Merciless Billionaire’s Savage Desire (Obsessed Billionaires, Cherished Brides #7)

Chapter 1 The Kingsley Manor

The wind stilled as a private jet came to a halt on the sprawling estate of one of Manhattan’s most powerful billionaires.

From the jet, a tall, broad-shouldered man descended the stairs. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was slicked back, revealing a face once handsome but now hardened by time and grief. A harsh, black scar under his right eye stood out like a permanent shadow, turning his once-charming features into something cold and intimidating. He looked to be in his late fifties, but he moved with the power and control of a man in his prime.

On either side of the jet’s path, bodyguards in black suits stood in perfect formation, straight and silent as they parted for him.

“Mr. Carter,” they greeted in unison, their voices sharp with respect.

As Charles Carter made his way down the steps, a younger man approached quickly, tall and composed, radiating a quiet confidence."

Luca Stanson — the son of Charles’ best friend — was a striking man in his late twenties. With sharp cheekbones, intense brown eyes, and a jawline that made magazine covers jealous, he carried the effortless charm of someone born into wealth and power. His tailored navy suit clung to his lean, athletic frame, and a platinum watch peeked out from under his cuff, unmistakably expensive.

Though Luca had made a name for himself as one of New York’s youngest and most eligible billionaires, there was a weight in his gaze, one he carefully masked behind charm and professionalism.

“Uncle,” the younger man said with a slight smile.

Carter’s expression softened. “Luca.” He pulled the young man into a brief, firm hug. “Any news yet?”

Luca nodded, his face lighting up. “Yes, Uncle Charles. We found Annie.”

For a second, Charles Carter, the man who once built empires and destroyed rivals, looked as if the air had been knocked out of him. His usually steely eyes shimmered with hope.

They walked side by side, their footsteps synchronized.

“She’s going by the name Anya now,” Luca continued. “We confirmed it just before your jet landed.”

Charles’s eyes sharpened. “Where is she? Did you meet her?”

Luca shook his head. “Not yet. The intel came in just before your plane landed. I thought we could go together.”

Charles drew in a deep breath, regaining his composure. “Where is she now?”

“She’s living with the Fox family in Manhattan. They’re well known in business circles.”

“Fox…” Charles muttered under his breath. His jaw clenched. “Let’s bring my daughter back home.”

***

Meanwhile, at the Fox estate…

A suitcase hit the pavement with a loud thud, scattering clothes onto the snowy street.

“Mom, please!” Anya cried, her voice cracked and desperate as she stumbled after it, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Valentina Fox stood tall in the doorway, her flawless makeup untouched, her straight dark hair flowing over her designer coat. But her expression was twisted in rage and disgust. With a cold grip, she yanked Anya by the arm and dragged her outside before shoving her down beside the suitcase.

“Get out. Now!” her voice was sharp, venomous, her breathing heavy. “I’ve had enough of this. I raised some random bastard’s child for years?! If I had known the truth back then, you would’ve never set foot in my house.”

Anya’s voice shook as she sobbed. “Mom… how can that be true? I’ve lived here my whole life! I’m your daughter. Why are you doing this?”

Valentina pulled a folded document from her coat pocket and threw it at Anya’s face.

“There’s your truth,” she spat. “I had the DNA tested. You’re not mine. The only reason I mistook you for my daughter and brought you home was because your face looked so much like hers back when she went missing at that amusement park. You were around the same age—just two. Even your goddamn name was almost the same. You kept babbling, ‘I’m Annie,’ and I was so stupid! I thought you just couldn’t say ‘Anya’ properly. I made a mistake.”

She turned to another girl standing quietly nearby—Zara—who bore a striking resemblance to her. Her voice suddenly dropped into a softer, emotional tone. “My daughter suffered all these years outside. But she searched for us. She found us. And now, she’s back. She’s the only one I care about now.”

Zara leaned into Valentina with a soft, pitiful look, then glanced at Anya with a hidden smirk.

Valentina’s expression turned cold once more as she looked back at Anya. “We don’t need you anymore. From now on, I’ll make sure my real daughter never suffers again—not even from the presence of a fake daughter like you under our roof.”

She kicked the suitcase toward Anya, the hard edge slamming into her ankle. Anya cried out in pain, stumbling back.

“Take your things and get lost. You’re not part of this family. Don’t force yourself into our lives.”

With that, Valentina went back inside the house with Zara, slammed the door shut and locked it.

Anya rushed to the door and pounded her fists against the cold wood, sobbing. “Mom, please! Don’t do this to me. Where am I supposed to go?”

Snow began to fall harder, soaking her thin home clothes as the icy wind slapped her face. Only an hour ago, she had been the Foxes’ daughter. Now she was just a stranger standing on the street.

She collapsed onto the street, curling into herself as the snow swallowed her cries. Her lips were blue, her body trembling.

Then a shadow fell over her.

She looked up, eyes brimming with tears. “Grandpa…”

James, her grandfather, stood there with sorrow on his face. Without a word, he reached out his hand. She stood shakily and collapsed into his arms, holding him tightly.

“Mom said I’m not your granddaughter. Are you going to leave me too?”

James closed his eyes, holding the back of her head. “Of course not.”

She pulled back slightly, her lips trembling.

“You will always be my granddaughter, Anya. You are still my child. I don’t care what anyone says.”

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Her body shook with relief.

“You’re just twenty,” James said softly, removing his shawl and draping it over her shoulders to shield her from the snow. “You still have your whole life ahead of you. It’s going to be alright.”

“Where should I go?” Anya asked, breathless and scared.

