The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 84: Chapter 84
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Nivera took one long look at Marceline standing in the doorway.
The older woman looked fragile in the dim light—shoulders hunched, eyes a bit too glassy. But there was something else, something heavy in the air, that Nivera instinctively understood. This wasn’t her place.
She turned to Alejandro, offering him a soft look before she spoke. "I’ll give you two a moment."
Alejandro glanced at her, eyes unreadable, but nodded.
"Thank you," Marceline murmured.
Nivera didn’t linger. She brushed past Marceline with a polite nod and gently closed the door behind her.
The click echoed louder than expected in the room, leaving Alejandro and his mother in silence.
Marceline still stood there, her hair tousled in a way that revealed how little sleep she had gotten, despite the pills. Her face was pale and drawn.
Alejandro stood halfway across the room, shirt now properly on, though unbuttoned, his bare chest exposed slightly. He didn’t bother fixing it.
"You're back," she said, voice hoarse.
"Looks like it," he replied casually.
Her eyes flicked to the floor, to the chair, anywhere but him. "I... I didn’t know if you would come back."
Alejandro raised a brow. "This is my house."
His words made her flinch, and he realized just how harsh that sounded, which made him feel guilty as it wasn't his intention.
"You should sit," he said, voice calm. Not cold. Just distant.
Marceline nodded once, stepping in slowly like she was afraid he might push her out. She perched herself on the edge of the armchair, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
It was clear she was very nervous.
"I’m sorry," she said finally. It came out so softly that he barely heard it. But he did.
"It’s fine.”
He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. "Feeling better?"
"I don’t know," she answered honestly. "I think so. The pills helped. But I…"
She swallowed hard. Her voice faltered. "I didn’t mean to, Alejandro."
He didn’t respond.
She looked up at him then, searching his face for anything—anger, pain, forgiveness.
There was nothing. His expression was as though they were having a conversation about the weather and not about the fact that she could have killed him.
"I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know where I was. It was like I was outside myself. Like I was watching everything from behind glass, screaming but unheard."
Still, he said nothing. Just watched her, quiet.
"And when I came back to myself," her voice cracked, "I saw your hand holding mine. Not to comfort, but to stop me. Because I had a knife. Because I could've hurt you."
Alejandro exhaled, the sound low and long.
"But you didn’t," he said simply. "I’m fine."
"Don’t do that," Marceline said quickly, her eyes pleading. "Don’t pretend like it didn’t mean anything. Don’t protect me from what I did."
His gaze flickered, but still he remained steady. "You weren’t yourself."
" I need you to tell me the truth. I need you to tell me how much I’ve failed you."
Alejandro exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You haven’t failed me. You fought because of me and you got us out. Whatever happened wasn't your fault. You weren't in the right frame of mind.”
"But I should have been," she said quietly. "That’s the part that terrifies me the most. It's been years and I still haven't been able to completely get over it."
For the first time since the conversation started, Alejandro's expression changed. It was subtle, but it was there. A shift in his jaw. A tightening of his shoulders.
"I looked at you, and I didn’t see my son. I saw... I saw someone else. Someone I thought I’d let go of years ago."
Alejandro's voice was soft but tense. “Well, looks like it makes two of us.”
Marceline stood up slowly, walking across the room until she was standing in front of him.
"You were always so strong," she whispered. "Even when you were little. I remember how you stood in front of me when things got bad. I remember you protecting me, and it should’ve been the other way around. It should’ve been me protecting you."
Alejandro lowered his gaze. “And who said you didn't?”
"I failed you, mijo. I failed you then. And now again."
"You didn’t fail me."
She took a deep breath. "Do you hate me?" she asked suddenly.
Alejandro's eyes snapped to hers.
"What?"
"Do you hate me? For everything. For the way I checked out when you needed me most. For looking at you like that today. For every time I flinched or shut down or pretended it was all okay when it wasn’t."
He stared at her. "No."
She blinked.
"I don’t hate you, Mom. I hate what happened to you. I hate what you had to survive. I hate that you’re still surviving it. But I don’t hate you.”
“I could never hate you, mom. You're the only one I have left.”
Marceline’s voice was almost inaudible. "I miss you."
His hands curled into fists. "You had me. You always had me. Even when you looked at me like a stranger. Even when I heard you cry yourself to sleep and refused to knock on your door because I knew I reminded you of him."
She closed her eyes.
"You don’t," she said. "You never reminded me of him. That was never it."
Alejandro turned, meeting her gaze now, tired and heavy. "Then what was it, mom? Why is it that even now, when we sit across from each other, I can feel the wall?"
Marceline's lips trembled. "Because when I look at you, I remember how much I failed in keeping you safe. And sometimes, the grief swallows the joy. It shouldn’t, but it does."
He moved back toward her, his steps slow.
