The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

The car rolled past the black wrought iron gates crowned with a golden insignia—an intricate "G" entwined with the crest of power itself.
A towering post stood beside it with bold silver letters etched across a dark plaque: GARCÍA ESTATE. TRESPASSERS WILL NOT BE WARNED TWICE.
Nivera’s heart plunged and she gulped hard, her fingers tightening around the seatbelt.
Why was he bringing me here? The thought rang like an alarm. Her pulse spiked.
Was this where he killed people who crossed him? Maybe he’s going to lock her in the basement. Or erase her. Or worse, make her disappear like the rumors said they did with traitors and threats…
Nievera began to hyperventilate, her breaths sharp and shallow. She tried to muffle the sounds, clamping her mouth shut and biting her bottom lip. Her palms turned clammy as her gaze darted out the window.
The car finally slowed to a stop on the long stone-paved driveway. Nivera glanced outside—and gasped softly.
The mansion was massive. Colossal. A Spanish-styled architectural masterpiece that looked like it belonged on a private island. Ivy coiled up the white walls like royal embroidery, windows gleamed like polished obsidian, and the front doors were large enough to swallow ten people at once. The estate was quiet, and somehow… beautiful.
Even as fear clawed at her insides, Nivera couldn’t help the awe that flickered in her chest. She came from wealth—her family home was a sprawling mansion too—but this? This was another league. This was the kind of wealth that dictated nations.
She turned toward Alejandro to ask why—why the hell are he has brought her there but the driver's door clicked open before she could speak, and he was already stepping out.
Then her door opened too.
Alejandro stared down at her, one brow lifted. “Out.”
There was no room for negotiation. Not in his tone, not in his eyes.
Nivera hesitated only a moment before slowly unclipping her belt and climbing out, wrapping her arms around herself like a shield.
She followed him silently up the steps. No words needed to be exchanged—she knew better than to question him now.
The massive double doors creaked open as they approached, revealing a tall, elegant woman in a crisp black uniform. A housekeeper?
“Get a first aid kit,” Alejandro ordered without sparing her a glance.
Nivera blinked. First aid kit? Her eyes trailed to his back and bloody shirt. He’s the one injured, right? Was it from those men back there?
She barely had time to wonder more before they stepped into the mansion’s cool, airy foyer. Everything looked like it came from a billionaire’s fever dream—high ceilings, velvet curtains, chandeliers made of actual crystal. It was too perfect. Too silent.
It didn’t feel like a home.
It felt like a palace of secrets.
“Sit,” Alejandro said, nodding toward the leather couch in the living room to the left.
Still stunned, Nivera complied, sinking into the buttery leather.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she watched him walk toward the marble fireplace, removing his jacket with a wince. There was a cut on his side, stained slightly through his white shirt.
A moment later, the housekeeper returned with a sleek black box—more of a luxury case than a medical kit—and handed it to Alejandro. He took it without a word and turned back to Nivera.
She blinked. “You’re going to treat yourself?” she asked hesitantly.
“No,” he said, dropping the kit beside her on the couch, “you are.”
Nivera’s mouth fell open slightly. “Seriously?”
He didn’t answer, just raised a brow and gestured at the box. She narrowed her eyes but opened it, muttering under her breath, “What kind of psycho makes the injured person give instructions?”
She took out the antiseptic wipes and bandages, but as she reached for the small bottle of healing cream for her own cheek, Alejandro moved lightning fast.
He snatched it from her hand. “Hey!” she said, startled.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he turned to her fully, dipped his fingers into the cream, and leaned forward.
Nivera froze.
His thumb gently touched the corner of her bruised cheek, and she hissed slightly at the sting.
“You flinch too easily,” he murmured, voice too low, too intimate.
“Gee, I wonder why,” she bit out. But her voice wasn’t as steady as she wanted it to be.
She expected him to snap back, but he didn’t. His eyes focused on her face as he dabbed the cream gently, smoothing it over the purpling skin with such softness that it made her chest ache.
Why is he being gentle now?
She was confused. Angry. Grateful. Terrified. Everything at once.
And for a brief moment, there was a silence between them that wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t hostile. Just… quiet. Intense.
Then, as fast as it came, it vanished.
Alejandro pulled back, wiping his fingers on a nearby cloth. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered.
And there it is. Nivera almost rolled her eyes. The real Alejandro. The one with the sharp tongue and sharper smirks. The one who could melt you or murder you, and you’d never know which one was coming.
Right then, a younger woman in uniform entered the room carrying a medium-sized duffel bag. She placed it gently on the glass table before them.
“Mr Martins just sent these.”
Alejandro reached over and grabbed it, tossing it into Nivera’s lap with zero ceremony.
She startled, opening it up with anxious fingers. Her clothes. Her phone. Even her makeup pouch.
But no passport. No cash.
Her eyes shot up, wide and accusing. “Where’s my passport? My money?”
Alejandro leaned back into the couch, legs spread in that confident way men like him always sat.
“You’re not getting them back,” he said coolly.
Nivera’s mouth dropped. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t like repeating myself.”
“You—!” She stood, trembling. “You can’t just hold my stuff hostage! That’s theft—no, that’s illegal!”
He smirked, unbothered. “Sweetheart, you’re in my house. With my name. With my gun. Nothing that happens here is illegal.”
She stared at him, breathless. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
He tilted his head, eyes dark and glinting. “Because I can.”
Silence dropped like a hammer.
“You want your freedom?” he continued, voice low. “You’ll have to earn it.”
“Earn it?” she spat. “You’re sick.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he said easily, rising to his feet. “Now be a good girl and sit down before I rethink returning your clothes too.”
She nearly threw the bag at his head.
But something in his eyes—dangerous, unpredictable—made her slowly sit back down, jaw clenched.
Alejandro smiled then, almost fondly. “See? You’re learning.”
Nivera hated that her hands shook. She hated that part of her didn’t want to look away from him, even when he was being cruel.
She had stepped into the devil’s car… and now she was inside his lair.
And something told her, he wasn’t letting her leave anytime soon.