Seeing a billionaire was...ridiculous. You knew it would come with complications from him — stalking you at the hardware store, having cameras installed in your house, his mommy issues or whatever the hell that is, and wanting you to sign some wack ass sex contract.

But, hey, he was rich and fine as hell.

You step inside your room after a long day just to get the contour life when he pops out of your hamper.

"I have been waiting inside your hamper for over an hour," he says, completely serious.

"How did—?"

You look around your room, seeing your window cracked, curtains moving in the breeze, your paranoia kicking in.

"It ain't my fault you have bad security," he shrugs, like breaking into your room is a casual Tuesday.

"I'm sorry?" you blink, clutching your phone like it’s holy protection.

He climbs out of the hamper to his full height, towering over you, chest bare, abs shining like he’s been misted for a photoshoot.

"You’ve been ignoring me," he says, like it's obvious that it would lead to this.