The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas Read... Official

"I don't want a soul," he said, stepping closer until I could smell his expensive cologne—sandalwood and winter air. "I want efficiency. And right now, you are being very inefficient."

"One week," he whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear. "But if you lose, Noelle... you don't just walk away. You work for me. And I’m a very demanding boss." The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas Read...

He’s spent years building a tower of steel and glass, high above the festive chaos of Manhattan. To Silas Vane, Christmas isn’t a season—it’s a logistical nightmare of inefficient sentimentality. But when a spirited, sharp-tongued local activist stands in the way of his latest development project—the very site of the city’s oldest Christmas market—Silas decides to buy the land and shut it down himself. "I don't want a soul," he said, stepping

"I’m not late, Silas. I was detained by the three dozen protesters outside your lobby," I replied, shaking the snow from my coat. "You know, the ones whose livelihoods you’re currently trying to bulldoze for a 'Wellness Plaza'?" "But if you lose, Noelle

Silas watched me, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine. The silence stretched, heavy and charged.

"It’s Christmas ," I snapped, stepping into his space. "People have met there, fallen in love there, and built traditions there for fifty years. You can’t just buy a soul, Silas."

Silas Vane stood by the balcony, a silhouette of sharp tailoring and even sharper edges. He didn't look like a man celebrating; he looked like a king surveying a kingdom he found deeply disappointing.