burned. He stared at her for a long beat, face unreadable. Then he pushed off her, cool and detached, like the guy from just seconds ago had never existed.

Cold didn't even begin to describe his voice now-it was laced with something darker. "Wow, Miss Walton. Even now, you're still thinking about your useless boyfriend."

He turned his face away, refusing to look at the chaotic mess she'd become, lighting a cigarette and taking a hard drag.

"Talk trash about me if you want. But don't bring him into this."

The fact she was still trying to defend that loser? Elliot's expression turned even worse.

"What, you think he's actually someone special?" he scoffed, "Then how come he lets you sell yourself for cash?"

"Isn't that a bit much from you, Mr. Grant?" Charisse slowly sat up, casually smoothing out her crumpled dress. "People can't live on pride alone-money still matters."

"Five million is a serious overestimation," Elliot said flatly. "You're really not that good. Total turn-off."

"Oh? But judging by your performance just now, you didn't seem too turned off. More like someone who's been starved for years and finally got a bite."

"Hard not to be curious? A rich girl turned call girl-that's not something you see every day."

Charisse responded calmly, "At least I came out ahead. Unlike you, Mr. Grant-five million down the drain just to sleep with someone 'worthless'? Sounds like you're the one taking the loss."

His tone stayed cool. "Still as sharp-tongued as ever, aren't you, Miss Walton?"

"'Still'? You're funny tonight. I thought we were strangers meeting for the first time?"

That caught him off guard for a second, and Charisse felt a quiet satisfaction wash over her. Just like back when they used to clash as kids at the Walton's house.

Elliot stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray and asked casually, "If this is how you treat your clients, I'm guessing you don't get much repeat business."

Charisse's fake smile froze and was about to speak when Elliot interrupted, "You work at Luna Heights too, don't you? Figures. Maybe they should start handing out some pink slips."

Right. She wasn't the old Charisse anymore. She was selling her body. And he? He's the one paying her bills. She had no right to act high and mighty now.

Besides... she couldn't afford to lose her job.

She bit her lip, forcing a pretty, practiced smile. "Any other requests, Mr. Grant? Just say the word-we'll make sure to fulfill them."

"No need," he replied blandly. "I'm not into unclean things."

Charisse nearly blurted out, "You came to me-so maybe don't act high and mighty like you're kind of saint."

But she swallowed it back-for the sake of her job.

Right then, her walkie-talkie crackled to life. A colleague's voice came through: "Charisse, aren't you at the post? Owen's here looking for you. Seems urgent."

"Got it."

She knew Elliot was done talking, so she got ready to leave.

"Didn't your parents always want you with someone powerful?" Elliot said coolly. "So how'd you end up with a guy who can't even scrape together five million? That's your boyfriend?"

One line, and he threw dirt on everyone close to her.

"Things aren't always what they seem. There's a lot more going on beneath the surface," Charisse said softly, her gaze steady, eyes clear, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Not exactly something a stranger would understand."

That word-stranger-drove the wedge between them even deeper.

Charisse knew it better than anyone. She was twenty-five now. No longer the six-year-old girl he first met, nor the sixteen-year-old they'd said goodbye to. She had grown. And so had the distance between them.

Time had stretched wide between them. The world spinning faster only pushed them further apart.

She hadn't treated him specially back then, and didn't expect any kindness from him now, either.

Today was just the beginning. Everything after this-if she wanted to keep her job-she had no choice but to go along with it.

"Looks like you're not in the mood tonight, Mr. Grant. I'll head out now. If you need anything later, you can call me." Her voice was calm, well-practiced.

Elliot let out a low chuckle. "I thought Princess Walton wouldn't want to see me again."

"You're the guest. Serving you is part of the job," she replied smoothly.

He gave a faint smile, pulled out a check, signed it, and handed it to her.

She glanced at the number-one million.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Kiss fee."

Charisse blinked, stunned. She thought since nothing had really happened, she wouldn't get a dime.

But here it was, painfully real. That check screamed loud and clear-he only saw her as a hostess. Do the job, take the money, end of story.

And yet, for some reason, her chest tightened in a way she hadn't expected. It hit her out of nowhere, with no logic behind it.

A million for a kiss-what was there to feel bitter about?

"How generous of you," she said, lifting her chin slightly, trying not to let that ache show. Her voice was almost playful as she added, "Actually, we could rethink the original five million... Say, a million per kiss? Five kisses, deal done."

Elliot raised a brow, voice unreadable. "Five kisses for five million?"

"If you think that's too steep, I might even throw in a kiss for free." Her smile was dazzling, cheeky even-like the kind of vendor at a night market who sells at a loss but gains pride.

Maybe, just maybe, if she could make the rules feel like hers, she wouldn't feel so damn small.

Elliot casually rolled up his shirt sleeves, then replied in a mild tone, "Alright."

He did it. Pulled out a new check, wrote five million, and slid it toward her.

She reached out to take it, but his fingers were still pressing down lightly on one corner-she couldn't pull it away.

"When's the free one you promised happening?" he asked casually.

"Whenever you feel like it," she answered.

He curled his thin lips upward-a smile with just enough charm to be dangerous. Probably the first time he looked genuinely pleased all night.

