Hush, The Billionaire is Obsessed

"Latecomers take three shots! No excuses!" At the class reunion, a flushed former classmate hollered over the noise. Everyone's eyes snapped toward me like blinding spotlights.

I was pinned in a tight corner booth, my left side pressed right up against Pierce—the untouchable golden boy of our graduating class. I pushed the liquor away. "Sorry.

I'm trying for a baby. No alcohol." A collective gasp sucked the air right out of the room. Rejected, the guy's face turned livid.

He pivoted and slammed the shot glass down in front of a silent Pierce, a blatant challenge radiating from his posture. "You're not going to blow us off too, are you, golden boy?" Pierce didn't even lift his eyes.

He calmly poured himself a glass of water. "Sorry," his deep voice rumbled. "My wife is trying for a baby. No alcohol." Chapter 1 The night was deepening, the sky unusually clear.

Thanks to a recent citywide green initiative, a rare blanket of stars actually managed to cut through the light pollution.

My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with group chat notifications.

After a grueling string of red lights and a stopandgo taxi ride, I finally pulled up to the Morlan Hotel just before eight.

The Morlan was the height of luxury in this city, a playground for the elite. Even the parking lot looked like a highend showroom for sixfigure engines. Then I saw it.

Pierce’s flashy Maybach. Damn it. What the hell was he doing at a random high school reunion? This whole event felt completely out of left field.

The organizer, Bryce, used to be our class's resident bottomfeeder—the only one who’d dropped out of high school to gamble on crypto.

As it turned out, the guy had a horseshoe up his ass.

He’d struck gold right out of the gate, and after a few more lucky breaks, he’d morphed into one of the city’s nouveau riche "tech bros." This "reunion" was really just a stage for him to flex his wealth and soak up some desperate validation from old classmates.

I wouldn’t have bothered showing up if I hadn't been stuck at the office so late that I missed dinner.

That, and the fact that the group chat was practically vibrating off my desk with people begging me to come. But Pierce? He hadn't said a single word in the chat.

Was he just here to flaunt his latest limitededition Patek?

I pushed the door open, my fourinch stilettos clicking rhythmically against the floor as I stepped into the private suite.

The room was sweltering and loud, filled with the forced laughter of people who hadn’t seen each other in years. As I walked in, the noise died down to a low hum.

Every pair of eyes in the room swung toward me. Bryce jumped up immediately to greet me. "Long time no see, Maeve! Our resident itgirl really knows how to make an entrance.

Last as always!" Before I could even open my mouth, a shrill, bitter voice cut through the air. "Well, Maeve was always our little highsociety princess back in the day.

I guess some things never change. Must be nice. Unlike me—the real world actually humbled me." Her sidekick chimed in instantly. "Seriously, why the attitude?

Even our golden boy made it here on time." Those two had been inseparable since high school, and they’d never missed an opportunity to throw shade my way.

Apparently, years of adulthood hadn’t cured their terminal case of "mean girl" syndrome. I didn’t let it get to me. I call this kind of behavior pure, unadulterated envy.

I ignored them and scanned the room, my gaze colliding unexpectedly with his. He had his casual suit sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

One hand rested on the table, his index finger tapping a slow, deliberate beat against the wood. He looked relaxed. Smug, even.

Probably enjoying the show of his exgirlfriend getting ambushed the moment she walked through the door. Because I was late, there was only one seat left in the entire room.

Right next to Pierce. I let out a dry, silent laugh and sat down, my body stiff with a reluctance I couldn't quite hide.

The others didn't seem to notice the icecold tension radiating between us. Someone joked, "Look at that. The visuals are still toptier when you put those two together!" "Right?

It’s been years, I’m balding, and Pierce is still this handsome.

Most people wouldn't even have the guts to sit next to him." Chapter 2 Plenty of girls in the room kept shooting covert glances at Pierce, but none of them had the guts to actually sit next to him.

Honestly, as much of a showoff as he was, the man was dangerously attractive.

Back in high school, he’d practically been deified by the female student body—the untouchable, straightA god who existed on a completely different plane of reality.

Look, but don't touch. So, even though half the room was probably hyperventilating just looking at him, the seat remained empty. Leaving me to be the sacrificial lamb.

He was tall, and his long legs looked cramped under the massive round table, forcing him to angle his knees outward.

Every time I shifted even a fraction of an inch, I brushed against him. It was a sweltering summer night, and I was in a short skirt.

The heat radiating from his leg seeped right through the expensive fabric of his suit trousers, burning against my bare skin.

I subtly scooted away multiple times, but somehow, we always ended up touching again. If he hadn’t been staring blankly at his phone, I would’ve sworn he was doing it on purpose.

I gritted my teeth. "Hey, Pierce. Do you mind keeping your legs in your own time zone?" Pierce set his phone down with infuriating elegance. He shot me a sidelong glance. "My bad.

