The Billionaire's Dangerous Obsession (Nivera) novel Chapter 208

Chapter 208

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Chapter 208

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The morning air was unusually cold, and Marceline shivered as she stepped out of her car, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.

She adjusted her coat, her breath forming delicate clouds in the air. As she stood, however, she felt an eerie feeling creep up her spine as she felt someone walking up to her.

She frowned, glancing around as she locked the car. She didn’t carry her guards, as she didn’t think she’d need them for a quick stop, but she was starting to regret that decision.

The sun hadn’t risen, and so everywhere was still dark, which just added to her fears.

There was no one, and there was nothing out of the ordinary; she was just overthinking it, she thought to herself as her eyes lingered around.

This wasn’t the first time she was coming there at the crack of dawn, and nothing had happened.

The security lights of the nearby building flickered for a brief second before stabilizing. Her eyes lingered on the shadows between the parked cars.

However, she could have sworn she’d heard footsteps behind her earlier–soft, deliberate, and echoing too closely to be coincidence.

Pull yourself together, Marceline, she told herself, forcing her shoulders back. She was a woman who had commanded boardrooms filled with men twice her age and arrogance. Fear wasn’t something she entertained easily, not anymore.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She started toward the small flight of stairs leading up to the building’s private entrance, her pace brisk. The sound of her heels echoed, sharp and deliberate–until another sound joined it.

Footsteps. They were slow and measured.

She froze as her breath hitched slightly, her grip tightening on the strap of her purse. She turned her head, her eyes scanning the street behind her.

Nothing.

A breeze lifted the ends of her hair, brushing it against her cheek. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath and turned back around-

Only to see a man standing at the top of the stairs.

He was tall, his face partially obscured by the shadow cast from the flickering streetlight. A hood covered his head, and when he stepped forward, the faint metallic glint of something in his hand made her pulse stutter.

“What-” she began, but he didn’t let her finish.

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Chapter 208

The man lunged.

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Marceline gasped, stumbling back. Her purse slipped from her hand, its contents scattering across the pavement–phone, keys, lipstick, everything–but she didn’t care. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the first blow aimed at her shoulder, and tried to run.

Another figure appeared from the alley, blocking her path.

“Who are you?” she demanded, breathless but defiant. “Do you know who I am?”

Fuck, she really should have carried her guards, as a simple bullet from them would have taken care of the problem.

“Yeah,” one of them rasped, voice muffled beneath the mask covering his face. “We know exactly who you

are.”

The next moment, he grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the wall. She struggled, slapping and clawing at him, her nails raking across fabric and skin. Pain shot through her as her back hit cold concrete. The first man moved closer, his knife gleaming under the streetlight.

Her heart pounded violently. “You’re making a mistake!” she hissed, her voice trembling despite her composure. “If you touch me, you’ll regret it—”

“We were counting on that.” He smirked as he proceeded to strike.

The knife didn’t plunge into her flesh–instead, he slashed it across her arm, deliberate and shallow, just enough to make her cry out. The blood welled up instantly, dark and vivid against her pale skin.

Her body trembled from shock and adrenaline. She kicked at him, landing a blow on his shin that made him

grunt.

“Stupid bitch-”

He raised his hand again, but before he could bring it down, a car drove past the street, its headlights sweeping over them. The men stiffened, and the one gripping her cursed under his breath.

“Let’s go,” the taller one snapped. “Now.”

They released her, pushing her hard enough that she fell to the ground. One of them crouched beside her, hand gripping her chin as though to confirm something.

Then, without a word, he slapped her across the face. Not hard enough to disfigure–just enough to humiliate. To send a message.

The men then bolted down the alley, vanishing into the night.

Marceline groaned, pressing her hand against the cut on her arm. Her breathing came in uneven gasps, and for a long moment, she couldn’t move. The world spun slightly, her pulse still erratic. She blinked rapidly, her chest heaving.

It was clearly not a robbery, as they didn’t go for her bag, and they had confirmed that she was the target. If

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Chapter 208

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someone wanted her broken, then he had failed miserably.

Slowly, she got to her feet, clutching her injured arm. The pain was sharp, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Her eyes darted to the alley–they were gone. She stumbled to her bag, fumbling for her phone, her hands trembling so badly she almost dropped it.

Not wanting to be there anymore, she immediately made her way to her car so she could get the hell out of there.

Whoever those fuckers were, they would regret attacking her.

While she was reeling in her anger, she failed to notice a black car parked across the street with its tinted window down slightly.

Inside, the man in the driver’s seat watched with unblinking calm. His face was sharp, aged by experience but still striking. His eyes–dark and unreadable.

A small, amused smirk curved his lips.

He had watched the entire thing unfold. Every twist of her body, every frantic glance over her shoulder, and every spark of defiance reminded him just how much of a fighter she still was.

“Marceline.” he chuckled.

Even now, after all these years, she still carried herself like a queen walking through fire.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable, but his eyes–his eyes gleamed with something cold and deliberate. Satisfaction.

“Still stubborn, aren’t you, Marceline?” He murmured to himself as he watched her drive out of there.

A memory flashed across his mind–her laughter years ago, soft and genuine, echoing through the vineyard as she called him by his first name like it meant something. The image flickered and died as quickly as it

came.

Those days were gone.

This was better.

Retribution always began subtly–a warning, a message, a reminder of what power could do.

He leaned back against the seat, the smirk deepening into something far more sinister. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a note of quiet satisfaction.

“Do you know what happens,” he said quietly, to himself, “when someone betrays you and walks away clean? You wait. You wait long enough for them to believe they’re safe. That’s when you remind them.”

He turned his head slightly, watching the city blur past the window. “She thought she could rewrite history.

Pretend I never existed.”

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