The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession (Nivera) novel Chapter 141

Chapter 141

The next morning dawned far too early, the mansion cloaked in pale gold light.

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Alejandro had intended to rise before anyone else, to slip out quietly for the office without enduring awkward small talk or forced closeness. He had gone to bed determined that distance was strength.

But the universe, as always, had a cruel sense of humour.

When he opened his bedroom door, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, he found Nivera stepping out of her own room at the same time.

She was radiant in the soft morning light, already dressed, her hair brushed into silky waves, which looked so soft he was tempted to run his fingers

through it.

Her smile brightened when she saw him, hesitant but hopeful, as though she had been waiting for this very moment.

“Good morning,” she said softly, trying to mask the nerves in her voice. “I–I’m heading out early today. It’s the final day of the photoshoot.”

Her smile wavered but held, her eyes searching his face for some flicker of warmth, but there was nothing.

“It means a lot. I thought you’d want to know.”

It was an olive branch and a test of whether last night had been a cruel fluke. Maybe he had been overwhelmed by work, hence the outburst.

But Alejandro didn’t so much as slow his stride. His gaze brushed over her, cool and detached.

“Good for you,” he said simply.

The smile faltered instantly, her lips parting as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.

She turned, following him with her eyes, her voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s… all you have to say?”

Alejandro stopped just long enough to glance at her over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and detached. “You don’t need my applause, Nivera. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I care about trivialities like that.”

The words were precise and deliberate, and they cut deeper than any blade.

Nivera froze in the hallway, her heart tumbling into her stomach. Trivial.

The one thing she had left that belonged solely to her, the career that he helped revive, he dismissed as though it were a child’s game.

She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but the lump in her throat choked the words.

He was already turning away, his polished shoes echoing against the marble as he descended the stairs without glancing back.

By the time she heard the front door close, her eyes were already burning.

She, however, didn’t cry

But as she sank into the back seat of the car waiting to take her to the studio, the dam inside her threatened to burst open.

She sat stiffly in the back seat, her arms folded tightly across her chest, fighting the urge to cry.

The driver glanced at her once in the rearview mirror but wisely said nothing.

Her phone rested in her lap, the screen dark. She’d give anything for it to light up with a message from Alejandro explaining why he was acting the way

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pods Alejandro shut his bedam deer with more force than necessary

The sharp tick of the lock achowed solity, and for a moment he leaned back against the wood, breathing slowly and measured as though had just come

Perhaps he had

The office, the contracta, Antonio’s confession–hone of it had exhausted him half as much as holding himself together in front of Nivers

He dragged a hand down his face, pacing the edge of the room before tearing his tie loose and tossing it aside.

The silence up here was different than below. Heavy, but not suffocating. It gave him space to give in to the thoughts he refused to pay attention to

Her face haunted him. The way she had rushed toward him when he walked in, relief pouring out of her like she had been holding her breath all night.

The sharp edge in her voice, laced with worry. The multiple texts and voicemails she had sent asking if he was okay or giving a sign that he was.

For one dangerous, unguarded moment, he had wanted to pull her into his arms, assure her, bury his face in her neck, and let the warmth of her concern

engull him

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

And that was exactly why he had cut her down. He had become too close, it wasn’t healthy.

So, he’d gutted her with words he knew would cut.

It was necessary, he told himself

He moved to the window, tugging the curtains back slightly to stare at the pool of darkness outside.

Necessary. Because he had seen the path laid before him already the softening edges, the way he cared, and the possibility of slipping. Antonio had proven it could happen. Antonio had fallen.

But he would not.

Love was a weakness. Love was death. Love made men compromise, and compromise got men killed. He would never forget the lessons carved into him as a boy, the truths beaten into his bones.

Besides, it was for her own good as well.

Still, the memory of her lingered. The tremble in her voice, the unshed tears in her eyes when she had asked if she’d done something wrong

That question had twisted inside him like a knife.

He had wanted to answer. No. You did nothing wrong. But if he had said that, if he had allowed that softness, it would have cracked the wall he had just

built.

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09:13 Sat, 23 Aug

Chapter 140

So instead, he had walked away.

Turning, he poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter on the dresser, the amber liquid steady in his hand.

The burn down his throat was sharp and just what he needed. He set the glass down hard, his reflection in the mirror across the room meeting him with the same coldness he forced into himself.

“She’ll learn,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening. “Better she hates me than makes me weak.”

But as he turned away, a bitter truth gnawed at him–he hadn’t just hurt her to keep her distant. He had hurt himself, too.

And he hated her for that.

He hated that she had the power to make him doubt. He hated that her concern had mattered, that her absence from his day had left a shadow he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

Alejandro finished the scotch in a single swallow, the heat a poor substitute for the fire raging in his chest.

Nivera… She was a distraction. A temptation, yes, but one he could indulge in without surrendering to it. She would learn to understand her place. And if

she didn’t-

His eyes hardened, his resolve settling like steel.

Then he would remind her again. And again.

Downstairs, she was probably curled into herself, wondering what she had done. Upstairs, he told himself this was strength. That keeping her at arm’s length was victory.

And yet, when he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, it wasn’t victory he felt–it was the echo of her voice, soft and breaking, asking, Did I do something wrong?

His chest tightened.

“Better she breaks now,” he whispered the dark, “than I do later.”

But the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He would make sure it didn’t.

Even if it killed him.

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