Confessions of a Romanceaholic: Rich, Ruthless, and Obsessed with My Happiness? Where Do I Sign?
Listen, I don’t ask for much, just a devastatingly handsome billionaire with too much money, power, and an unhinged level of devotion to his one true love. Is that so unreasonable? Because if there’s one thing I’ll never get tired of, it’s a hero who has a private jet, a morally grey streak, and a singular focus on making his woman the happiest, most spoiled person on the planet.
Billionaire romance heroes are built differently. Regular men might text back eventually, but a billionaire? He’s buying the entire restaurant so you can have your favorite dish flown in from Italy. He’s making enemies disappear if they so much as look at you wrong.
He’s whispering possessive promises in his deep, gravelly voice while sliding a black AmEx into your hand and saying, “Whatever makes you happy, baby.” Excuse me while I melt.
And let’s not forget the obsession. These men don’t do casual. The second they set eyes on the heroine, she becomes their entire world. Every problem? Solved with a single phone call. Every danger? Eliminated before she even knew about it.
Every desire? Oh, he’s already anticipated it, planned for it, and made sure it’s waiting in the penthouse. Daddy Warbucks could never.
So yes, I will take one wealthy, ruthless billionaire who would burn down his empire to see me smile, please, and thank you. If you need me, I’ll be nose-deep in my latest billionaire romance, waiting for my fictional man to whisper, “You’re mine, and I’ll give you the world.”
