The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession - Chapter 94: Chapter 94

Her gaze drifted across the room to the window, where the moonlight spilled in soft silver streaks on the polished floors.
Somewhere beyond those glass panes, the world kept buzzing.
Alejandro’s words from earlier replayed in her head like a broken recording.
"You don’t let things go when it comes to you."
"You're my woman."
"Anytime, Cabezota."
Her stomach fluttered just remembering the way he’d said it. Warm, certain. Like it was a fact. Like it was a truth so embedded in him, he didn’t need to explain it.
He didn’t even hesitate, it came naturally to him.
But that was Alejandro—smooth, confident, unreadable.
He said those things with a straight face, with that maddening glint in his eyes, like it didn’t mean anything and yet meant everything.
And that’s what kept her up.
Because if it did mean something—what did it mean?
And if it didn’t—why did it still feel like it did?
Nivera turned over again, burying her face in the pillow with a frustrated groan. She was going in circles, and Alejandro Garcia was a contradiction.
What were they? What were they really?
He wasn't her boyfriend. He'd never claimed her in that way, not in private.
He joked, teased, and touched her in ways that left her skin tingling, but every time she thought she could lean into it, he pulled back, reminding her that he didn't do love.
Yet he kissed her like she was oxygen he needed to survive and whispered sweet things into her ear.
The next, he was her protector, stepping between her and every threat without a second thought.
One moment he was cold and calculated, throwing her sharp words and smug smirks. The next, he was helping her with her zipper, smoothing her dress, and brushing strands of hair behind her ear like he gave a damn.
Like she mattered—but Alejandro didn’t do love. He said it himself. He didn’t believe in it.
And yet… he acted like he did. He said things and did things that were the opposite of what he said.
He watched her like he couldn’t help himself, like she was some kind of puzzle he needed to figure out but didn’t want anyone else touching while he did.
It would’ve been easier to hate him if he were just cruel, like he was at the beginning. It would be easier to walk away if he was just playing games. But he wasn’t. Not really.
That’s what made him dangerous.
Not the power, not the name, not the security guards and locked doors.
No—Alejandro was dangerous because he didn’t make promises, but he made her feel like he had.
He didn’t say the words, but he made her heart act like he did.
And right now, hers was acting up way too much.
Nivera sat up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The silk nightdress she wore pooled around her thighs, cool against her skin, but her face felt flushed with heat.
She hated this.
She hated not knowing where she stood. Not knowing if she was just a passing thing? A convenient distraction? Or a challenge he wanted to take on.
Was she just another girl in the mansion? Another pretty thing in his collection of victories?
Or was she something else?
Was this how he had treated the others? But that was the thing—there were no others!
He never told her what he wanted from her—not clearly. Not in a way that made sense. But his actions spoke loud. Too loud. And maybe, that was the problem.
Because her body heard him before her brain could make sense of anything. The traitor!
She remembered the look on his face when he told those women off. The cold steel in his voice. The way he didn’t flinch when they cried. He was terrifying. And yet, when he turned to her, he’d softened again. A small touch to her back. A quiet, "Are you okay?"
Two different men in one body.
And somehow, both of them made her heart race.
Her fingers clutched at the sheets beside her. Her chest ached with confusion, a slow, pulling weight right beneath her ribs, as she thought back to the times he had kissed and done unspeakable things to her.
And it had wrecked her. Not because it was soft or sweet—God no—it had been rough, unyielding, and hot enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
But why didn't he finish what he had started? She pursed her lips.
Was that restraint or control, or was it disinterest?
She didn’t know which answer scared her more.
A soft knock came from the door, startling her.
She turned quickly. “Yes?” However, there was no answer.
She climbed out of bed and padded barefoot to the door, cracking it open cautiously.
The hallway was empty. No sound or shadow—Nothing.
Only a small tray on the floor.
On it—hot tea, a folded napkin, and a handwritten note in that sharp, familiar scrawl:
"Drink this. It's a cold night, and you're thinking too loud."
Nivera stared at the note, and her chest did that annoying twist again.
It was like he knew her—knew how her mind worked, how it wouldn’t shut off. And instead of pushing, he’d sent her tea and a note.
The gesture warmed her heart.
She picked up the tray and brought it back into her room, closing the door softly behind her.
Back in bed, she held the cup in both hands, staring down at the steam as it curled up into the air.
“Idiot,” she whispered to herself.
She didn’t know what this was. What they were.
But she knew he was inside her head, and worse—inside her heart.
And that made her feel more lost than ever.
Because Nivera Elton wasn’t supposed to fall for a man like Alejandro Garcia.
But maybe she was already falling, and if that was true…
She didn’t know how she was supposed to survive it.
Whatever the answer was, she knew one thing:
If she wasn’t careful, he was going to break her.
And what terrified her more than that...
...was the fact that she might just let him.