Rich male business partner yandere x Male business partner reader
Tags: implied situationship, Yandere backstabs reader, reader goes from riches to rags, forced marriage contract, manipulation, gaslighting.
__________________________
The world was your oyster.
Once amongst the 1%, the minority who lived the dream those who would kill for, a king is what you were.
But those were the days. Paycheck to paycheck, the cold cruelty of living off scraps, the humilation of begging and stealing is what you now knew. You walk the streets, looking for work, constantly trying to survive.
It all started with a toast.
The sound of men laughing, the smooth jazz and the gold lights dancing around the room. You met him at that party. He was well groomed, his suit tailored perfectly to his body, the poster child of class. With honeyed words, the two of you sweetened a deal. It was typical to do business in these sorts of events. You wouldn't have shook that hand outstretched to you if it meant making a deal with the devil. He became a business partner of yours, someone who slowly began to infect your life. Phone calls, emails, and meetings from him became a new routine of yours. He was charming and knew how to use that smooth voice of his to appease potential investors. He was dangerous that way, and somehow, he always had a way to wrap everything around his thumb without anyone suspecting it. It's why you loved working with him.
The two of you destroyed your competition left and right. You created the ideas, and he pitched them. He would be in the meeting with you, talking to the old wealth with their wrinkled faces, always a step behind to support you.
He had everything. You didn't understand why a man like himself, a big shot, would go out of his way to help another man with as much wealth. In this world, in the world of the rich, the business world, it was a dog eat dog. There was a catch, you always knew there was. Many times, you asked him. "Why? Why do you do this?" And he wouldn't give an exact answer, but, playfully, he danced around something more. "I consider this a long-term investment," He'd say, "Don't worry, you're not my charity case" before changing the subject.
Being with him felt timeless, a perfect era in your life that felt neverending. He was always there, with a confident smile that would swoon the ladies. You didn't blame them, his smile began to affect you too.
You got attached. You couldn't help it. It was lonely being you. All the money in the world, yet there was no one to lean back to, someone to tell all your fears. You had everything every man wanted. All the silks for you to wear, the beautiful house that outshined the neighborhood, the maids to cook and clean, yet you found yourself envious towards the working and poor. They had a community, a place that felt like home, family, that special someone to talk to.
Your family was vicious, back stabbing each other just for the sake of biggering their assests and properties. But him? He was a refresher. He was that special someone in your life, even if it was just buisness. But those times when he was around you, supporting, making you laugh, it made you feel warm. Unconsciously, you began to expand that relationship between the two of you.
Excuses of talking about potential opportunities over on the phone, urging him to see you as soon as possible, only to have him at your home, pouring him a glass of wine while you rambled away, laughing at a story you were in the midst of telling. And he? He enjoyed every moment he was with you. "I swear, we could perhaps advertise to the people that we're working together! Perhaps make a package deal!" He laughed, elbow on your kitchen counter, standing close beside you. "We already did that, though." You were both leaning on the counter, standing together. "Well, we can try again!" You were so giddy to have him over. You couldn't hide it. You've never willingly invited anyone to your house before."You're not here to talk about business, are you?" He found it adorable when you tried denying it. "What? No!"If you just wanted to see me, you could've just told me."
A smile on his face, and the flusteredness on yours. The two of you knew that there was something special.
It's why it hurt so much when he did what he did to you.
First it was the drinks, then it was the outings, then the restaurants, the cafes, the shops the two of you went to. Then, it was the stay overs, when either one of you would stay over and sleep at one another. At that point, you had to be more than just business partners. Two peas in a pod are what people described you as. Inseparable.
Each glance held a secret. Each conversation, a dance around the truth. There was always this underlying feeling beneath the surface. Something never confronted. Unconsciously committed to each other, no one got close - neither of you allowed it.
You weren't lovers, no, you were worse than that.
Perhaps that's what caused your downfall.
But he wasn't ready to wait.
That one unforgettable night, he sat across you. That wooden desk you would sit behind when someone came to you for a contract— only you were the one now being interrogated. "Who was he?" He demanded something so out of character that you couldn't help but stutter. "W-What?" "Who was he? That fella you walked out with behind the back." You let out a laugh, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Oh, that was just Brett! He was uh– just talking to me about some stuff.." "What stuff?" You could feel the anxiety rising. "...He uh, wanted to see if he could work with me.. Like a partnership. "And what did you say?"..I said I'd think about it."
That night when you told him about branching, seeing others to expand your buisness, the night your view of him would change. The illusion of a carefree friend, broken into pieces.
