The billionaire's fixation

Ava's POV

The alarm blares in my ear, a sound that's almost too loud for this time of the morning. I reach over, slamming my hand down on it, but it's already too late. I am awake now, forced to face another day, another round of routine, the same endless cycle.

I push myself up from the bed, the old mattress creaking under my weight. My apartment is small, too small but it's mine, and that's something. It smells like coffee and stale air. It doesn't help that I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in weeks.

The sound of my feet hitting the cold floor feels like a reminder. Another morning. Another set of responsibilities I can't escape from. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall, 6:45 AM, and just enough time to make my brother Tyler's breakfast before heading out.

I head to the kitchen, the space barely big enough for the coffee maker and the counter where I usually eat. Tyler's bedroom door is slightly cracked, and I don't knock. He doesn't like that. I know better by now. I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Tyler's still asleep, tangled in the sheets, his face turned toward the wall. I stand there for a moment, just watching him. He's twenty-three, but sometimes he looks younger than he is. The addiction has taken so much from him, and I can't stop it. I never could. It's like this invisible hand that tightens around his throat every time he's close to breaking free. The rehab center we put him in hasn't been enough. Not yet.

I move quietly, making sure not to disturb him. The last thing he needs is a reminder of what he's fighting against. He needs rest, and I need to get out of here before he wakes up in a mood that'll ruin the rest of the day.

The kitchen smells of coffee before I even start brewing. I'm so used to it, it's like the place is infused with the scent now. I make his breakfast, just scrambled eggs and toast, nothing fancy. He likes it simple. I don't have the energy to make anything more complicated.

I pull out my phone and check the time 7:00 AM. I have thirty minutes before I need to leave for work. I pour a cup of coffee for myself, but I'm not really drinking it. I'm just holding it, letting the heat from the mug warm my hands.

The quiet of the apartment is broken only by the sound of my brother moving in his room. He groans, and then there's silence again. I sigh and set the cup down on the counter. It's going to be a long day. It always is.

After a few minutes, I hear the door to his room creak open. Tyler stumbles into the kitchen, looking disheveled. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but there's a certain alertness there now. He's awake. For better or worse.

"Morning," I say, trying to keep the tone light.

He nods but doesn't say much. He grabs the plate of eggs and toast I've made for him, then looks at me with that distant, blank expression I know too well. His eyes aren't focused, not yet.

"Did you sleep okay?" I ask, hoping to spark some kind of conversation.

He shrugs, taking a bite of the eggs without answering. His lack of response sends a wave of frustration through me, but I hold it back. I don't want to fight. Not now, not today.

"You need to take your meds," I remind him, my voice a little firmer than I intend it to be.

Tyler winces. He's been ignoring his prescription for the last few days. I don't know why it bothers me so much. Maybe because I'm exhausted from constantly being the one to remind him. Maybe because it feels like I'm the only one trying.

"I'll take them later," he mutters, his eyes darting to the TV in the corner of the kitchen. He seems to lose interest in me, in the conversation. I can't help the frustration that rises in my chest.

I try not to show it.

"Tyler," I say, voice softening. "You can't keep doing this. You have to get better."

His gaze flicks over to me, a flash of something, anger maybe before he looks away again.

"I know," he says quietly. "I'm trying."

But I know better. He's not.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I don't want to start a fight, not this early. Instead, I focus on my own breakfast, the ritual of it. There's something calming about the mundane. The toast. The eggs.

When I look up again, Tyler's already finished his food, and he's retreating back to his room. I don't try to stop him. He's not ready to talk, not yet. I can't force it. Not today.

I grab my things, heading for the door. I don't want to leave, but I can't stay. I have a job, and I need it. I just need to get through the next shift.

The walk to the pub isn't long. It's a straight shot down the street, the city bustling around me. I don't mind the walk. I used to. It was long, tiring. But now it's just another part of my day. The familiar faces, the sounds of honking cars and people arguing, it all blurs together.

I walk into the pub just in time for my shift, the cool air from outside fading as I step in. The place smells like beer and the faint scent of old wood. Hank, the owner, greets me with his usual grunt. He doesn't do small talk. He never has.

"Late night again?" he asks, glancing at the clock on the wall.

I nod, not bothering to explain. It's not worth it. He doesn't care about the details of my life. Not really. As long as I am there on time, working, and doing my job, that's all that matters.

I start prepping for the evening crowd, the familiar rhythm of the pub taking over. I move between tables, pulling glasses, mixing drinks, smiling at the customers who've come to escape their own realities for a few hours.

