STALKING THE BILLIONAIRE DEVIL

"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 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 grew louder, 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, or do you want me to drag you in, orphan child?" he said with disdain in his voice.

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 as if it would erase the memories as he got to the door. 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, and he stared at her child's bloodied, innocent and wrinkled eyes.

The father walked near the child, the father beaming 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' resounding in his head... over and over again.

A name he had just made a vow 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

"Do you miss Ixora Castellan, take Mr. Drexton Blackthorn to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The wedding priest asked.

Ixora nodded, her face beaming with a smile beneath the veil.

Getting married to the crush of your life has been every girl's dream, and, for Ixora, it was no less different.

The man standing in front of her was everything she needed in a man. Perfection.

"You may now kiss your bride," the priest announced, interrupting her thoughts.

Drexton slowly lifted her veil, and both started leaning in.

Just before their lips could meet...

The loud sound of her alarm rang, waking her up from her sleep.

She opened her eyes and turned off the alarm.

She exhaled softly.

Like always, she had never gotten to kiss her groom.

Something always interrupts her dream right before he can kiss her.

Ixora Castellan; rich hazel eyes, bold and thick eyebrows, well-shaped nose, crimson lips, long, dark, thick hair and spotless skin. She is the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs Castellan, one of the wealthiest families in the whole of New York.

She glanced at the clock: "7:45 am!"

"How could I wake up so late?" she climbed out the bed, into the bathroom.

In less than 10 minutes, she ran out dressed in a casual short jean skirt and tank top.

She had sexy curves.

She used her finger to brush her hair while running down the stairs.

She needed no make-up - she was a natural beauty.

"Morning, mom, and dad. Oh, Hazel, thank goodness you are already here," she said in a hurry.

Hazel is her best friend, more like her sister.

"Ixora, I was—"

"There is no time, we have to leave," Ixora dragged her, and they both ran out of the room.

"Are you sure that is my daughter? Who on earth stalks over a guy they are crushing on?" Mr. Castellan said.

"You should be able to answer that as well," Mrs Castellan rolled her eyes, fixing her well-manicured nails.

--

Ixora pulled Hazel by the hand. "We have to hurry, else I'd not get to see him."

"Xora, slow down, please," Hazel pleaded, panting in between.

Both girls' hair flowed with the wind, their slippers slapping the tiled streets of New York.

"You should have woken me up? Why did you allow me to oversleep?" Ixora asked.

"And have you killed me? Sorry, but no."