"We've known each other for a while yes?"
"I'm tired of pretending that there isn't something between us. That there's... Nothing—"
He was frustrated with his words, the lack of form or smoothness it had. He was desperate, something you hadn’t seen before.
"And I'm no begger, but.. 10 years me and you. Tell me you see it too."
He seemed sincere, so pitiful that night.
"Seeing you with him.. I'm kind of forced to acknowledge it but, don't you think it's time we've done something about.. Us?"
He was hoping you'd get the hint. But you were foolish back then, too prideful to admit something you were unsure of, something you felt disgusted by.
"What are you talking about?"
You said, laughing at his face. His taken aback expression was something you couldn't forget. The hurt on his face, it made you feel awful.
"Now about the proposition Brett had, I think maybe we should consider it."
"Can you stop doing that?"
"Every single time we get so close to acknowledging this.. Relationship between us, you always find some way to avoid it. And I'm getting tired of it."
"I think you're being weird and delusional.."
"I'm not and you know it. I see the way you look at me, and I feel the same way too. Why are you being so– difficult?"
You kept turning him down that night, denying those feelings you had. You were scared back then. You weren't ready to admit that you had some sort of feelings for the man you considered a best friend. You were comfortable with the relationship you had with him. Going a step up would change everything you've known.
That's what you thought at least back then. But now, in the present, you were completely justified. If anything, you'd argue you should've done worse.
For a moment, his confession won you over, and you finally admitted the tension in your so-called "strictly professional business" relationship. But, there was something his slick tongue got tied on. The contract, the one he wanted you to sign. You always trusted him, so when it came to signing them, you always skimmed them through. But this time, you decided to read it carefully through.
"...Lawful..? W-What is this?"
"Please...Just think about it. After everything I've done for this company, for you, for us."
"This is too much.. Too much is going on—"
It was all too fast that night. His insistent advertisting on the fact it was the most logical course of action.
He spoke of stronger communication and trust, a strengthened public image, unified finacial planning, the joint tax filing— all the works.
All you had to do was share his last name.
It felt too surreal, crazy. You ended up leaving, storming off overwhelmed, abandoning him to sit behind that wooden desk by himself - hands on his head. Multiple times, he tried bringing up the subject again, only for you to cut him off, to pretend nothing had happened. Days on end, he'd keep asking, persisting, begging with a smile— but you just wouldn't budge.
So, who was he to not respect your no?
It started off with the little things. Potienal investors began to distance themselves from you, going to him in private for deals and proposals. The people around you didn’t pay as much attention as they did– their eyes ignored your presence whenever you walked into the room. Then, it began to snowball. Suddenly, you found yourself being served papers– the man you once trusted now requesting to sever his business with you with a cold, unforgiving stare. Then, the rumors. Scandals of you mistreating workers, screaming when things didn't go your way. The papers, magazines, news, they started spreading like wildfire. The drama became unescapable.
Then, the final blow, the court case. When the man himself claimed you stole his idea, he was, in fact, the original founder of the company the two of you owned. That day when he won the court case, suing you for millions he knew you couldn't afford, leaving you with nothing.
Your name stripped away from the company.
Your money, all of it, taken away.
It was all gone in a blink of an eye.
A pariah, that's what you became. It was all over the news. The court live on national television, and your humilation plastered for millions to see. Paparazzi flashed you with their bright lights, their questions proading and following while you tried to leave the area. It wasn't easy adjusting. In fact, it was cruel. So used to being pampered by your luxurious life, you cried for weeks trying to scrap up what you could from your old life. But you couldn't. It had been ripped away from you. You sold what you had to, watches, jewlery, clothes, all your prized possessions down to the little trinkets you used to collect.
It gave you enough money to last you for at least a year and a few months— granted if you spent your money wisely. No one helped you, not even your so-called "pals" even spared you a dime. Alone to fend for yourself, you became bitter, suriving off what money you had that was slowly dwindling. Like a fish out of water, you had to work service jobs you never had to work before. Retail, fast food– it was a culture shock, but you managed. The only issue was that they never seemed to keep you for long. Your managers never told you why, but you could only assume it was because of your reputation or lack of skills. You lived in a cheap dingy motel, it was the only cheap place to rent in the city. Every other one bedroom apartment was at an unreasonable price. It also didn't help that food, hygenic products, and clothing were at an ungodly price.
Who knew basic nesscitities could be so expensive?
