Alejandro’s Obsession (English Version)

“At last, you’ve returned to my palace, my slave,” the young man said coldly as he yanked her out once more, but this time with brutal force. In that instant, the fragile world Erin had dreamed of for herself shattered into dust. “Get down and crawl like a dog!” he commanded, his voice a venomous lash. Alejandro’s cruelty had gone far beyond limits. It was too much—so much that, as wicked as it felt, Erin silently prayed she had already died. She wished death would claim her now. The girl didn’t move, not even a twitch; in her mind, she no longer existed. Alejandro had stripped away every last shred of her self-respect. “MOVE!” he roared, his voice echoing like a whip crack. There was no escape for Erin. Everyone who dared to help her had been punished by him without mercy. When she still refused to budge, Alejandro himself forced her into motion. He shoved her head down by tightening his grip around her throat, forcing her to bend. Without a word, she obeyed in silent defeat.

It had been a draining day for Erin. She had walked from street to street, selling bouquets and single stems without rest. February was always her busiest month—the season of giving flowers to loved ones—second only to All Souls’ Day. She needed enough sales to hand her uncle’s family money tonight; if she failed, they would hurt her again the way they always did. She also needed to keep a hidden portion for herself. She knew that as long as they could not seize her inheritance, they might one day decide to end her life. She had to save quietly so that when she finally left their house, she would have something to survive on. She would not touch the savings in her bank; that money was reserved for the operation on her eyes. She never reached a cornea donor because her uncle kept blocking every attempt. “I guess that’s the last customer,” Erin murmured, realizing she was alone in the shop now. She put tools away and swept the floor. After a short rest, she took her walking stick

She cried quietly, her body bound to a chair. She could sense her cousin’s presence nearby—guarding Erin like a prized hostage. They were terrified of her escaping because they planned to use her as payment for their debt to a feared Mafia. She couldn’t understand their logic. They knew mafias were heartless. Why would they borrow from them just to indulge their luxuries? “We’ll make it look like you were kidnapped and killed. Fun, right? Then all your wealth will be ours. Who else would it go to? Only us—we’re the only ones who ever put up with you,” her cousin said, relishing every word as her parents carried out their cruel plan. What else could Erin expect? They were family—blood—but as the tree, so the fruit. If their plan succeeded, Erin’s life would plunge into deeper misery. If they truly used her as payment, she would be even more powerless, trapped in a darker world, her chances of healing or escaping even slimmer. While she pitied herself, her so-called family continued

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The only sound Erin hears is the steady rhythm of the clock, each second echoing like a cruel reminder of how trapped she is. He left her here—left her in this chamber he calls his Pleasure Room. But to Erin, that name twists like poison in her thoughts. There is no pleasure here, not for her. Every time he speaks, a shiver coils inside her body, icy and merciless. He told her she should wear nothing, because a slave needs nothing. His voice carried no hesitation, no doubt, only the certainty of someone who thrives on control. He ripped her clothes from her body with ruthless force, the sound of tearing fabric loud in the suffocating silence of the room. The noise still echoes in her ears. For him, it was nothing. For her, it was everything. Cold air swept over her bare skin, biting deep, and Erin trembled under its touch. The chill of the room wasn’t just physical—it was heavy with something darker, an aura of power and menace that pressed against her from

When everyone finally left the Pleasure Room, Erin was abandoned in the cold, dark silence, unattended, trembling, and afraid. What kind of person would leave a blind girl locked in a place like this, hungry, freezing, and bound, with no one to help her? It was Alejandro, the ruthless Mafia boss who cared for no one, not even the helpless. The girl’s state was pitiful, her body covered in wounds and bruises, each marking a silent testimony to her suffering, and the weight of her despair pressed down on her fragile spirit. Apart from the tiny fragments of courage that lingered deep inside her, there was only fear left, and that fear consumed her completely every time the door creaked, every time a shadow moved, and every time she felt the heavy silence pressing closer against her chest. No one knew the depth of her pain; no one could begin to understand what was happening inside her mind. She remained where Alejandro had tied her, motionless, silent, lost in a world that was co