My Billionaire (Book 3)

Jason sat in his chair and looked out the window – and watched as bright yellow sun streamed in, dusty and somehow alluring. He had opened the window a few hours ago. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d felt like he had to. He hadn’t left his room in a week – except to eat and use the toilet – and he was starting to feel like some kind of sub-human, something out of a horror film. Was he a creep? When he had first thought it he’d found the notion ludicrous. How could he be a creep? He was in love, and, what was more important, his beloved loved him back. No – there was nothing creepy about love. It was pure, special – it was worth more than anything on the planet. That was what he told himself, anyway.

Then he looked at his wall. There were hundreds of pictures on it, overlapping each other and curling at the corners and falling to the floor. At first, when he’d been adding to it constantly, he’d thought it was sweet – he’d imagined showing Molly, and smiled as he imagined her face lighting up. “This is gorgeous,” she would say, and then she would kiss him. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure – was it sweet, or was it odd? Perhaps it was the ritual of it he had liked, finding the picture and printing it out and sticking it to the wall – now it was done, and he had found every picture he was likely to find, he didn’t know how he felt about it. It was undoubtedly lovely to look at – it had to be, because it was Molly – but that was all. It didn’t fill him with the same awe it once had.

***Content warning: For adults only!***