Thirsty For My Psycho Billionaire

When my consciousness finally clawed its way out of the fog, I found myself in the body of a broke college student about to sign her life away as a billionaire's kept woman.

My supposed best friend was currently standing flush in front of me, her chest heaving with righteous indignation as she glared at the man across the table. She declared loudly that even if the Sinclair family went entirely bankrupt, Megan would never stoop so low as to become his trophy pet.

The man sitting opposite us possessed a dark, volatile energy. A cynical smirk played on his lips as he picked up the sugar-baby contract, his long fingers gripping the heavy parchment, ready to tear it to shreds.

I stared at his face. It was a face etched into the deepest marrow of my bones.

A suffocating wave of grievance crashed over me. My vision immediately blurred with hot tears.

Before anyone in the opulent VIP room could process what was happening, I lunged across the mahogany table and desperately tore at his tailored shirt.

"Where did you go? I've been starving to death!" I wailed, my voice cracking.

In my past life, I was one of the infected. The walking dead. A monster. Yet, I had kept a human as a pet.

During the day, he would brave the apocalyptic wasteland to scavenge for supplies. At night, he would wash himself spotless, climb into bed, and obediently let me pin him down to drink his blood.

Then, one day, he just vanished.

I starved until I was nothing but a husk. Driven by the agonizing hollow in my gut, I finally gathered the courage to push open the heavy apartment door and search for him.

But the second I stepped out, a voice screamed: "That human traitor was harboring a monster! Kill it!"

I wanted to explain that they had it backwards. I was the one harboring the human.

But when I opened my mouth, the only sound that scraped from my dead throat was a guttural, wet groan. Before I could articulate my defense, a bullet tore through my skull.

A suffocating, eerie silence descended upon the VIP room.

Gideon violently snapped out of his shock and shoved me away.

A deeply mocking sneer twisted his handsome features. "Just a minute ago, you were playing the tragic martyr, ready to die before submitting. What happened? Decided to just throw yourself at me instead?"

Beside me, the original owner's so-called best friend, Valerie, let out an ear-piercing shriek. Her eyes bulged as she stared at me. "Megan Sinclair! How could you degrade yourself like this? Youre actually agreeing to be Gideon Mercer's kept woman?"

"No! I forbid it! You are leaving with me right now."

She grabbed my arm, attempting to drag me out of the suite.

I stumbled a few steps, then violently wrenched my arm free. I spun around, threw my arms around Gideon's waist, and locked my grip, refusing to let go.

I glared at Valerie, thoroughly annoyed.

Was this girl out of her mind? I had finallyfinallyfound my pet human. I hadn't even taken a single bite yet. Why the hell would I leave?

"I'm hungry!" I announced loudly.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from the chest pressed against my cheek.

Gideon clapped his hands. The heavy mahogany doors swung open, and a line of servers filed in, carrying silver platters of Michelin-starred cuisine.

The room filled with the rich aromas of truffles and seared Wagyu, but I didn't spare the feast a single glance. My eyes remained locked, utterly fixated, on Gideon.

"I don't eat that."

Gideons brow twitched with impatience. "Then what do you want? Pretty demanding for a girl who just sold herself"

"I want to eat you," I said, pointing a finger squarely at his chest.

Gideon choked on his own breath, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

Beside us, Valerie practically vaulted into the air. She stomped her foot, her face flushed with fury. "Megan! You were an honors student! Did you leave your brain in the gutter? How can you say something so utterly shameless?"

"If your parents knew you were whoring yourself out for money like this, theyd jump off a building out of sheer humiliation!"

My patience was fraying.

Before the original Megan had left the house today, her parents had explicitly instructed her to do whatever it took to please Gideon Mercer. Valerie knew perfectly well that offending Gideon would mean the final, crushing nail in the Sinclair family's coffin. She also knew the original Megan was fiercely prideful. She was saying these things on purpose, trying to trigger a reaction.

Even with a brain that had once been rotting inside a zombie's skull, I could tell this girl was bad news.

I ignored her completely. Instead, I reached my arms up toward Gideon, demanding to be held. "I'm tired. Take me home."

Back in that cramped, apocalyptic apartment, Gideon used to carry me around on his back all the time. He was my human. Bossing him around was my absolute right.

Gideon stared at me, uncomprehending for a second. When my demand finally registered, a vein throbbed visibly at his temple.

He shrugged off my grip, adjusting his ruined cuffs. "Keep up, then."

I bared my teeth at his retreating back.

Just as I thought. Humans needed to be disciplined daily. Leave them outside for too long, and they go completely feral.

