The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

BANG BANG BANG!
A loud, persistent banging dragged Nivera out of sleep like a drowning woman breaking the surface.
Her eyes flew open, lashes fluttering as her brain struggled to catch up.
She was still in the massive bed, the unfamiliar sheets tangled around her legs.
Her head ached and her mouth was dry as sandpaper.
But none of that compared to the fury rising in her chest as the knocking continued, now harder, more impatient.
“What in the fuck?” she groaned, dragging herself upright, hair a disheveled halo around her head.
Who the hell was banging on the door so early in the morning?
She stomped to it, yanking it open with murder in her eyes, ready to curse at the person but she froze.
Alejandro stood there, freshly showered and dressed to kill in a tailored charcoal gray suit that hugged his broad shoulders like it was made for sin.
His shirt was crisp, a silken shade of black that matched the dark tie knotted perfectly at his throat.
His hair was slicked back, neat, not a single strand out of place, and he smelled like power and danger.
Nivera blinked, momentarily blinded by how handsome he looked. She, on the other hand, looked like she had been through hell.
One side of her face was still pressed with pillow lines, her eyes bleary, mascara faintly smudged from the night before.
“What?!” she snapped, voice laved with sleep and irritation.
Alejandro didn’t even flinch. “It’s time for you to get up.”
Her mouth dropped open. “It’s seven in the goddamn morning!”
“It’s one,” he corrected.
“…What?!”
“It’s one in the afternoon,” he repeated, checking his watch with casual elegance.
“I left the house for a meeting and got back only to find you still asleep. You’ve been in bed for almost fifteen hours.”
“I was tired, you sociopath,” she gritted out. “You dragged me here like a sack of potatoes and now you’re acting like my life coach?”
“You don’t have the luxury to sleep all day,” Alejandro replied, stepping inside uninvited.
His eyes swept over her appearance, and his lips curled ever so slightly. “We have preparations to make. The wedding is tomorrow, and you look like a sleep-deprived goblin.”
Nivera blinked. Once then twice.
And then her mouth opened. “Excuse me?!”
“You heard me,” he drawled.
“If you think I’m going to parade around with you looking like some desperate sidepiece—”
“I never said that,” Alejandro cut in, his tone suddenly sharp. “But if I’m expected to show up with you on my arm, then you will look the part.”
“And what part is that?” she demanded. “The disposable escort? The damsel in distress? Why don’t you take someone else instead, someone who is your type.”
Something dark flickered across his face.
Alejandro stepped closer. The air shifted, and Nivera instinctively took a step back.
“Don’t piss me off, Nivera. It won’t end well for you,” he said quietly, too quietly.
His voice carried steel beneath the silk now, that commanding, ruthless edge that always lurked beneath his charm. “You’re here because I chose you to be and you will act accordingly.”
“I didn’t ask to be here!” She exhaled sharply.
“And yet here you are.”
She hated the way her chest tightened. Hated the flash of fear that bolted through her.
For a second, just a second, she saw it—his darkness. The one that didn’t joke. The one that didn’t care if you liked him. The one who didn’t need to shout to dominate a room.
Nivera swallowed hard. “…I don’t even have anything to wear,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Clothes will be provided,” he said. “You’ll shower, get dressed, and be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen—?!”
“If you’re not,” he said, already turning away, “I’ll drag you down as you are.”
The door shut behind him with a soft thud, leaving her in stunned silence.
She stood there for a long moment, blinking at the empty space he left.
“…Bastard!” she growled, but she still headed for the bathroom.
Because as much as she hated it—he would absolutely do it.
When she stepped out seven minutes later, a new set of clothes had been laid neatly on the bed.
A simple but expensive black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, gold accents at the belt and heels to match.
It was effortlessly elegant, tasteful and powerful—and clearly designer. The fabric felt like silk against her skin.
Alejandro had taste. Unfortunately.
She dressed quickly, tied her hair into something manageable. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking like shit so he could rub it in
When she descended the stairs, he was already waiting at the door, checking his watch again.
“You’re late.”
“By one minute.”
“I said fifteen. It’s been sixteen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You need therapy.”
He didn’t respond. He simply just turned and began to make his way out of the mansion.
The car ride was as neither wanted to say anything to the other.
Nivera stared out the window, arms crossed tightly. Alejandro was on his phone, reading through emails with a furrowed brow.
Despite herself, her gaze drifted to him. He was like something sculpted—effortlessly handsome, with a cold, calculating presence. Nothing about him screamed kindness. But everything screamed control.
A control that unnerved her.
“I still don’t know why I’m even going with you to this wedding,” she muttered eventually, breaking the silence.
“You don’t need to know,” he said without looking up.
“You’re exhausting.”
“I’ve been told.”
Eventually, the car slowed in front of a boutique. But not just any boutique.
Nivera’s brows lifted. She knew this place.
Before she left her family name behind, before she tried to become something on her own—this was where her mother used to shop for her. Designer after designer, all wrapped in scented tissue paper and luxury.
She however hadn't worn them in years as her father didn't even let her take her clothes when she left.
Alejandro stepped out first, then circled around to open her door like a gentleman, though his expression was anything but sweet.
As they walked in, a tall, willowy woman with perfect skin and crimson lips greeted them.
“Señor Alejandro,” she purred, eyes practically devouring him. “It’s been far too long.”
Nivera immediately wanted to roll her eyes into the back of her skull.
“I heard you were coming,” the woman continued, fingers brushing lightly over Alejandro’s arm. “You should visit more often.”
He gave a faint, polite smile and he winked. “I’ve been busy.”
“Shame.” Her voice dropped suggestively. “You’re always welcome here.”
Nivera folded her arms. God, what a man-whore!
The woman’s hands lingered on Alejandro’s chest a moment too long before she disappeared behind a curtain to get the dresses.
Nivera shot him a glare. “Wow. You’re really committed to being disgusting.”
Alejandro, to her surprise, pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the spot the woman had touched.
Then, without a word, he dusted his shoulder like brushing off dirt, and wiped the corner of his mouth too.
Nivera blinked. “Did… you just sanitize yourself?”
He didn’t look at her. “Some people don’t deserve to touch me. Scratch that, no one deserves to touch me. I hate it.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, stunned.
He finally met her gaze, eyes dark and unreadable. “Appearances are easy to fake. Interest is harder.”
Before she could respond, the assistant returned with a stack of dresses, and three other women trailed behind her, arms full.
“Let’s find the perfect look for you,” the boutique owner said, now clearly addressing Nivera.
The next thirty minutes were chaos.
Alejandro sat in a chair like a king judging his court, one hand draped over the armrest, expression bored as Nivera tried on outfit after outfit.
“No.”
“Too frilly.”
“Too loud.”
“That makes her look like a cake topper.”
Nivera wanted to throw a heel at his smug face.
She twirled in front of the mirror in yet another dress, this one deep red and stunning, but Alejandro shook his head again.
“You hate everything,” she snapped.
“I’m slective,” he retorted.
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’ll look perfect. Eventually.”
She groaned.
This was going to be a long damn day.