The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 85: Chapter 85

About an hour after Marceline left his room, Alejandro finally rose from his bed.
He hadn’t meant to go back downstairs. He figured he’d just try to sleep the rest of the night away. But his stomach had other plans.
It rumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn’t had a proper meal all day.
The mansion was quiet, lights dimmed in the hallways. It was late, too late for any of the helpers to still be around.
So when he heard voices—two, to be exact—he stopped mid-step.
He checked the time. It was past eleven. The help would’ve left hours ago.
His brows furrowed as he followed the sound to the kitchen.
The overhead lights were dimmed, replaced with the soft warm glow from under-cabinet lighting. He paused just outside the archway.
One voice belonged to his mother.
The other, unmistakably, was Nivera.
Oh, so they were the ones?!
"You’re kidding me. You’ve never made this before?" Marceline sounded amused.
Nivera laughed. "Not once. I’m a horrible cook. It’s embarrassing. I used to burn water."
"Burn water? How?!”
“I forgot about it, and by the time I got back, it had evaporated?!” Nivera cried out.
“So, how did you survive?”
Back when I lived alone, it was either takeout or starving. And sometimes… starving won.”
"You seriously starved?" Marceline asked with genuine disbelief, laughter in her tone.
"I did!" Nivera responded dramatically. "Well, not starved starved. More like I just waited until I absolutely had to eat. Or ordered something questionable at midnight."
"And you survived like that alone for over a year?"
"I never said I thrived."
Marceline chuckled again, the soft, melodic sound Alejandro hadn’t heard from her in ages. "Well, we’ll have to change that."
Alejandro crept closer, careful not to make noise. Through the sliver between the wall and cabinet, he saw them.
His mother was at the stove, stirring something in a deep pot, and Nivera stood beside her, an apron somehow tied over her black nightshirt, sleeves rolled up, holding a wooden spoon like it was a foreign object.
"This… is one of Alejandro’s favourites," Marceline said warmly, tapping the spoon on the edge.
"My son pretends like he hates homey things, but this dish used to make him shut up at the table. I knew it was good when he stopped complaining about the world for a whole five minutes."
Nivera grinned. "Well, I’m honoured to be part of this culinary adventure. But fair warning, if anything goes wrong with the dish, it's not my fault."
Marceline let out another soft laugh.
Alejandro’s chest tightened, but not painfully. It was strange, hearing her like this. Like the woman she used to be. Not trembling, not dissociating, not haunted. Just… alive. He knew it wouldn’t last, not forever. But damn, it was good to see. Even if just for one night.
And Nivera?
She was helping his mother to cook one of his favourite meals. That knowledge stirred something beneath his skin. An unspoken gratitude. And desire.
He stepped into the light and cleared his throat.
Both women turned at the same time.
"You’re up," Nivera said, eyes lighting briefly before she tucked it away. "Figured you’d be starving."
He raised a brow. "What’s going on here?"
"A late-night kitchen takeover," Nivera responded, lifting the spoon like a weapon. "And before you ask, yes, I am allowed to be here."
"She was more than willing," Marceline added with a smile. "You must be starving; we were just finishing up. Give us five more minutes."
Alejandro nodded and glanced at the counter. Everything smelt incredible.
He noticed two things in particular.
His mother hadn’t touched a knife. And Nivera was the one doing all the chopping.
It was subtle but intentional. However, he said nothing.
“Let me set the table,” he said, wanting to assist.
Minutes later, the meal was done. Dinner was quiet at first. Peaceful. Marceline occasionally shared stories from Alejandro’s childhood, and Nivera soaked it all up, laughing more freely than he’d seen in days.
For once, his mother looked like herself. And for once, he didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen.
Alejandro didn’t say much at first, too busy devouring what he hadn’t realized he’d been craving for months.
When they finished, Marceline rose and began stacking plates.
"Let me help," Nivera said quickly, standing.
"No, no," Marceline waved her off with a smile. "Spend time with my son. I’ll take care of it."
"No, no," Marceline waved her off gently. "Stay. Talk with him. I’ve got it."
And before either could argue, she was already turning toward the sink.
Nivera shifted to stand.
Alejandro watched her from the corner of his eye. "Sit."
She paused. "Why?"
He turned fully toward her now, his eyes lazy and smiling slowly. "Because I said so."
“No.” She refused as she moved to gather a few items, but the moment she turned her back, she felt him behind her.
And he was too close.
He stepped into her space, and instinctively, she sat back down, but instead of the chair, she found herself sitting on the table.
He leaned over her, hands braced on either side of the table, trapping her further.
Her breath caught. "What are you doing?"
His voice dropped. "What I want."
She glanced toward the kitchen, whispering. "Your mother’s right there."
"And? Does that matter to you?"
“Yes, it does.” Nivera narrowed her eyes. "Now move back before she comes out."
"You’re a bad cook," he murmured, eyes twinkling. "But here you are. In my kitchen. Making my favourite dish."
She looked away, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"Are you falling in love with me, Nivera?"
Her head snapped back to him. "No."
"No?" he echoed, amused.
"Remember, you don’t do love. And neither do I."
"That’s true," he said softly.
But something in her chest pinched. Something sharp. She hated that it hurt. She hated that she felt anything at all.
Alejandro caught the flicker in her gaze.
"But just because I don’t do love" – he leaned closer, lips nearly brushing hers – "doesn’t mean I don’t do other things."
Her breath hitched as her body came alive. "What things?"
He didn’t answer. He just smiled, wickedly and slowly.
"I still remember the taste of you."
Her body tensed as she understood what he was saying.
"The closet," he said, voice like silk. "That night. You remember too.
Her mind betrayed her. The memory of that night flashed vividly—trapped in the closet, his mouth on her, the way she’d come undone from the heat of his tongue, his fingers in her core and the low growl of her name.
"Tell me you haven’t thought about it since."
She turned her head away. "I haven't."
"No," he murmured. " Pretending you don’t want what you want."
She hated that he was right.
Hated how her body betrayed her.
He dipped his head, his lips a breath from her ear, which caused her breath to hitch.
"Say the word, Nivera. And I’ll remind you how good it feels to forget."
A plate clinked in the kitchen, which made Nivera jerk back to her senses. Alejandro chuckled low, stepping back but out of her personal space.
"Go on," he said softly. "Pretend you don’t want it."
She didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure if she could lie convincingly this time.