It's easy to get lost in the noise, to forget about everything else, even if just for a little while. I need this. I need the routine, the distraction. Without it, I'm not sure what I'd do.

The night drags on. I watch the clock tick away. I don't think about Tyler. I don't think about the money I've been saving to help him. I don't think about the guilt that gnaws at me every night as I close the door to this place and head back home, hoping that tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow never is, though. It never is.

Damon's POV

I don't believe in fate.

Fate is for the weak, for the ones who sit back and wait for things to happen to them. I don't wait. I take. And when I do, I take control, every single part of it. My life has been a carefully crafted symphony of power, influence, and precision. There's no room for mistakes, and certainly no space for weakness.

The city is quiet when I wake up, the kind of quiet that lets you know it's still too early for anyone else to be awake, still too early for the noise to settle in. It's just me in my space, the kind of solitude I crave. It's not about peace, not really. It's about control. There's a rhythm to it, a cadence that I've mastered over the years.

By 5:30 a.m., I'm already up, out of bed, and moving. I don't need an alarm. My body knows when it's time. The world doesn't stop for anyone, least of all for me. I take my first step of the day before the sun even rises.

A quick shower, clean, efficient. I don't waste time. The mirror reflects exactly what I need to see, a man in command of every inch of his life. Every detail has been perfected. Every choice I make has led me here, to the top of my game.

I dress fast, the dark tailored suit an extension of my discipline. No color, no nonsense. Just black. The way I like it. I don't need to impress anyone, but I do it anyway. The suit speaks for me before I say a word. A nod to power, an unspoken invitation to fall in line.

The coffee's already waiting when I step into the kitchen. Black, no sugar. I don't need the extra sweetness. What I need is focus. The kind that kicks in when my eyes are fixed on what's ahead? My phone buzzes once. A message from Olivia, everything's in place for the board meeting. Good. She knows how to handle things, how to follow orders without asking questions.

I'm in the car by 6:15, the city still a blur of concrete and steel as we make our way to the office. The streets are still empty at this hour, the early morning fog just starting to lift. I watch it through the tinted windows of my car, the kind of fog that reminds me of the murkiness of life before success. I didn't have time for that. I don't have time for anything that doesn't get me closer to what I want.

The office is my kingdom.

When I step out of the elevator, the world shifts around me. Heads turn, eyes stay glued to me, and for a moment, I let them. It's the effect I have on people, the magnetic pull that comes with power. They want something from me. They want my approval, my attention, my respect. They'll get none of that unless they've earned it.

Olivia's waiting for me at the door. She's sharp, efficient, and knows how to keep the world moving around me without letting anything slip. I don't need her to talk; I need her to act. And she does. Without fail.

"Everything's set for the meeting, Mr. King," she says, her tone professional, respectful.

I nod, but I don't say anything. Words are overrated. People talk too much, thinking they can convince you with their words. I don't listen to words. I listen to actions.

The meeting starts at 9 a.m., right on time. There's no delay. No one dares to keep me waiting. I make my entrance, the room goes quiet, and they all know what's coming. I don't need to make small talk, don't need to make them feel comfortable. The power dynamic has already been set. They know they're here to present, to impress, and to answer my questions. My eyes scan the room, studying every face. Every one of them is a piece on my board. Some of them will make it, others won't. Simple as that.

The discussions are long, technical, and full of jargon that I've long since grown tired of. But it's all part of the game. I make my decisions quickly, my focus laser-sharp. No hesitation. No second-guessing. It's part of my reputation. I'm not the kind of man who waits around for things to happen. I make them happen.

By noon, I'm back in my office, the lunch hour ticking away. I don't take lunch. I don't need it. The clock ticks down, and the world outside moves on, but I stay focused. There's no time to slow down. More meetings, more reports, more decisions that will move the needle, one way or another.

In the afternoon, I get a call. A problem in one of our international markets. They need my approval to move forward with a new acquisition. I don't have time to fly out there, to see the details in person. But that's not necessary. I trust my people to handle it. But they'll need to convince me. I don't give my approval easily. Not when there's so much on the line.

The call is long. It's business. The only thing that matters to me right now.

As evening approaches, I head to my private office on the upper floor of the building. This is my sanctuary. My space. There's no one here except me and my thoughts. The weight of the day is heavy, but it's nothing I can't handle. No one else can. That's why I'm here and they're down there, trying to catch up.

There's no room for distractions. Not here, not now.

I stand at the window, looking out over the city as the lights begin to flicker on. There's a strange satisfaction in seeing it all laid out before me, an empire built from the ground up. It wasn't easy. But nothing worthwhile ever is. Every challenge, every setback, has led me here, and I know that I'm not finished yet.

