Falling Hard for the Billionaire Next Door

I never expected to move next door to a billionaire.

Not when I could barely pay my rent, not when my life felt like it had been lit on fire and left to burn. But after a messy breakup, a sudden job loss, and my best friend practically dragging me out of the city, I ended up in this sleepy little coastal town—where the waves crash louder than my thoughts and the sunsets make everything feel like it might be okay again.

And that’s when I met him.

Well… “met” is a generous term. I heard the roar of his sports car before I ever saw his face. I saw the security cameras on every corner of his mansion before I knew his name. And I felt his gaze—the kind that could slice through your soul—before he ever said a word.

Ethan Blackwood.

Billionaire tech genius.

Emotionally unavailable.

Impossibly attractive.

And unfortunately… my new neighbor.

Chapter One: Welcome to Sunset Hill

The house was perfect. Tiny, a little run-down, but it had character. A porch swing, chipped blue shutters, and a wild rose bush that threatened to swallow the front steps. It was everything I needed for a fresh start.

I was still trying to wrestle a box labeled "Winter Crap" through the door when I heard the engine. It purred low like a beast ready to pounce.

I turned, wiping sweat from my forehead, and watched as a matte-black Aston Martin pulled into the driveway next door.

He stepped out in slow motion. Not literally, but that’s how it felt.

Tall. Dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. Designer sunglasses. Black tailored shirt. Watch that probably cost more than my car… and laptop… and maybe my organs combined.

He didn’t look at me. Not right away. Just turned toward the front door of his mansion like I was invisible.

Until I dropped the box.

Crash.

“Damn it,” I hissed, clutching my toe.

That’s when he turned.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. His brows arched slightly, amused. I braced for him to walk over, maybe offer to help, or at least say something neighborly.

He didn’t.

He gave a nod.

Just a nod.

And then disappeared inside without a word.

Chapter Two: Ice Cold

If I thought that was a one-time interaction, I was wrong. Every morning, I saw him jogging past my window. Every night, I heard the hum of his car as he returned, always alone. He never smiled. Never waved. Never spoke.

But I couldn’t stop watching him.

There was something off about Ethan Blackwood. Something guarded, like he’d locked his heart in a vault long ago and thrown away the key.

One morning, I found a package on my porch that wasn’t mine.

I checked the label.

Ethan Blackwood, 109 Sunset Hill Drive.

Close enough.

Hesitating, I crossed the invisible line between our houses and rang his doorbell.

The door creaked open, and there he was. Barefoot. In sweatpants and a T-shirt. Hair slightly tousled.

Unfair.

No one had the right to look that good half-awake.

"You have a package," I said, holding it out.

He stared at me for a second longer than necessary before reaching for it.

"Thanks."

And just like that, he started to close the door.

"Do you always shut the door on neighbors trying to be nice?" I asked.

That stopped him. His eyes locked on mine. And for the first time, I saw it—loneliness. The kind that even billions couldn’t fix.

"I don’t do small talk," he said flatly. "Or neighbors."

"Well, that’s too bad," I said, smiling sweetly. "Because I do both."

Chapter Three: Cracks in the Armor

It started small. Passing hellos. Accidental eye contact that lingered too long. An awkward smile here, a sarcastic comment there.

But one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

My power went out. I had no Wi-Fi, no lights, and—worse—no coffee. I was about to drive into town when I saw a light on in Ethan’s kitchen.

I knocked, soaked from the storm.

“I swear this isn’t some elaborate excuse to talk to you,” I said when he opened the door. “But… any chance you’ve got electricity and caffeine?”

He let me in.

He brewed the coffee himself. In silence. Until he asked, without looking up, “Why did you really move here?”

I told him. Everything. The breakup. The betrayal. The lost job. The feeling of being completely unmoored.

He listened.

And then he spoke.

About betrayal. About people using him for his name, his money, his connections. About the brother he lost. About why he’d built a mansion in a town no one had ever heard of.

That night, I saw a different Ethan Blackwood.

The man behind the fortune. The broken boy behind the brilliance.

And that’s when I realized...

I wasn’t just falling.

I was falling hard.