“Go to Griffin Kingsley’s house,” he said firmly. “He's been my best friend since childhood. I just spoke to him. He’s agreed to take you in. You’ll be safe there. He’ll take care of you.”

Anya’s tears wouldn’t stop, but she bit her lip hard, trying to hold them back. Her entire world had fallen apart in less than an hour. Her so-called parents had tossed her out like garbage. And now, all she had was a suitcase and a sliver of hope.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” she sniffled.

James tucked a few bills into her hand. “This should keep you going for a few days. That’s all I have for now.”

“I’ll walk. It’s alright.”

Anya tried to hand the money back, but Grandpa gently patted the back of her hand, stopping her.

“Go, Anya. It’s getting late,” he urged. “You should leave quickly.”

Reluctantly, Anya curled her fingers around the bills, clutching them tightly. She bent down, fingers curling around the suitcase handle, and began walking away.

In the stillness of the night, the wheels of her suitcase echoed softly against the pavement. She kept her head down, walking slowly, until a fleet of sleek black BMWs sped past her. The sudden rush of wind tugged at her loose hair, and her eyes lifted briefly, following the taillights disappearing into the dark.

Her gaze flicked toward the cars. In one of the backseats, she caught a glimpse of a man—older, with dark hair and a heavy black mark beneath his eye. His face was hard, dangerous. Their eyes didn’t meet, but something about him made her heart clench.

He didn’t look at her.

She turned away quickly, gripping the handle of her suitcase tighter, her steps picking up pace. She kept walking, unaware that she had just seen her real father.

***

Anya stood quietly in the grand hall of the Kingsley estate. The manor was massive. Elegant, expansive, and intimidating. Polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers, towering ceilings. Every corner screamed wealth.

The Fox family was rich, yes, but the Kingsleys were on an entirely different level. They weren’t just wealthy—they were one of the wealthiest in the entire country.

She stood quietly, her eyes scanning the luxurious space, suitcase gripped tightly in her trembling hand. Her heart was pounding from exhaustion and nerves. The place was beautiful, but intimidating.

“Anya?”

She turned around, startled, and found herself face to face with a sharply dressed man. His white hair was perfectly combed, and his green eyes—so familiar—held warmth. He looked to be around her grandfather’s age. On any other day, she might’ve laughed and told him how much he looked like her grandfather.

He was probably Griffin Kingsley.

He approached her and took the suitcase from her hand with ease, a small frown forming on his face.

“You dragged this all the way up the estate?” he asked. “You should’ve asked one of the staff to help.”

Anya simply shook her head, offering him a polite, grateful smile. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“You’re soaked too,” he added, his frown deepening. The worry on his face mirrored her grandfather’s, and something inside her softened.

“James told me everything that happened at your home,” the man said gently. “Don’t worry. This is your home now. You don’t need to think about anything else. Grandpa will take care of you.”

Her lips trembled. His words cracked the wall she had been holding up. She nodded slowly, eyes glassy with gratitude. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

“Good girl,” Griffin said, beaming. The moment she called him ‘Grandpa,’ his bright smile lit up the hall. Then he patted her shoulder. “Go up to the first floor. The room right next to the stairs is empty. Take a warm bath. I’ll have someone bring your suitcase up.”

Anya paused, lifting her gaze to his face. Despite the cold and how her voice shook, she whispered, “Thank you for taking me in, Grandpa. I promise... I’ll move out as soon as I can. I won’t be a burden.”

His smile faded, replaced by a stern expression. He stepped closer, his cane tapping against the marble with every slow, firm step.

“You let me decide that,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Do I look like a man who lacks space or money to take care of you?”

He placed a hand on her head, just like Grandpa James used to. The gesture undid her. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, no longer held back.

“Don’t cry, child,” he said softly. “Don’t think about tomorrow or the day after. Right now, just take care of yourself. You’ll be alright.”

Anya bit her lower lip, forcing back the rest of her tears, and nodded. “Thank you.”

She turned and climbed the grand staircase, her legs heavy with exhaustion. At the first floor, she paused. There were rooms on both sides of the stairs. For a moment, she hesitated.

‘Maybe both sides are empty,’ she thought. ‘That’s why Grandpa didn’t mention left or right.’

She was too tired to think any more than that. Her head was throbbing, and every part of her body ached. She turned right and tried the nearest door. It opened easily.

‘No lock? Must be mine,’ she assumed.

She stepped inside.

The room was pristine—black walls, white furniture, a black headboard. Everything was sharp, modern, and cold. The kind of space made for someone who valued privacy and solitude. Anya, in contrast, preferred warm colors, flowers, and sunlight.

She walked in and peeled off her damp shawl, placing it on the table near the TV.

Her hand reached up to the wet dress clinging to her skin, pulling at it slightly. She pulled her hair into a messy bun with no rubber band, then began heading toward the washroom.

She had barely crossed half the room when the bathroom door suddenly opened, and a man walked out.

Naked.

Anya froze. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened in horror. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.

The man, with water still glistening on his broad chest and a towel slung casually over his shoulder, hadn’t seen her yet. He casually walked into the room.

“Ah!” her scream finally tore out of her throat.

The man stopped in his tracks, startled, his head snapping up. His sharp green eyes—strikingly similar to Grandpa Griffin’s—locked onto hers.

“What the fuck?” he barked, voice deep and commanding.

His face, rugged and striking, twisted into shock as his eyes locked with hers. Every inch of him radiated authority—the kind that made it hard to look away.

Anya stood frozen, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

“Why are you naked?!” she shrieked, voice cracking with horror before he even reached for the towel. “G-Grandpa! There’s a naked pervert in my room!”