My stomach gave a violent, hollow rumble. Seeing that Gideon had absolutely no intention of stopping to carry me, I swallowed my pride and trailed after him.

I had barely taken two steps when Valerie lunged forward and seized my wrist.

Her face was a mask of exaggerated, frantic concern. "Megan, I can't let you be alone with a man like him. Were best friends. Don't worry, I will protect you."

She positioned herself slightly in front of me, a tragic heroine protecting the weak, and lifted her chin defiantly at Gideon.

"I am moving into the mansion with Megan. Otherwise, you aren't taking her anywhere."

Gideon's dark, predatory gaze swept over the two of us. A slow, enigmatic smile curved his lips.

"Fine."

The new house was a sprawling, gated estateexponentially more magnificent than our old, dingy hundred-square-foot apartment.

I nodded in deep satisfaction.

The moment we stepped into my assigned bedroom, Valeries mask of concern morphed into a severe interrogation. "Megan, you were just putting on an act today to pacify him, right? Someone as proud as you would never willingly be his little toy."

I stared at her, blinking slowly.

Toy? Captive?

My tongue darted out to lick the corner of my mouth. Whatever it was called, it sounded delicious.

I nodded firmly. "I'm doing it."

Valerie looked like she might actually pass out from the sheer audacity.

She dug her manicured nails into my shoulders, her eyes burning with a manic intensity. "Are you insane? I've told you the rumors! Gideon Mercer is a psychopath"

She dropped her voice to a theatrical, trembling whisper. "He drinks raw blood. He eats raw meat."

I swallowed audibly. A phantom drop of drool practically pooled at the corner of my mouth.

I hadn't tasted blood in three months.

Shortly after the apocalypse began, I had found Gideon and hoarded him for myself. Because of him, I never had to roam the dangerous streets hunting humans. I had a steady, warm supply of fresh blood.

But ever since he vanished, I hadn't had a single drop.

Now, I had finally found him, but it seemed he had entirely forgotten his place as my pet.

Feeling a profound sense of melancholy, I gave Valerie a dismissive wave. "Don't kink-shame, Valerie. We should respect other people's dietary preferences."

Valeries jaw practically unhinged.

"I'm going to sleep. Get out," I said, shoving her out the door and locking it.

When I stepped out of the en-suite bathroom, enveloped in a cloud of steam, I found Gideon lounging on my bed, smoking a cigar.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his dark, brooding features partially obscured by the curling gray smoke.

Seeing me frozen in the doorway, he exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "Didn't you say you wanted to be my devoted little captive? What are you standing there for? Come here and entertain me."

I wrinkled my nose, my expression instantly souring. "Throw it away."

Gideons hand stalled mid-air. He looked at me, a dangerous edge sharpening his gaze. "Are you giving me orders in my own house?"

I marched over, leaned over him, and pressed my nose to his neck, taking a deep inhale. Just as I suspected. That intoxicating, mouth-watering scent was completely buried under the stench of ash.

My scowl deepened. I grabbed his arm and began dragging him toward the bathroom. "Go wash yourself right now. How am I supposed to take a bite out of you when you smell like this?"

Gideons intimidating aura shattered into sheer bewilderment. Before he could process what was happening, I had shoved him into the master bathroom.

A few moments later, the sound of the shower echoed through the door.

I stood right outside, waiting with the agonizing anticipation of a starving dog. The second the door clicked open, I pounced. I practically tackled him, tearing at the lapels of his plush bathrobe.

I aimed straight for the firm expanse of his chest and sank my teeth in.

"Hiss!"

Gideon flinched in pain and violently shoved me off him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice thick with anger.

I couldn't tell if it was from the steam of the shower or the shock, but the tips of his ears, hidden beneath his damp hair, were burning red.

I looked up at him with total self-righteousness. "I'm entertaining you."

In our past life, Gideon always took the initiative to strip down and lie on the bed waiting for me. Now, I was the one doing all the heavy lifting to undress him. How was that not entertaining him?

Gideon let out a harsh, incredulous laugh at my twisted logic.

But when his eyes dropped to the faint smear of crimson at the corner of my mouth, his gaze suddenly darkened, shifting into something entirely unfathomable.

He snatched the discarded bathrobe from the floor, threw it over my head to cover my face, and spoke in a voice that was suddenly tight and gravelly. "Wipe your face."

By the time I frantically wrestled the heavy terrycloth off my head, Gideon was already under the covers, lying as far away from me as possible, wrapped up tighter than a mummy.

He was firmly refusing to be my dinner.

Brimming with absolute grievance, I curled up on the opposite edge of the mattress, pulled out the new phone he had given me, and angrily typed into an anonymous forum:

[What do you do when the human you keep as a pet goes on strike and refuses to let you drink his blood?]

