Kidnapped by the Billionaire: An Age Gap Romance

By Isla Chiu

This man might be handsome, but he's a psycho. "Um, who are you?" I ask.

"I'm Tristan Ashton."

I pale, instantly recognizing the name. My dad subscribes to a lot of business magazines, and they would often mention Tristan Ashton, the 50-something billionaire recluse who made his enormous fortune from developing a few medical devices. All kinds of rumors have swirled around him, including many unsavory ones.

What does he want with me? 

 

WORD COUNT: 4,100

 

A sexy short story about a young woman and a handsome billionaire!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isla Chiu
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201115852

Isla Chiu

When I manage to tear myself away from taking Buzzfeed quizzes and watching unhealthy amounts of TV, I write romance and smut. My works feature alpha males, sexy times, and/or my sarcastic sense of humor. I hail from Cleveland, aka the best freaking city in the world, and believe LeBron James is the perfect human being. Despite all of my efforts, I have never truly been able to quit caffeine. My favorites include Taylor Swift, Florence + the Machine, and SHINee. I love to hate/hate to love k-dramas. If I say I’m on a diet, I’m just lying to you and myself. One of these days, I'm going to get hypertension from an excess of salt, both literal and figurative. If I'm awkward around you, I probably don't know what to say to you and/or I think you're hot. And despite what anyone says, Forrest Gump so deserved that Oscar over Pulp Fiction.

Book preview

Kidnapped by the Billionaire

MAMA PINCHES MY STOMACH, shaking her head. Someone ate a little too much last night.

I grit my teeth. Last night, I had a thin slice of pizza and a small Caesar salad for dinner, which most people would consider a normal meal. But when you’re a reluctant model whose parents depend on your career as their sole source of income, carbs are the enemy, albeit a delicious one.

I was hungry, I say. I’m always freaking hungry. I eat enough to not faint on the runway but not a single calorie more than that. And you can’t really tell that I ate a big meal last night, can you?

Mama pinches my stomach again. I scowl at her French manicure. Guess who paid for those nails?

You have to be careful, Huiying, she tells me for what must be the thousandth time. This industry is so competitive, and if you don’t meet the standards, what will happen to your baba and me?

I don’t know, maybe Baba and you will have to get an actual job instead of mooching off your perpetually hangry daughter.

But I don’t say the words. I never say the words. If I say them, my parents would melodramatically clutch their chests and despair over their ungrateful daughter. They would remind me not for the