Wasn't paying attention," he murmured, his voice a low, magnetic rumble that practically made the girls across the table swoon.

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath. "Poser." Once everyone settled in, the waitstaff started rolling out the food.

Bryce had clearly dropped a small fortune tonight—it was a sixstar hotel, and every dish hitting the table was a signature chef's special.

Honestly, inhaling the toptier seafood and obscenely expensive steak was my actual goal tonight.

While the rest of the table chattered away, I kept my head down and focused entirely on my plate. Pure bliss.

Even better, the lazy Susan seemed magically calibrated to stop right in front of me whenever my favorite dishes came around. I was thriving. Then, Bryce started making his rounds.

He weaved between the seats with a heavy liquor bottle in hand, pressuring everyone into a fratstyle drinking game.

Given his new "tech bro" status, even the lightweights humored him, knocking back shots while brownnosing him for potential job connections.

It didn't take long for him to hover over my shoulder. "Come on, let's get a drink in our star girl! But wait, Maeve was late.

Anyone who's late has to down three consecutive shots as a penalty, right?" What kind of frathouse logic was that?

I had zero alcohol tolerance and an even worse track record when drunk. There was no way in hell I was taking a shot.

I politely declined a few times, but Bryce was already buzzing and refused to take a hint. "What's the deal? Too good to drink with me?

Looking down on the crypto guy now?" he challenged. Pure social blackmail. Realizing he wasn't going to let it go, I set my fork down and pulled out the ultimate trump card. "Sorry.

I'm trying for a baby. No alcohol." That shut him up instantly. Bryce backed off, looking genuinely disappointed. "Damn, our itgirl got hitched? Which lucky bastard scooped you up?

What a shame. Can't mess with a potential kid, though.

You're off the hook." He pivoted and shoved the shot glass straight at the very 'lucky bastard' who had scooped me up. "You're not going to blow us off too, are you, golden boy?" Bryce had a death wish.

Pierce might look like a cold, refined intellectual on the outside, but in reality, the man was a beast. His alcohol tolerance was terrifying.

As for his stamina in other areas… well, that wasn't exactly public information. I fully expected Pierce to drink Bryce under the table without breaking a sweat.

Instead, he slowly shook his head. His next words nearly made me choke on my own saliva. "Sorry. My wife is trying for a baby.

No alcohol." Chapter 3 The moment the words left his mouth, I could practically hear the collective sound of hearts shattering across the room. Bryce froze.

He raised a trembling finger, pointing back and forth between the two of us. A spike of panic shot straight through my chest. What the hell is Pierce playing at?

I cursed him out in my head. We were secretly married, and literally on the verge of a divorce. Why would he drop a bombshell like that?

People weren't stupid; they were definitely going to put two and two together. My brain was already working in overdrive, spinning up a bulletproof lie to cover our tracks.

But as it turned out… I was overestimating them. We actually were dealing with idiots. Bryce's voice shook. "Holy shit, what is up with you two?

How did both of you get hitched so young?!

You were the biggest nerds in our class—what were you studying, marriage manuals?" Just like that, his idiotic comment successfully derailed everyone's train of thought.

The room erupted into chatter. "Seriously! Everyone else blasted their wedding announcements in the group chat.

How did you guys keep it so quiet?" "I wonder what kind of girl managed to lock down the golden boy.

Talk about hitting the jackpot." Someone leaned across the table toward me. "Hey Maeve, any chance we can see a picture of your husband?

Just to satisfy our curiosity." I flashed a tight, perfectly polite smile. "You really don't want to. I have a weird thing for ugly guys.

He's so hideous I'm honestly afraid I'd give you all nightmares." Unfazed, the nosy classmate pivoted right to Pierce. "What about you? Your standards were always skyhigh.

Come on, show us the supermodel who finally took you off the market." Pierce paused, tapping his finger against the table. "I'll pass. She's incredibly shy.

If someone even looks at her on the street, she turns completely red." I nearly choked on my own breath. You have got to be kidding me, Pierce.

The conversation died a quick death after that.

They were definitely still curious, but since neither Pierce nor I were giving them anything to work with, they eventually backed off.

Rejected twice, Bryce aggressively downed his shot. Then, his eyes locked onto the watch wrapped around Pierce's wrist. His eyes lit up. "Holy shit.

Our golden boy must be rolling in cash. How are you wearing a toptier sports car on your wrist?" Pierce was the textbook definition of old money.

But he always kept a ridiculously low profile. Back in high school, he only ever wore plain, unbranded clothes and rode a beatup mountain bike to campus.

No one ever connected him to actual wealth. It wasn't until much later that I found out those basiclooking shirts cost thousands of dollars apiece.

Pierce took a calm sip of water, his expression perfectly unbothered. "It's a fake," he murmured. "Worthless." Wow. Give the man an Oscar.