The quiet hum of the office is the only sound that fills the room, the kind of silence that wraps around me, leaving me alone with my thoughts. For a moment, I let myself reflect. Not on how far I've come, but on what's next.

I don't stop. Not ever.

Tomorrow, we do it all again. But for now, I step away from the window. I've earned my moment of solitude. I've earned the control that's been the backbone of everything I've built.

The world doesn't wait. Neither do I.

Damon's POV

I'm sitting in my office, staring at the endless line of numbers on my screen. There's a weight that comes with running a company like mine, the pressure to stay ahead, to outsmart the competition, to make sure every decision I make doesn't just work, but works flawlessly. I don't have time for distractions, not with quarterly reports, strategic meetings, and the constant hum of responsibilities around me.

The walls of my office are lined with accolades, awards, and framed contracts, each one a reminder of what I've built from the ground up. I don't need the recognition, but it serves as a testament to what happens when you stay disciplined, stay focused, and above all stay in control. Control is everything, especially when you've built a world where every move you make can either make or break you.

I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head, letting out a slow breath. The building hums with energy outside the confines of my office. Phones ring. Conversations echo down the hall. But here, in my space, I'm untouchable. It's the calm before the storm, the few minutes where I can pretend that I don't feel the weight of it all pressing against my chest.

Just as I'm about to dive back into another spreadsheet, the door to my office swings open without so much as a knock.

"Damon, you're alive," Rowan's voice cuts through the silence. His grinning face fills the doorway, followed by the more subdued expression of his friend, Max.

I don't smile. I'm not the smiling type. I know Rowan means well, but his interruptions always come at the worst times. His usual carefree attitude is almost grating when I'm trying to focus, but that's Rowan, he never thinks about anything other than the next thing that's going to amuse him.

Max steps in behind Rowan, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy confidence of his. I know him from a few of Rowan's parties, but we're not close. Max is the type who's always looking for the next thrill. The problem with people like Max is that they never seem to understand the importance of discipline.

Rowan saunters over to my desk, flopping down in the chair across from me like he owns the place. He takes a second to look around the office, as if trying to make sense of the sterile, polished environment I've built for myself.

"I don't know how you do it, man," Rowan says, your life is so boring. "Sitting in here all day, dealing with numbers and people who can't even make a decent coffee, while the rest of the world is out there... living. You ever think about doing something different?"

I don't answer immediately. I don't even want to answer. What Rowan doesn't get is that I don't have time for distractions, not the way he does. Living for the moment doesn't make sense to me. Every decision I make has to mean something. It has to count for something, or it's just wasted time.

"Living?" I say, finally turning away from my screen to look at him. "I'm already living, Rowan. I built this. You think I'm going to throw it all away for something as ridiculous as 'living for the moment'? It doesn't work that way."

Rowan throws his hands up, his grin widening. "Exactly, you built this. But you're like a robot. Work, work, work. You're killing yourself slowly."

Max chuckles from the door. "I'll be honest, Damon," he says, "I don't get how you can live like this. No nights out, no breaks... you need to have some fun, man. Take the edge off."

I stare at him for a long beat, trying to gauge if he's serious. Max is always full of ideas, but they rarely seem like things I'd ever entertain.

I opened a bottle of whiskey and asked them to join me while I changed the conversation from my life and asked about what they have been up too till I started feeling woozy and drunk.

Rowan, ever the instigator, leans in, lowering his voice like it's some kind of secret obviously drunk "You're too uptight. You need to go out. Just... somewhere you'd never go. A real dive pub. Somewhere... real. No suits. No corporate bullshit."

I've heard this before, the constant nagging to unwind, to 'loosen up.' But it doesn't feel right. My life is organized. It's controlled. I have a schedule, a routine. I don't need their idea of fun.

But Rowan and Max aren't letting up. They both look at me, knowing they've got me cornered.

Max pushes off the chair staggering, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on, Damon. I dare you. Go somewhere... different. Like a real, messy pub. No high-end cocktails. No luxury. Just raw, unfiltered people. You might find you actually like it."

I know what they're trying to do. They think they can break me. But they don't understand. I've been running this company for years, and it's all been about control. About doing what's necessary to stay on top. No distractions. No surprises. That's how I've made it this far.

Still, I find myself considering it. It's stupid, it's a waste of time, and yet... there's something in me, some small corner of my mind, that says, "Why not?"

"Fine," I say, my voice flat. "I'll go. One night. But don't expect me to stay long."

Rowan's grin widens, and Max lets out a low whistle of approval. They both know they've won.

They have no idea what they've gotten me into.