"I never wanted you to lose anything."
"You didn’t make me lose it. But you were the reason I survived it. That’s what scares me. I survived everything for you, and I’m terrified that one day, I’ll lose you too."
His brows furrowed slightly.
"You're not going to lose me."
"I almost hurt you today. What if next time, I—"
"There won’t be a next time."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I’ll make sure you get better."
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "You’ve done enough. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. You’re my son. You deserve peace."
"And you're my mother," Alejandro responded, stepping closer now. "And I deserve you alive, well, and not falling apart in kitchens with knives."
A beat passed.
Marceline let out a tearful laugh, despite the weight of the moment. "I was making lemonade."
"You were murdering lemons."
They both chuckled, albeit weakly.
Then Alejandro said, "Do you remember when I was ten and broke the garden gnome? You cried like someone had died."
"Because I loved that gnome."
"You loved it because he looked like Abuela."
"He did," she sniffled, laughing gently. "He had the same scowl."
"And the same moustache."
“Mijo, that's your grandmother,” she chuckled.
They stood in silence again, the moment warmer now. Softer.
Marceline stepped forward and reached for his hand.
He didn’t flinch this time. He let her take it.
"I’m sorry, Alejandro. For today, for the years I let my pain speak louder than my love."
"I’m not angry. I just... I hate seeing you like this."
"Then I'll try again," she said. “This time, I'll try harder. We’ll find someone new, a new specialist."
Alejandro nodded. "We’ll do it together."
She pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before letting it go.
"Thank you for not giving up on me."
"Thank you for still trying to come back."
Another pause, filled with unspoken healing.
"You should sleep," he said as he kissed her forehead.
"I think I will," she whispered. "It’s the first time in a long time I feel like I actually can."
She started toward the door, then paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"She’s a good one. Nivera. She stayed with me. Didn’t leave my side."
He looked down. "I know."
"She cares about you."
Caring for him was far-fetched. Nivera was depending on him for survival. Nothing more, nothing less
"She has bad taste," he said dryly.
“I agree. Anyone who decides to put up with your annoying self has bad taste.
Marceline then offered a faint smile. "But don’t push her away."
Then she slipped out the door, leaving Alejandro alone in the quiet again.
But this time, it didn’t feel so lonely.
As soon as she was out, a frown appeared on his face. His mother was trying once again but there he was unwilling to get better as he needed the pain as a daily reminder of the danger of allowing himself to feel too much.
The older woman looked fragile in the dim light—shoulders hunched, eyes a bit too glassy. But there was something else, something heavy in the air, that Nivera instinctively understood. This wasn’t her place.
She turned to Alejandro, offering him a soft look before she spoke. "I’ll give you two a moment."
Alejandro glanced at her, eyes unreadable, but nodded.
"Thank you," Marceline murmured.
Nivera didn’t linger. She brushed past Marceline with a polite nod and gently closed the door behind her.
The click echoed louder than expected in the room, leaving Alejandro and his mother in silence.
Marceline still stood there, her hair tousled in a way that revealed how little sleep she had gotten, despite the pills. Her face was pale and drawn.
Alejandro stood halfway across the room, shirt now properly on, though unbuttoned, his bare chest exposed slightly. He didn’t bother fixing it.
"You're back," she said, voice hoarse.
"Looks like it," he replied casually.
Her eyes flicked to the floor, to the chair, anywhere but him. "I... I didn’t know if you would come back."
Alejandro raised a brow. "This is my house."
His words made her flinch, and he realized just how harsh that sounded, which made him feel guilty as it wasn't his intention.
"You should sit," he said, voice calm. Not cold. Just distant.
Marceline nodded once, stepping in slowly like she was afraid he might push her out. She perched herself on the edge of the armchair, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
It was clear she was very nervous.
"I’m sorry," she said finally. It came out so softly that he barely heard it. But he did.
"It’s fine.”
He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. "Feeling better?"
"I don’t know," she answered honestly. "I think so. The pills helped. But I…"
She swallowed hard. Her voice faltered. "I didn’t mean to, Alejandro."
He didn’t respond.
She looked up at him then, searching his face for anything—anger, pain, forgiveness.
There was nothing. His expression was as though they were having a conversation about the weather and not about the fact that she could have killed him.
"I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know where I was. It was like I was outside myself. Like I was watching everything from behind glass, screaming but unheard."
Still, he said nothing. Just watched her, quiet.
"And when I came back to myself," her voice cracked, "I saw your hand holding mine. Not to comfort, but to stop me. Because I had a knife. Because I could've hurt you."
Alejandro exhaled, the sound low and long.
"But you didn’t," he said simply. "I’m fine."
"Don’t do that," Marceline said quickly, her eyes pleading. "Don’t pretend like it didn’t mean anything. Don’t protect me from what I did."