If I didn't know better, I'd actually believe he bought it out of a guy's trunk in a dark alley. That answer was exactly what Bryce wanted to hear.

You could practically see the tension leave his shoulders. A guy who showed up just to flex his crypto money definitely couldn't handle the idea of someone outearning him.

He clapped Pierce heavily on the shoulder, his voice booming across the table. "Hey, man, don't be so vain. You gotta build your wealth one step at a time.

If you're struggling, why don't you come work for me? I'll bump your current salary up by a solid three grand. What do you say?" Pierce didn't even flinch.

He lowered his gaze, his tone cool and steady. "No need. I'm a pig farmer now. Business is booming." …Excuse me?

I had a very strong suspicion he was insulting me, but I had absolutely zero proof. Chapter 4 Bryce shifted on his feet, visibly thrown off.

He forced a stiff, unnatural laugh. "Haha, right on. Exploring uncharted industries.

Giving back to the agricultural sector." "Yeah," Pierce replied smoothly. "I only found out after I started raising pigs that my prize sow refuses to eat cheap cabbage." I lost my appetite.

That petty, passiveaggressive bastard. He was taking a veiled shot at me. I grabbed my clutch and stood up. "Sorry, guys.

My stagefive clinger of a husband is already blowing up my phone.

See you around." But the second I pushed my chair back, Pierce stood up right next to me. "Apologies, but I need to head back too.

My wife has a habit of overthinking things, and she's a nightmare to coax when she's mad." Why the hell was he mirroring me? He wasn't a clinger; he was a damn copycat.

As we walked out, the loud whispers of our classmates chased us. "Holy shit, what are the odds?

Do you think they secretly hooked up?" "No way!" someone else shot back, voice dead certain. "Absolutely zero chance.

The odds of them being together are lower than finding a million bucks in a gutter." "True." They weren't just guessing. Literally no one would ever put us together.

Back in high school, it was public knowledge that Pierce and I mixed like oil and water.

Or, more accurately, I despised him, and he was too far up his own untouchable pedestal to even acknowledge my existence.

Before high school, I was the undisputed valedictorian, perched comfortably at the top of the food chain. Then I met Pierce.

And I learned what it felt like to be completely, utterly crushed. He took the number one spot, consistently beating me by double digits.

No matter how much I grinded, the closest I ever got was an agonizing threepoint margin. The frustration tore me apart.

I spent way too many nights biting down on my pillow, crying out of pure, competitive humiliation.

So, even if every other girl on campus was ready to throw themselves at him, I was fully committed to hating his guts.

Let’s be real—no eternal runnerup ever actually likes the person in first place.

Once, when a classmate joked that I tracked his test scores so closely because I secretly had a crush on him, I slammed my hand on my desk and swore: "Impossible.

I'd rather fall for a stray dog digging through the alleyway trash cans than like him." Of course, Pierce happened to be walking right past the door when I said it. But I was weak.

My willpower cracked. Through countless academic showdowns, I slowly lost myself in his infuriatingly perfect face and raw brilliance. I defected to the enemy.

And let me tell you, the karma of slapping yourself in the face hurts like a bitch. I started firing up Google, furiously researching: How to get your crush to notice you.

The very first search result was some generic advice: Make sure you stand out. Be completely different from the rest. Don't lose yourself. A lightbulb went off in my head.

The number of girls obsessing over Pierce could fill a damn football stadium. If I just turned into another pathetic fangirl, I’d be completely invisible.

If I wanted to catch his eye, I had to play a totally different game. So, I kept up the act. I maintained my persona as his fiercest rival, the one girl who absolutely detested him.

Behind the scenes, though… I was putting in the work. Like in AP English Literature, when the professor asked us for our favorite poetic imagery.

I shot my hand up and, in front of the entire class, quoted a classic verse. "When the twilight falls, the shadows pierce the fading light." That exact line had been inked into my diary for years.

Chapter 5 But Pierce was a brick wall. His brain only registered academics, and he seemed genuinely convinced I was just his most competent rival.

Right before the state decathlon, he actually walked over, dropped his personal notebook on my desk, and offered two syllables of encouragement: "Good luck." Hilarious.

Did it actually help? I stayed up all night tearing through those notes until the pages were frayed, but that numberone spot was still completely out of reach.

When I handed the notebook back, I Googled a mathematical equation that graphed into a heart and stealthily scribbled it on the very last page.

Knowing him, he probably never even saw it. Eventually, Pierce snagged a fullride early admission to an Ivy League.

I worked myself to the bone, treating that university like my holy grail. After grinding through countless sleepless nights, I actually made the cut.

We were heading to the same college. I honestly thought college would be my fresh start. A new environment, no familiar faces to judge my past persona.

I was practically cracking my knuckles, ready to drop the act and finally make my move. But then the ultimate rival spawned in.

