Wheels of Obsession

Preview

The rain in Bangkok didn't wash things clean; it just made the neon bleed into the asphalt.

Kaewta stared out the window of the cramped staff breakroom, adjusting a scratchy, oversized polo that smelled faintly of cheap fabric softener.

It wasn't his tailored Egyptian cotton.

It wasn't the silk robes he used to lounge in back at his family's estate before he packed a single duffel bag and ran into the night.

On the couch, his childhood friend and former maid, Nim, winced as she tried to shift her leg.

Her ankle was heavily bandaged, a parting gift from the thugs Kaewta's father had sent to drag him home. Nim had taken the fall so he could break free.

"You can't do this, Khun Kaewta" Nim whispered, her voice strained with worry.

"The Phuriwat family... they aren't people you play games with. Master Day's father is ruthless. If they find out you lied on the application-"

"They won't" Kaewta interrupted, turning around with a sharp, dazzling smile that didn't match the cheap room.

He leaned down, gently patting her shoulder. "The application has your name, but my face is going through that door. Your ankle needs months to heal, Nim. You need the money, and I need a place to disappear where my father would never look. An elite maid service? It's perfect."

"But Master Day..." Nim swallowed hard.

"He's... difficult since the accident. The agency warned me. No one lasts more than a week."
Kaewta's smile turned slightly wicked.

M He smoothed down the front of his uniform, his dark eyes flashing with a mix of mischief and deliberate provocation. "A strict, bossy billionaire who locks himself away? Sounds exactly like my type. Don't worry, Nim. I'm very good at getting what I want."

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The penthouse of the Phuriwat estate felt less like a home and more like a high-tech fortress.

Kaewta stood in the center of the vast, marble-floored study.

Sitting behind a massive mahogany desk was Akara Phuriwat the patriarch of the empire.

The older man didn't look up immediately.

He let the silence stretch, a classic power play.

When Akara finally raised his eyes, his gaze pierced right through Kaewta.

There was a long, suffocating pause.

Mr Akara looked at the resume on his desk, then back at the beautiful, flawlessly groomed young man standing before him.

"You aren't Nim" Akara said, his voice flat and dangerous.
Kaewta didn't flinch.

Instead of bowing his head in fear like a servant should, he kept his chin high, his posture elegant. "No, sir. Nim was injured. I am taking over her contract. I assure you, I am highly capable."

Akara leaned back, tapping a gold pen against the desk. "You carry yourself like someone who has never scrubbed a floor in his life. Your hands are soft. Your accent belongs in an international boarding school, not a servant's quarters. Who are you?"

Kaewta knew the game was up, but he didn't panic.

He took a slow breath, letting his true demeanor slip through-the confident, unapologetic heir. "My identity doesn't change what I can do for your son, Mr. Phuriwat. I know what people say. I know nobody stays."
Before Akara could call security, the heavy automated double doors at the back of the study slid open with a low hum.

The temperature in the room instantly dropped.

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The wheelchair moved with silent, lethal precision.

Day Phuriwat sat perfectly upright. Even confined to the sleek, carbon-fiber chair, his presence was overwhelming.

His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, his broad shoulders filling out a bespoke charcoal suit.

But it was his eyes that froze the room-cold, dead, and harboring a volatile, simmering rage.

A man who was meant to rule the skies as a pilot, now forced to ground his ambitions into the family's corporate ledger.
"I told you I don't want another handler, Father" Day said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the quiet room.

He didn't even spare Kaewta a glance. "Fire him. I don't need a babysitter to watch me crawl."

"Day, you need assistance at the penthouse-" Mr. Akara began, his voice surprisingly exhausted.

"I said no." Day finally snapped his eyes toward Kaewta, intending to scare him off with a single, venomous glare.

"Look at him. He'll cry the moment I tell him to clean my shoes. Get out."
Most people would have backed away. Most people would have looked down out of pity or fear.

Kaewta did neither.
Instead, Kaewta took a deliberate step forward, crossing the invisible boundary into Day's personal space.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a slow, dangerously flirty smile as he looked Day up and down. Up close, the bitterness rolling off the billionaire was intoxicating.

It wasn't pity Kaewta felt; it was an intense, sudden spark of obsession.
"You're a real ass, aren't you?" Kaewta said, his voice dropping into a smooth, teasing English cadence.

Mr. Akara gasped.

Day's hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"What did you say?" Day hissed, a lethal promise in his eyes.

Kaewta turned directly to the father, his voice ringing out loud, clear, and completely unbothered by the storm brewing in the wheelchair.

"I like your son even if he's like that! I want him. Please let me stay."

The study fell into a dead, shocked silence.

Akara stared at Kaewta.

For the first time in two years, someone hadn't looked at his son with tragic pity.

Someone was looking at Day with raw, unfiltered desire, completely unfazed by the wheelchair or the broken temper.

Akara's hardened expression suddenly softened, a flicker of desperate hope crossing his aged face.

Day's chest heaved with quiet fury, his dark eyes locking onto Kaewta like a predator targeting prey. "You're insane."

"Maybe,But I'm not leaving." Kaewta whispered, leaning down just enough so only Day could hear him, his breath brushing against the strict CEO's ear.
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