The comment section immediately flooded with replies:

[Damn, you guys play rough.]

[Roleplay level: Expert.]

Furious, I tossed the phone aside.

As I lay there staring at the ceiling, my consciousness began to drift, and I felt a long-forgotten sensation: sleepiness.

Hovering in the liminal space between waking and dreaming, a memory from my past life violently pierced my mind.

I had just finished my nightly feeding. I was sitting by the cracked window of our apartment, bathing in the moonlight to absorb the nights energy. (Mostly because zombies didn't need to sleep, and I literally had nothing else to do with my time).

As I sat there with my eyes closed, Gideon, who was sitting quietly beside me, suddenly spoke.

"Little Fang, I wish I could just turn into one of the infected. That way, we could be together forever."

I opened my eyes and looked at him, completely baffled.

He smiled, that soft, sad smile of his, and reached out to ruffle my messy hair.

"But if I turned, what would happen to you? Who would take care of you then?"

I bared my teeth at him in absolute outrage.

The sheer audacity! My pet human thought he was the one taking care of me?

To prove my dominance, I had immediately tackled him and bitten his chest again.

Gideon had been so obedient then. He hadn't dared to dodge. He just lay there, perfectly still, letting me take what I wanted.

I slowly opened my eyes in the dark bedroom. The corners of my eyes felt strangely damp.

After staring blankly into space for a moment, I scrambled across the massive mattress and crept right up to Gideons ear.

His eyes snapped open instantly. He stared at me with hyper-vigilance, his hand instinctively flying up to grip the collar of his pajamas.

"Gideon," I whispered conspicuously, "do you like drinking blood now too?"

In a fraction of a second, the last dregs of sleep vanished from his eyes.

The vigilance on his face melted away, replaced by a terrifying, volatile darkness.

His hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping tightly around my throat.

The air supply cut off instantly. Heat rushed to my face as I choked.

"What are you doing?!" I slapped at his hand, glaring at him with maximum intensity. "Let me go!"

A visible twitch spasmed across Gideons brow. He clearly hadn't expected me to look at him with such utter lack of fear while he was literally strangling me.

Subconsciously, his grip loosened.

I shoved his hand away, coughing violently for a few seconds before puffing my cheeks in irritation. "You're so stingy. I was just asking if we share the same dietary preferences now. It's not like I'm going to steal your food."

Gideon froze completely. For a long, suffocating moment, he just stared at me. Then, he doubled over, letting out a raw, manic laugh that bordered on unhinged.

"God, Megan, you truly are a piece of work."

He looked at me, his eyes dripping with pure venom and mockery. "The lengths you'll go to secure your place here. The lies you'll spin to cater to my... reputation."

"Did you honestly think that pretending to share my madness would make me fall in love with you?"

Looking at his twisted, self-deprecating smile, a surge of profound irritation flared in my chest.

He was the one who had literally said he wanted to be a monster with me.

I didn't bother arguing. I just flipped over, pinned him to the mattress, and ripped his silk pajama shirt open, exposing the faint red crescent of teeth marks on his chest.

I swallowed the heavy pool of saliva in my mouth, my eyes practically glowing green with hunger in the dark.

"If you don't believe me," I whispered, "let me take one more bite."

Faced with the naked, primal hunger in my eyes, Gideon fell dead silent.

After a heavy pause, he abruptly flipped us over, dumping me onto the mattress. Without a word, he pulled his shirt tightly shut. "Go to sleep."

His voice was harsh, defensive. "If you say one more insane thing, or try to pull another stunt like this, I will have my men throw you out onto the street."

Suitably chastised, I retreated to my side of the bed, pulled out my phone, and typed:

[My pet human is trying to stage a coup. He won't let me strip his clothes off anymore. Help! Emergency!]

The same degenerates from earlier replied instantly.

[If he won't let you take off his shirt, it's obviously a psychological block. Try taking off his pants instead. He'll definitely surrender.]

I locked the screen, deeply in thought.

When I woke up the next morning, Gideons side of the bed was cold.

The moment I wandered down the grand staircase, the estate's impeccably dressed head butler greeted me.

With a warm, practiced smile and a respectful bow, he said, "Miss Sinclair, before Mr. Mercer departed this morning, he arranged for several boutiques to send over their latest collections for your selection."

He clapped his hands gently. A line of estate staff marched into the grand foyer, carrying velvet trays and garment bags.

Brooches, diamond earrings, heavy sapphire necklaces, tennis bracelets. The sheer brilliance of the jewels in the morning light was almost blinding.

