The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession (Nivera) novel Chapter 131

Chapter 131

Chapter 131

The tires crunched softly over the gravel driveway as the car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion.

The night air was thick and cool, heavy with the scent of wet earth after the earlier drizzle on their way back home.

Nivera stepped out first, clutching her bag to her side, her gaze darting briefly toward the looming silhouette of the house and Alejandro who was getting out through the other side of the car.

Alejandro came around to stand beside her, his expression unreadable under the soft glow of the porch light.

They didn’t speak as they walked up the marble steps together.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Nivera had expected him to make a remark about the day – and especially about Damon as she knew he wasn’t one to let things slide so easily but he hadn’t.

The front door opened before they could reach for it and the head helper came into view.

“Good evening. Martins has been waiting for you, sir,” she informed Alejandro as she stepped so they could go in.

They immediately headed to the living room and just like the helper had said, he was waiting.

He sat in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, posture relaxed but eyes alert, as always.

Nivera wondered just how much he had seen and experienced while working with Alejandro to make him always alert.

He rose to his feet at their entrance, his gaze shifting immediately to Alejandro before it landed on hers and he nodded as a sign of acknowledgement.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he then greeted.

“Good evening,” Nivera responded with a slight smile on her face.

Her steps faltered, reading the unspoken tension between the two men.

Whatever conversation they were about to have, she knew it wasn’t hers to hear.

Without a word, she turned and made for the stairs, the soft sound of her steps trailing behind her. She didn’t look back, though she felt

Alejandro’s gaze follow her until she disappeared onto the landing.

“Long night?” Martins spoke.

“Something like that,” Alejandro replied, his voice smooth.

“Let’s take it to my study,” He then said quietly, already walking past Martins toward the corridor on the left. His tone wasn’t a suggestion–it was an order and Martins followed without a word.

He could already guess that whatever Martins had to discuss had to do with Nivera and seeing the folder in Martins‘ hand, he wasn’t about to

risk Nivera coming down and finding out.

Martins shut the door behind them and the world outside immediately ceased to exist.

He then stepped forward, producing a black leather folder from under his arm. The weight of it was significant – not in size, but in meaning.

“This,” Martin said, placing it on Alejandro’s desk, “is what I’ve managed to dig up about Silas Monroe so far. If more comes up, you’ll be the

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first to know.”

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Alejandro didn’t sit. He stood over the desk, fingers resting lightly on the folder as if weighing its importance before opening it. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spread it open.

The first page was a profile as always.

Name: Silas Monroe

Age: 37

Occupation: Corporate attorney, Monroe & Lane LLP

Marital Status: Married to Vivian Elton (four years)

Known Associations: Multiple high–profile clients, private investment groups, two undisclosed offshore accounts.

There was a glossy photograph of the bastard in one of his tailored suits, grinning at some charity gala.

A man who, at first glance, could have been a politician or a billionaire philanthropist. But Alejandro didn’t look at smiles. He looked at eyes,

and Silas’s eyes were the kind that smiled at nothing.

It looked like it was going to be a long read and so he grabbed the folder and sank into the sofa in the room.

“The man’s a walking scandal,” Martin stated. “It just hasn’t caught up with him yet. He’s got enough influence to keep things buried — for now. But once you’ve got your hand on the right strings, pulling them could bring his entire world down.”

Alejandro flipped to the next page.

It was a police report, dated three years ago. No charges filed. The alleged victim was a waitress from an exclusive club in the city. Her statement was detailed – the kind of detail you couldn’t invent without having lived it but the case had been quietly closed. Next to it, a memo from a law firm marked confidential, showing a sizable settlement.

“She was twenty–two,” Martin said. “Barely paid her rent. Silas met her at one of those poker nights he hosts in his penthouse. The girl claims he got her drunk, locked the door, and…” Martin’s voice trailed, but the implication was clear. “A few days later, she suddenly had enough

money to ‘relocate.“”

Alejandro’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

-The next section was worse.

There were photos- low–quality, grainy, but unmistakable. Silas in the back of a luxury car with a girl who couldn’t have been more than

eighteen, maybe younger.

The timestamps showed it was after midnight. There were two more similar sets of images, each with a different girl. The pattern was

obvious.

“He prefers them young,” Martin continued. “And he doesn’t care where they come from, as long as they don’t have the means to fight back. I traced a few of them to a modeling agency in the city. Not a reputable one more like a front. He’s a frequent ‘client.“”

–

Alejandro turned the page slowly.

Another police report – this one involving a brawl at a private yacht party. Witness statements mentioned excessive drinking, cocaine, and a fight that broke out after Silas allegedly touched another man’s fiancée. Again, no charges. The witnesses either recanted or refused to

testify.

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“Every incident like this disappears in days,” Martin said. “Money, threats–or a combination of both. He’s untouchable… at least until someone who isn’t afraid of him decides otherwise.”

Alejandro reached the final section a set of photographs far more damning than the rest. Silas, in a hotel room, shirt half–off, with a woman whose face was buried against his neck. She was crying. In the background, on the dresser, was a phone recording the entire thing.

Martin leaned back. “That one’s from a source I trust. She couldn’t go public he threatened her family. But she gave me permission to use it however I wanted. Her exact words were: ‘Make him burn.“”

The room was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the bookshelf.

Alejandro closed the folder and rested both hands on it. His eyes were unreadable, but there was something cold in them – the kind of cold that promised only destruction.

“This,” he said finally, “isn’t just dirt. This is a grave.”

Martin smirked faintly. “And you’re the one holding the shovel.”

“Very thorough,” he then commended.

Martins nodded once. “There’s more in there

–

bank records, private correspondence, some surveillance stills. He’s been careful, but… he’s

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