His gaze flickered, but still he remained steady. "You weren’t yourself."
" I need you to tell me the truth. I need you to tell me how much I’ve failed you."
Alejandro exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You haven’t failed me. You fought because of me and you got us out. Whatever happened wasn't your fault. You weren't in the right frame of mind.”
"But I should have been," she said quietly. "That’s the part that terrifies me the most. It's been years and I still haven't been able to completely get over it."
For the first time since the conversation started, Alejandro's expression changed. It was subtle, but it was there. A shift in his jaw. A tightening of his shoulders.
"I looked at you, and I didn’t see my son. I saw... I saw someone else. Someone I thought I’d let go of years ago."
Alejandro's voice was soft but tense. “Well, looks like it makes two of us.”
Marceline stood up slowly, walking across the room until she was standing in front of him.
"You were always so strong," she whispered. "Even when you were little. I remember how you stood in front of me when things got bad. I remember you protecting me, and it should’ve been the other way around. It should’ve been me protecting you."
Alejandro lowered his gaze. “And who said you didn't?”
"I failed you, mijo. I failed you then. And now again."
"You didn’t fail me."
She took a deep breath. "Do you hate me?" she asked suddenly.
Alejandro's eyes snapped to hers.
"What?"
"Do you hate me? For everything. For the way I checked out when you needed me most. For looking at you like that today. For every time I flinched or shut down or pretended it was all okay when it wasn’t."
He stared at her. "No."
She blinked.
"I don’t hate you, Mom. I hate what happened to you. I hate what you had to survive. I hate that you’re still surviving it. But I don’t hate you.”
“I could never hate you, mom. You're the only one I have left.”
Marceline’s voice was almost inaudible. "I miss you."
His hands curled into fists. "You had me. You always had me. Even when you looked at me like a stranger. Even when I heard you cry yourself to sleep and refused to knock on your door because I knew I reminded you of him."
She closed her eyes.
"You don’t," she said. "You never reminded me of him. That was never it."
Alejandro turned, meeting her gaze now, tired and heavy. "Then what was it, mom? Why is it that even now, when we sit across from each other, I can feel the wall?"
Marceline's lips trembled. "Because when I look at you, I remember how much I failed in keeping you safe. And sometimes, the grief swallows the joy. It shouldn’t, but it does."
He moved back toward her, his steps slow.
"I never wanted you to lose anything."
"You didn’t make me lose it. But you were the reason I survived it. That’s what scares me. I survived everything for you, and I’m terrified that one day, I’ll lose you too."
His brows furrowed slightly.
"You're not going to lose me."
"I almost hurt you today. What if next time, I—"
"There won’t be a next time."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I’ll make sure you get better."
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "You’ve done enough. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. You’re my son. You deserve peace."
"And you're my mother," Alejandro responded, stepping closer now. "And I deserve you alive, well, and not falling apart in kitchens with knives."
A beat passed.
Marceline let out a tearful laugh, despite the weight of the moment. "I was making lemonade."
"You were murdering lemons."
They both chuckled, albeit weakly.
Then Alejandro said, "Do you remember when I was ten and broke the garden gnome? You cried like someone had died."
"Because I loved that gnome."
"You loved it because he looked like Abuela."
"He did," she sniffled, laughing gently. "He had the same scowl."
"And the same moustache."
“Mijo, that's your grandmother,” she chuckled.
They stood in silence again, the moment warmer now. Softer.
Marceline stepped forward and reached for his hand.
He didn’t flinch this time. He let her take it.
"I’m sorry, Alejandro. For today, for the years I let my pain speak louder than my love."
"I’m not angry. I just... I hate seeing you like this."
"Then I'll try again," she said. “This time, I'll try harder. We’ll find someone new, a new specialist."
Alejandro nodded. "We’ll do it together."
She pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before letting it go.
"Thank you for not giving up on me."
"Thank you for still trying to come back."
Another pause, filled with unspoken healing.
"You should sleep," he said as he kissed her forehead.
"I think I will," she whispered. "It’s the first time in a long time I feel like I actually can."
She started toward the door, then paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"She’s a good one. Nivera. She stayed with me. Didn’t leave my side."
He looked down. "I know."
"She cares about you."
Caring for him was far-fetched. Nivera was depending on him for survival. Nothing more, nothing less
"She has bad taste," he said dryly.
“I agree. Anyone who decides to put up with your annoying self has bad taste.
Marceline then offered a faint smile. "But don’t push her away."
Then she slipped out the door, leaving Alejandro alone in the quiet again.
But this time, it didn’t feel so lonely.
As soon as she was out, a frown appeared on his face. His mother was trying once again but there he was unwilling to get better as he needed the pain as a daily reminder of the danger of allowing himself to feel too much.
End of The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession Chapter 84. Continue reading Chapter 85 or return to The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession book page.