Money was going down the drain— and you weren't earning a livable wage. So now here you were now in the present, searching for work in the streets. You were willing to take any job, regardless of how sketchy or legal it was. The job market was so abysmal that you were practically begging for work. You've tried applying to office jobs, something higher than minimum wage, but– you were always denied. Interviews were rare, and millions of applicants applied for the same job as you. God knows if you got the job if they'd even keep you for long.
So, in your dingy motel room, on a special night, your night, you prayed. You treated yourself to one little luxury, something you hadn't indulged in a while— a cake. It was small, and it happened to be reduced. A single candle came with the cake, and with a match, you lit it up. You sung to yourself, clapping in rhythm.
Then, you blew out the candle, making a wish.
It felt stupid, almost delusional like those fairytales– someone wishing upon a star to live the life of royalty. You cut only a slice, putting it on the paper plate for yourself. You took a small bite, solemn but content with your special day. All your previous birthdays, you were always surrounded with expensive gifts, with your friends and him by your side— a contrast to now.
You frown at the thought of him.
A moment of silence, you ate your slice. Then, a knock comes from outside. You jump at the sound. Again, the person knocked, louder this time. You get up from the floor, cautiously approaching. You peep into the peephole on the door, and your heart drops.
He's there, outside, waiting. Your heart begins to beat, and you stumble back. Again, you look into the peephole, and he looks back into it, your eyes making contact, his smile acknowledging your stare.
He knocks again, testing you.
You thought about what you would've done if he ever showed his face to you. A plethora of scenarios you've thought of more than once; screaming obsanities for how he ruined your life, throwing any objects directly at his face, smashing that disgusting face over and over against the wall until he was no longer recongizable.
And now here the fucker was in the flesh. All in his glory with his neat prisy tidy hair, that stuck up expensive black trench coat, those comfy silky loose fashionable pants, the branded belt on his waist.. Everything screamed privileged.
He scanned the room, grimacing at the grim on the walls, the dirt littered on the wood floor. He didn't take off his shoes– he wouldn't let his feet be soiled. "Oh how the mighty fall" he laughed, like a prideful achievement he accomplished. You had to fight the urge to not to punch him— least god forbid he takes you to court again for some bullshit excuse like physical assault. "What do you want?" You spat, your voice sharp like the edge of a knife.
He looked at the cake, the small sad cake that wasn't even enough for two. "It's your birthday, thought I'd check up on you."
"Bullshit. How did you even find me?"
"Look at this place, it's filthy."
He brushed past you, inspecting your home. He checked every nook and crany, making small remarks of the filth.
"This is how you're spending your birthday? Ah babe...That's a shame."
"Yeah, ever since you FUCKED ME OVER. Now, answer me before I call the goddamn cops. How did you find this place? Why are you here?!"
Again, he didn't answer your question. Your threat fell deaf upon ears. "Oh, it's worse than I thought... I'm so sorry I put you through this." He almost looked remorseful if it wasn't for the glee in his eyes that said otherwise– like you had gotten what was coming to you. He looked back at you, seeing you fully as you stood at the door, arms crossed. Eyes sucken, like the life had been sucked out of you, and you had gotten skinnier— he kissed teeth at the sight. He went to you, each step you took– he only went closer. He touched your hands, his thumb caressing the palms– once soft and pampered, now rough with the patches of calloused skinned. You've been worked to the bone.
You scoffed, yanking your hands away.
"You can't fix shit. You ruined my life."
Again, he stepped closer, streching his arms out to you.
"I know you're tired, I know it's been hard. You practically had everything stripped away from you— and I'm sorry something like that happened to you."
"And I'm sorry it's caused you to live like this. I never wanted to see you hurt. I honestly thought you’d bounce back by now. You’re stronger than this, aren’t you?”
You frowned in disbelief. Lips shut, you kept stepping away. He hurt you, he ruined your life - the man you once clung onto, the man you hated, the man you loved so secretly– pushing you into a corner once again.
“I still care about you, even after everything. It hurts me too, you know.”
His words swayed you, catching a moment of vulnerability from you.
"Let me fix this. Let me fix us."
It sounded so promising, so tempting. He stood there, his hands open to you, urging you to take the intitive. For a moment, you fell for it, uncrossing your arms– but not daring to move an inch.
"Here, I've got you the best birthday gift ever"
He smiled, so soft and so sincere. He reached into his pockets, rummaging through it. You almost looked forward to the supposed gift he had.
And then something that made you sick.
He placed it in your hand. Mortified, your hands shook holding it. The very object that signified the end of all things, the very same papers you refused to sign.
"All you need to do is say yes, and I can make your life perfect again."