Following the jewelry came rolling racks of haute couture and limited-edition handbags that practically swallowed the massive living room.

Just then, Valerie stepped out of her guest room. The moment her eyes landed on the display of wealth, her face twisted into something ugly.

"Gideon gave you all this?" she asked, her voice cracking up an octave.

The butler offered her a deeply unimpressed, fleeting glance. Valerie struggled to forcibly mold her raw jealousy into a mask of sisterly outrage. She pointed a trembling finger at the racks.

"Megan, he is deliberately humiliating you! You absolutely cannot accept these things, or you will never be able to hold your head up in polite society again!"

I couldn't help but slowly tilt my head, stretching my neck as I looked at her like she was an alien.

The butler dropped his polite smile entirely. His tone laced with polite poison, he said, "Miss Valerie, Mr. Mercer only permitted you to stay on these grounds out of respect for Miss Sinclair. If you continue to make highly inappropriate remarks, I will be forced to have security escort you off the premises."

Valerie snapped her mouth shut, her eyes burning with resentment. She waited until the butler stepped away before sidling up to me. Leaning in close, her voice tight with a sick, eager anticipation, she whispered:

"Did Gideon have an episode last night?"

I used my previously-rotted zombie brain to process the question.

In my past life, I opened my apartment door and caught a bullet to the brain instantly.

The lesson was clear: in this life, I had to guard the secret of my true nature with my life. And since Gideon had clearly developed the same hunger, he was my kind now. I had to protect him, too.

I looked her dead in the eye and shook my head with absolute solemnity. "No."

Valeries face immediately fell in deep disappointment.

"How is that possible?" she muttered to herself, turning away in bitter frustration.

For a zombie who had spent three years locked inside a hundred-square-foot apartment without taking a single step outside, this sprawling estate was a paradise.

I wandered the gardens, explored the massive library, and tested the bounce of every sofa. The day passed in a blissful blur.

That evening, Gideon returned to the estate.

I was just about to run over and greet my food source when Valerie beat me to it.

Carrying a heavy, covered silver cloche, she intercepted Gideon in the grand hallway, a secretive, malicious gleam in her eyes.

My nose twitched. The heavy, metallic tang of fresh blood hit the air.

Gideon, whose steps had been light, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes locked onto the silver tray in Valeries hands.

With a sickeningly sweet smile, Valerie lifted the lid. Sitting on the pristine silver platter was a massive cut of raw, bloody beef, practically swimming in its own juices. Next to it sat a crystal tumbler filled to the brim with fresh, dark venison blood.

Staring at that glass of blood, the whites of Gideon's eyes slowly bled red. His classically handsome face contorted into something vicious and terrifying.

"Get out!"

He suddenly snapped, violently backhanding a priceless Ming vase off a nearby pedestal. It shattered into a thousand pieces. "Everyone, get the fuck out!"

I was still busy drooling at the sight of the venison blood when Gideons sudden violent outburst made me jump.

Before I could react, Valerie grabbed my arm and practically dragged me out of the room.

But instead of fleeing the house, she pulled me toward the veranda, pressing me against the French doors and leaving a tiny crack open so we could see inside.

"See?" she whispered frantically, her voice trembling with morbid triumph. "I didn't lie to you. He is a literal monster."

Inside the room, Gideon was staring at the glass of blood, his eyes locked in a violent war between desperate craving and agonizing self-loathing.

I could see his throat working as he swallowed heavily. Suddenly, he snatched a steak knife from the tray and viciously drove it into his own forearm.

Blood sprayed across the marble floor. The intense physical pain seemed to momentarily ground him, bringing a desperate clarity to his eyes.

But it didn't last. Within seconds, his breathing turned ragged and heavy.

Unable to fight the overwhelming compulsion any longer, he dropped the knife, grabbed the raw, bloody slab of meat with his bare hands, and began tearing into it with a ravenous, animalistic desperation.

"Oh my god!" Valerie shrieked, stumbling back.

Even though she had orchestrated the entire scene, witnessing the sheer, grotesque reality of it broke her nerve. She let out a scream of pure terror.

Gideons head snapped up. His eyes, devoid of any human warmth, locked dead onto my face through the glass.

Valeries grip on my wrist tightened painfully as she yanked me toward the front gates. "Run!"

"Stop them." The chilling, dead voice drifted out from the house.

Instantly, a wall of heavily armed security guards materialized, blocking our path.

A moment later, Gideon stood before me. The dark, manic energy radiating from him was suffocating.

His cold, bloodstained hand slowly reached up to wrap around my throat. A fractured, psychotic smile stretched across his face.

"You lied to me. You want to leave me too, don't you?"