"In that case, I feel like it now."

"No, not now!" she said quickly. Owen was waiting downstairs. She couldn't...

But Elliot didn't give her a chance to finish. He pulled her over, pinned her against the wide, two-meter-long wooden desk.

He didn't kiss her much this time. It was rough. Quick. Just enough to draw blood from her lip.

"There. Done." He straightened up, wiping her blood from his mouth with a slow grace. "Go ahead. Your boyfriend's probably wondering where you went."

Charisse knew he did it on purpose. She raised her hand and swung at him without thinking.

Elliot caught her wrist effortlessly-cold.

Now that things had calmed down a bit, he finally noticed: her hand was freezing, way too cold for summer.

Charisse shoved at him, using both hands and her whole body, her voice sharp with anger. "Elliot, you're still the same jerk!"

To Elliot, her anger only meant one thing-she cared. The more pissed she got, the more it proved she still gave a damn about that useless boyfriend of hers.

"What, scared now?" he let out a low chuckle. "If you had the guts to do it, why be afraid of people knowing?"

"I'm done talking to you." Charisse's tone was laced with frustration. "Can I leave now?"

No response. She scoffed, throwing the question right back at him. "What, Mr. Grant wants to go for round two? If you keep pulling this, I'm gonna think you're still hung up on me."

Elliot laughed coldly. "You really think I wanted to kiss you just now? Don't flatter yourself. It was just... heat of the moment. Old feelings?" He looked at her with disdain, "There's nothing left between us-get over it."

After tossing those words at her, he turned and walked into the inner room without a second glance.

Charisse gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white.

What he said wasn't even close to the worst she'd ever heard. After her family went bankrupt, she'd heard stuff ten times more brutal. She thought she'd toughened up. Clearly, not enough.

It's fine. She tried to convince herself it wasn't a big deal. At least she'd earned five million out of it-enough to cover her dad's medical bills for now.

She headed to the staff lounge first to change her clothes before walking out to the hotel lobby.

Owen spotted her and dashed over, anxious. "Charisse, why'd you text me like that? Was it something I did?"

Charisse kept her eyes down, avoiding his gaze. "It's not you, Owen. You've been great. We're just... not right for each other."

"Not right? Is it because of my mom? Don't worry about that-I've started trying to talk her around. I promise, I'll make her accept us. Let's get married next year. No, this year. This year, okay?"

Owen was trying so hard not to push her, keeping his voice soft, like any extra pressure might make her crack.

Charisse took a deep breath and looked at him. "Owen, I... I fell for someone else."

She just couldn't bring herself to explain what happened tonight.

When Owen noticed the cut on her lip, his expression froze. Color drained from his face, and he almost lost his balance.

"I'm sorry."

Charisse bit down on her lip, reopening the cut there again. The sting was sharp, but she kept her voice steady. "Owen, thank you for everything-especially covering my dad's medical bills. I'll pay you back."

"Who is it?" Owen grabbed her wrist, not letting her leave. His eyes were rimmed red, hurt and confusion tangled in his voice. "Just tell me. Who is he? Who the hell is it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Tell me!" Owen suddenly shouted. "Who?!"

Heads turned across the hotel lobby. Even Elliot, just stepping out of the private elevator, paused and looked over.

"Owen, don't be like this," Charisse said, guilt twisting in her chest at his reaction. "Come on, calm down. You know we don't work. Your mom's not wrong-my family's bankrupt, we're in debt, my dad's stuck in the hospital for who knows how long, and on top of that..."

She took a breath before continuing, "I've got a record. My law license was revoked. I'm just working in a hotel now. Your family's well-off, they care about reputation. The truth is, they'd never accept me. Owen, we just don't have a future."

"But none of that's your fault!" Owen's voice cracked, his anger sinking into raw desperation. "The bankruptcy had nothing to do with you, and the time in jail-I've been looking into that. I know you're innocent, Charisse. I'll clear your name. Please... don't push me away."

He wasn't yelling anymore, just pleading, like all his strength had drained away.

Charisse gently reached up and ruffled his messy curls. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Owen's eyes were completely red now, tears threatening to fall.

Charisse softly slipped her hand out of his grasp and walked away.

Outside, in the parking lot, she spotted his car-a plain white compact, barely worth ten grand. Her mind suddenly flashed back to the first time she'd met Owen, when he pulled up in a flashy yellow sports car, revved the engine right past her, then came back around and asked, "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I drive by again?"

Since then, he'd done so much for her. Paid her dad's hospital bills, chased away loan sharks, kept things together for her when everything was falling apart. He'd burned through money like it was nothing, until his parents cut him off-froze his cards, stopped his cash. So, he sold his house, his car, even his sneakers... all for her.

Charisse owed him. A lot.

And even if tonight hadn't happened, she'd already made up her mind not to drag him down with her anymore.

Every cent he spent on her, she'd written down. Someday, she'd pay him back. Slowly but surely.

As she turned around, she spotted him through the hotel's tall, gleaming window-still standing there, shoulders slumped, looking like a kicked puppy, all lost and heartbroken.

Not far behind him stood a tall figure-Elliot.

Even with that distance between them, Charisse could feel it-he was watching her.