<b>Chapter </b><b>143 </b>


    66%


    Alejandro’s office was quiet, the low hum of the city beyond his window and the air conditioner serving as the only background


    noise.


    Papers were spread across his desk, reports that needed his attention. Contracts that needed signing.


    All thanks to not being able to focus the previous day, he had a lot of boring paperwork to do.


    His mind unconsciously took him to the woman he had been pushing out of his mind since he left the mansion.


    He gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes back to the paper before him.


    Some time passed and his phone buzzed with an alert. He didn’t bother looking at it at first, as he was too deep in contracts and figures.


    38


    But when the second buzz followed–short, urgent, like a knife against his patience–he reached <i>for </i>it just as he received a call from the same person who had texted.


    “Sir,” Martins started after his answered the call. “You’re not going to like this.”


    Alejandro’s head lifted and he squinted his eyes wondering what Alejandro was taken about. “What?!” The word was sharp, a


    “It’s Nivera. She had lunch today. With Damon.”


    The pen in Alejandro’s hand snapped in two and ink bled across his fingers, staining the papers.


    For a long moment, he said nothing. The rage that surged through him was too sudden, too consuming to put into words. His pulse thundered in his ears, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached.


    The image mmed into his mind uninvited: Nivera across the table, her softugh, her lips curved in that tender way she reserved for people who made her feel seen.


    Damon leaning in, drinking her in, saying whatever pathetic, sugary things men like him said to women like her.


    “Where?” he asked finally, his voice low, dangerous.


    “Small café. Off the main street. Discreet. They were there for a while.”


    Alejandro leaned back in his chair, exhaling a slow, measured breath. On the outside, he was calm. On the inside, he was burning.


    Lunch with Damon.


    Damon had always been a parasite, waiting for an opening. And Nivera–sweet, foolish Nivera–had given him one.


    She wouldn’t- His mind shut down the thought of defending her before it could form. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.


    It wasn’t jealousy. He refused to call it that.


    No–this was about optics. About respect and about what it would mean if someone, anyone, had seen them.


    If aizen with a camera phone had snapped a picture and posted it online. The headlines would write themselves, and the fallout would be chaos.


    <b>1/4 </b>


    His name, dragged into some trivial scandal because she couldn’t control herself.


    That was why he was angry. That was the only reason.


    He repeated it again, like a mantra.


    It wasn’t because he cared, not because the thought of Damon sitting across from her, making herugh, looking at her the way Alejandro himself did in his weakest moments, made his blood boil.


    No. It was principle, image and control.


    Still, the fury was suffocating. He needed somewhere to put it, something to bleed it out of him before it consumed him.


    And then the answer came, sharp and satisfying.


    “Martin,” he said, his voice clipped. “Where is Ss Monroe right now?”


    There was a pause on the line. “Ss? Why?”


    “Find him.” Alejandro didn’t bother with exnations. He didn’t owe Martins one.


    A few momentster, the answer came. “He’s at his office.”


    Perfect.


    Alejandro rose from his chair, shrugging into his jacket. “Send me the details. Don’t follow.”


    “Yes, boss,” Martins responded and Alejandro hung up.


    The underground parking lot was dim, the fluorescent lights above flickering inzy intervals.


    Rows of expensive cars sat in silence, their sleek bodies reflecting the caliber of men who came there.


    And would you look at that?! His luck seemed to decide to smile down at him as the man who he was intending to go up to see, was already down.


    Ss Monroe leaned against his own vehicle, scrollingzily through his phone, He didn’t look up when Alejandro’s footsteps echoed across the concrete.


    “Ss,” Alejandro called, his voice carrying easily.


    Ss’s head jerked up, surprise shing before narrowing into irritation. “What the hell are you doing here?”


    Alejandro didn’t answer. He walked forward, steady, controlled. His rage simmered beneath the surface, channeled now into movement, into purpose.


    “I don’t recall being scheduled to meet you,” Ss muttered, straightening “If this is about


    Alejandro cut him off with a fist.


    The punchnded square across Ss’s jaw, the impact cracking through the still air. He stumbled back, swearing, his phone ttering to the floor<i>. </i>


    10:11 Sun, 24 Aug D


    “You bastard-” He swung wildly in return, and for a moment the two men collided in a tangle of fists and grunts.


    But Ss was no match. He was strong, yes, but untrained, his strikes were sloppy and desperate.


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    +38)


    Alejandro absorbed them, countered with ruthless precision, each blow deliberate. A fist to the ribs. An elbow to the temple. A knee driven mercilessly into his side.


    Ss fought back, but it was a losing battle. Within minutes, he was bloodied, panting, his back pressed against the cold metal of his car as Alejandro loomed over him.


    “Still standing?” Alejandro asked, voice low, taunting. “Not bad. But you’re finished.”


    He drove another punch into Ss’s gut, watching as he doubled over, gasping.


    Alejandro’s own lip was split, his knuckles raw, a bruise already blooming across his cheek. But he stood tall, steady, and dominant.


    Plus, he could have easily dodged the attacks but something in him wanted to feel them.


    Ss groaned, sliding down the side of the car until he was half–sitting, half–copsed on the concrete. His breaths came ragged, blood trickling from his nose.


    Alejandro crouched in front of him, gripping his chin and forcing him to look up. His eyes were dark, burning, his expression a mask of cold fury.


    “For someone who is a pedophile and a rapist, you’re weak.” Alejandro murmured.


    “You think you can y your little games, drag her into your mess, and I’ll just sit back and watch?” He tightened his grip until Ss winced. “You’re wrong.”


    Ss tried to spit out a reply, but Alejandro leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near–whisper.


    “Mark my words, Ss; I will be the one responsible for your downfall.”


    The words hung heavy in the air, filled with so much venom that made Ss shudder.


    Alejandro released him with a shove, standing to his full height. He turned as though to leave, then paused.


    He looked down at Ss onest <b>time</b>, his smirk twisted, unreadable as he admired his work.


    Ss had been the perfect punching bag and the perfect medium into letting out some steam,


    Alejandro’s footsteps echoed through the underground lot as he left Ss slumped against the car, broken and gasping. He reached the far end, pulled out his phone, and dialed without hesitation.


    Martins answered on the first ring


    Alejandro’s voice was calin now, too calm, the kind of deadly stillness that came after the storm.


    “It’s time we take Ss down,” he said tly. “I don’t care how–financially, legally, whatever rope you can tighten around his neck. I want him stripped of every ounce of power he thinks he has<b>.</b>”


    There was a pause on the line, then Martins replied, low and grim, “Consider it done.”


    Alejandro ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket, his jaw tightening. He didn’t even spare a backward nce


    ???