Beside the basketball court, the classic "handing him a water bottle" scenario I’d rehearsed fifty times in my head got hijacked.

A girl with perfect waistlength hair and bright eyes skipped right up to him, a cold sports drink in her hand. She called him: "Pierce." He took it naturally.

Pierce never spoke to strangers, but he actually initiated the conversation. "What are you doing here?" The girl flashed a flawless smile. "Do I need a reason to come see you?" The sunlight hit them perfectly, looking like a damn movie poster.

The gorgeous girl from the communications department standing next to me, who had also been gripping a water bottle, let her shoulders slump.

She turned to her friend, her voice strained. "It's over. My love life died before it even started. He's totally taken.

I feel like someone just punched me in the gut." Same here, sister. I mentally slammed the door shut on my feelings and locked it.

I forced myself to stop checking his schedule and turned my head completely in the other direction whenever we crossed paths on campus, treating him like a total stranger.

Later, I got a reality check thanks to my scatterbrained academic advisor. Right before the faculty speech competition, he realized he'd left his notes in his office.

I sprinted across campus to deliver them, only to overhear a conversation backstage between a professor and Pierce. "Pierce, a handsome guy like you… are you seeing anyone?" Pierce's expression didn't change.

He didn't even hesitate. "No." A sudden spark flared up in my chest. Knowing Pierce, he wouldn't lie about something like that.

The professor looked thrilled, patting him heavily on the shoulder. "Perfect. I was just thinking about setting you up with my niece.

She just rushed a toptier sorority…" Never mind. Spark extinguished. Clearly, everyone was trying to sink their claws into the campus's most eligible bachelor. "There you are!

Why are you hiding back here? Hand over the script!" My advisor suddenly materialized behind me, barking in my ear. I jumped, practically shoving the papers into his hands.

By the time I recovered, I had completely missed Pierce's response. Sometime later, the student union threw a campuswide mental health event.

Volunteers clutching cardboard boxes and notepads were swarming the quad. A bubbly girl blocked my path. Chapter 6 She flashed a sugary smile. "Hey!

Write down what's bothering you and drop it in. Someone else will take it away, and you won't have to carry that weight around anymore!" Good intentions, sure.

But the only thing tearing me up inside was my absolute failure to lock down Pierce. I dropped my shoulders. "I'll pass.

Nobody can fix my specific problem." The girl refused to back down.

She shoved the cardboard box right under my nose. "Then why don't you take someone else's?" Those deep dimples made it impossible to say no.

I reached in and pulled out a random slip of folded paper just to humor her. I flipped it open. My boots glued themselves to the pavement.

The ink read: I like someone, but she seems to hate my guts. That sharp, unmistakable scrawl… That was Pierce's handwriting. The puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place.

The gorgeous girl from the basketball court wasn't his girlfriend—she was his crush.

The untouchable, brilliant Pierce was stuck in the friendzone, practically choking on unrequited love! But wait.

Judging by how that girl acted that day, she definitely didn't hate him. Did having a crush just completely fry a guy's brain and make him paranoid? Whatever. Not the point.

The point was: Pierce, honey, your savior has arrived. I was going to swoop in, melt that icecold exterior, and heal that bruised ego.

If that girl was crazy enough to pass up prime real estate, I was moving in. Operation: Claim Pierce officially commenced. I joined his exact student organization.

I fired off casual texts to bridge the gap. I practically engineered "accidental" runins across campus. I dragged my toughest study guides to him for tutoring.

Day by day, the thick ice between us actually started to thaw. Until the night of the club's kickoff party.

My alcohol tolerance was completely nonexistent, so I kept my glass bonedry all night.

Even when the club president relentlessly tried to pressure me into a drinking game, I anchored myself to my chair. I had no idea what kind of drunk I was.

If I lost my mind in front of Pierce, I’d have to pack my bags and move to another country just to escape the embarrassment.

Just as everyone was tearing into their latenight street food, my ultimate rival spawned in.

The girl waved at Pierce from across the street, skipping over like an overly caffeinated cheerleader. The collective gossip radar at our table pinged instantly.

The club president leaned in, practically salivating. "Holding out on us, man?

You really aren't going to introduce us to this gorgeous girl?" Pierce offered a rare, faint smile. "This is Arabella. A friend." "Just a friend, or a girlfriend?

Don't leave out the details, man." Before Pierce could even open his mouth, Arabella’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. "Don't tease Pierce, guys.

He gets embarrassed easily." A concrete block slammed directly into my stomach. I discreetly spat the bite of food I’d just chewed into a napkin. Damn it. It tasted like pure ash.

Pierce followed Arabella away from the table. Out under the amber glow of the streetlamp, she was chattering away about something.

She pouted playfully, wrapping her hands around Pierce's arm and swinging it back and forth