STALKING THE BILLIONAIRE DEVIL

STALKING THE BILLIONAIRE DEVIL

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Introduction

Trigger Warning!!!
This is a dark romance novel featuring morally grey characters.
Reader's discretion is advised.
****
"You were born for me. You waited for me. The moment you came into this world, you cried for me, and you will keep crying for me until your last breath, Ixora."

Drexton Blackthorn had his bloody, thirst-filled eyes on a couple for the sins they committed. He swore to make them pay. But everything changed when she was born. She became his target. Just like a ferocious tiger, she was his prey. The moment she was born, she became his. The moment she breathed her first, she became his to destroy. His to taint. She lives all for him. He plans to make her shed blood; only then will his for revenge be quenched — only then will his long wait come to an end.
Ixora Castellan, his prey, became his little stalker—or so she thought. Little did she know that she was the stalked. He knew things about her...things neither her body nor mind could discover.
The game was his, the prey was his, the hunt was his.
But slowly, the hunter becomes hunted. This game of revenge was slowly turning into a game of obsession—an obsession he wasn't ready to succumb to. He wants every inch of her. Her body, her soul, her mind, her heart. She wasn't just a part of his want; she was his need.
But she wants to be free...Is that even possible?
How can she escape from his clutches, his web, his wings, when she's not even sure who she is?
Play pet, little thief, Ixora Castellan...She doesn't know, but one thing is clear, she is whatever he wants her to be.
She's lost her identity to him.
Her ruin.
Her tormentor.
Her destruction.

Chapter 1

"Lock the door, little urchin."

"You are nothing but a worthless piece of trash."

"Rags are meant to live on the street, not in an expensive house."

Those weren't words, but memories—memories that have etched deep into the heart and soul, haunting and painful.

A little boy descended the stairs, looking so lost as those cruel words echoed in his head.

"Ahh!!!"

A scream—loud and sharp—hit his ears, pulling him back to the present. His fingers curled tightly around the cold rail.

The scream increased, stabbing into his ear like a needle.

A woman was in labor, the woman he hated so much.

His life wasn't anywhere close to a perfect life... owned by them and stripped of its worth.

The door to the ward opened, and a man stepped out.

"Would you come inside this ward," he said. "Or do you want me to drag you in, orphan child?" his voice filled with disdain.

He went inside the ward.

The boy glared at the closed door as if he were seeing the couple directly. His heart bled at the mention of the word 'orphan child'. If fate was cruel, then his would be the cruelest.

He blinked, trying to erase the memories as he held the knob. The knob, which was supposed to be cold, burned in his palm as if sharing his hatred.

The woman's screams got louder, filling the hospital walls. His ears twitched, cringing at her shouts.

He creaked open the door and, coincidentally, the baby came out, breathed her first breath and cried.

The nurse carried the baby, while the cry pierced the air. His eyes found hers, locking his gaze at her child's bloodied, innocent and wrinkled eyes.

The father walked near the child, and his face beamed with a smile. "Ixora," he whispered.

He felt the joy of being called a father after so many years. His wife lay unconscious, clueless about the life she had brought to earth.

The boy took backward steps, the name 'Ixora' resounded in his head... over and over again.

A name he just vowed never to forget, as long as he lives.

He turned and started leaving the hospital.

"Worthless child, come back here, where do you think you are going?" The man called after him, but he didn't stop.

He walked on, without looking back, without stopping, had no direction in mind, but he knew it was time for him to leave.

The couple waited for him, but he never returned. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years and...

20 YEARS LATER

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