The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 92: Chapter 92

The room smelt of polished wood and aged scotch, and the grandfather clock in the far corner of the office ticked with a slow, ominous rhythm.
Matthew Elton sat behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers interlaced, eyes sharp. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone—just like it always was when business turned personal
The silence in the room was deliberate, thick with unspoken tension.
Across from him sat two men.
One, older. Greying hair dressed in an elegant suit. The years had softened his face but not his spine.
He looked every bit the patriarch of a family that had clawed its way into elite circles through blood, sweat, and strategic marriages.
The other one was younger with sharper edges, and he looked like the older man.
A smug smirk was sprawled across his lips. His legs were crossed in that way men did when they thought they owned the room, with all the arrogance of someone who’d never heard the word "no" in his life.
"You promised," the elder man finally said, his voice gravelled with age and displeasure. "Two years ago, you gave me your word, Matthew. You said your daughter would finally marry my son. Yet here we are, and I hear she’s tangled up with Alejandro Garcia of all people."
Matthew didn’t flinch, as he was used to confrontation. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he remained composed.
"She is. Unfortunately. But not by choice."
The younger man scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. He was sharp-featured, handsome in a cold sort of way, and dressed to be seen—pressed navy suit, an expensive watch peeking out from his sleeve, and the smug confidence of entitlement practically oozing from his pores.
"Not by choice?" he repeated with a sneer. "Come on, Matthew. Your daughter’s been all over the media lately. On his arm. In his car. Living in his house, isn’t she? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘unwilling.’"
"Careful, Damon," Matthew said smoothly, but his eyes flashed. "You forget yourself."
Damon lifted both hands in surrender, but it was done as a sign of mockery. "Forgive me. Just calling it as I see it."
The old man exhaled through his nose, slow and irritated. "You said she’d be trained. Prepared. That she’d come to understand her duty."
"She was doing just that," Matthew replied tightly. "Until Alejandro Garcia got involved."
He rose from his seat and walked around the desk, pouring himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the side table.
“I’m saying Alejandro Garcia is manipulative,” Matthew replied. “He’s a snake. A master of control and coercion. He has her isolated. Trapped. Twisting her emotions into something she doesn’t understand. If you think for a second she’s acting of her own accord, then you’re severely underestimating the boy.”
The older man scoffed upon hearing Matthew's words.
“I raised my daughter to see through such men, but even the brightest minds have their blind spots. He found hers."
"I find it difficult to believe Nivera is so easily fooled," the older man said carefully. "Your daughter was never the naive type."
Matthew’s gaze turned hard. "No, she isn’t. That’s what makes him dangerous. He knew how to get under her skin. She’s alone in that house, isolated, vulnerable. He’s turned her against her own family. She’s not herself."
Damon rolled his eyes. "Sounds like excuses. She’s stubborn, not stupid. If she’s with him, it’s because she wants to be. You can’t blame me for being pissed—"
"You’re entitled to be angry," Matthew cut in, voice low and cold, "but you’re not entitled to question the value of my word."
That shut Damon up for a moment, anyway, for he looked like he wasn't done speaking.
Matthew turned back to face them, holding the glass delicately between two fingers. "The situation has changed, yes. But the agreement stands. My daughter will marry your son as soon as the two years are up."
"Then get her away from him," Damon snapped, leaning forward now, his calm facade cracking. "I’ve waited for years. She was finally supposed to be mine at the end of two years. Now she’s playing house with that bastard—with a man who has more blood on his hands than most crime syndicates?”"
"Don’t let jealousy cloud your judgement," Matthew warned.
“Alejandro Garcia may be dangerous, but he’s also calculated. You, Damon, are emotional. You need to learn the difference if you ever want to win her over.”
"He’s not better than me."
"No," Matthew said simply, "but he’s louder. Flashier. More ruthless. You’ll need more than entitlement to win her now."
Damon’s nostrils flared. "I don’t care how ruthless he is. She’s mine. Always has been. I’ve had my eye on her since she was young. Everyone knew she was going to marry into this family eventually."
The older man sighed, but he said nothing.
"Then start acting like someone she’d choose," Matthew said with mild disdain. "You think this is about waiting your turn? No. This is about proving yourself better than him."
Damon leaned back again, jaw ticking. “You said it yourself—this was arranged long before she ever met him. I shouldn’t have to fight for what’s owed to me.”
“I did say that,” Matthew agreed. “She was promised, yes. But my daughter is not a horse you can stake a claim on. She’s headstrong. Too smart for her own good. If you storm in and act entitled, she’ll only push back harder.”
“That was what the two years were supposed to do,” the old man finally said. “It was supposed to break her so she'd be easier to deal with.”
Matthew turned to the older man. "I gave you my word, and I stand by it. But we must act strategically. Alejandro Garcia is not someone we confront head-on—not yet. He has too much influence, too many eyes watching. We need to be quiet. Surgical."
The old man gave a slow nod. "And how do you propose we do that?"
Matthew sipped his drink, eyes thoughtful. "First, we separate her from him. That’s the only way. We need to get her alone. Isolate her from his influence. From his manipulation."
He paused to take a sip of his drink. “My daughter… is slipping further into his world. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s being shaped. Moulded, controlled.
“Then pull her out,” Tobias, the older man, said flatly. “You’re her father. You still have influence.”
Matthew turned, glass in hand. “If I had that kind of influence, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”