All Chapters of The Enemy's Obsession: Bound To The Mafia Boss: Chapter 81 - Chapter 89

Chapter Eighty One: The Fragile Truce The mansion had become a museum of silence. For days, the only sounds were the hushed footsteps of the doubled guards and the stern, watchful presence of Nurse Clara, who followed Julian from room to room like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Caesar was a ghost in his own home. Leaving before dawn, returning long after dark. When they were in the same room, his words were clipped, icy necessities. It was a punishment and a strategy. If he was cold enough, distant enough, maybe Julian would break and agree to the surgery. But the distance between them wasn’t just emotional; it was a physical ache in Julian’s chest. The anger and hurt finally boiled over. He wouldn’t beg. He’d rebel. He found Clara in the sitting room, clutching a book he wasn’t reading. He let his hand tremble, his eyes squeeze shut. “The pills,” he gasped, his voice tight. “In the safe downstairs. The white bottle. It’s the only thing that helps the pressure.” Clara looked up

Chapter Eighty Three: Breaking Point in Fear. The door didn’t just open…it exploded. Wood splintered, the frame gave way, and Caesar stood in the wreckage, a hurricane in a tuxedo. He’d been searching the gala for five frantic minutes, a cold dread tightening his chest with every empty room. His eyes took in the nightmare in a single, gut-wrenching second. His guards wrestling one man by the door. And the other… kneeling over Julian’s too-still body, a syringe aimed at his neck. Thought was gone. There was only motion. Caesar crossed the room in two strides. He didn’t throw a punch. He grabbed the man by the neck and his shirtfront and, with a raw, guttural roar of pure fury, smashed the man’s face into the solid porcelain edge of the sink. The sound was sickening…a wet, final crunch. The man went limp, collapsing in a heap, blood instantly pooling on the white tile. Caesar didn’t look at him. He dropped to his knees, his hands frantic as he gathered Julian into hi

Chapter Eighty Five: The Final CountdownThe study looked like a war room after a bomb had gone off. Not from violence, but from frantic, desperate thought. Papers were everywhere. Maps were pinned to the walls, connected by a spiderweb of red string and scribbled notes. A giant digital calendar glowed on the wall, with one date screaming in bold, blood-red letters.THE OASIS ANNIVERSARY.In the middle of the storm was Julian. He looked like a man possessed. His eyes were bright, but it wasn’t with health…it was a feverish, burning intensity. He pointed at the circled date, his voice rough from too many nights with too little sleep.“The anniversary gala is their cover,” he explained to Caesar, who stood in the doorway, a silent mountain of worry. “Eleanor Vance, the whole rotten inner circle… they’ll all be there, patting themselves on the back. Smiling for cameras while their hell runs downstairs. It’s our only shot to catch them at the scene.”Caesar’s eyes went from Julian’s t

Chapter Eighty Seven: The Wrench “I found someone.” Peter dropped into the huge leather chair beside Julian’s desk, buzzing with nervous energy. “This guy. Ravi. He’s in Bangalore, completely off-grid. I took your advice…someone with no ties, no clue who the Liberty Circle even is.” Julian looked up from the blueprints, a flicker of relief in his tired eyes. “He’s a ghost in the machine,” Peter continued, leaning forward. “The absolute best at remote penetration and data streaming. He says with the schematics and the codes you got, he can create a ‘digital ghost’ in their system.” “Once it’s in, the feed is untraceable. They won’t know they’re broadcasting their own nightmare.” As Julian reached for a notepad to jot down the contact, the afternoon light slanted across his hand, catching the platinum band on his finger. It wasn’t flashy, but it was impossible to miss. Peter’s eyes snapped to it. His excited chatter died. He stared, his brow furrowed. “Jules…” he started, his v

Chapter Eighty Nine: After All This Time. The air was thick and hot and tasted like dust. Julian had been crammed in the tight, dark space above the ceiling for two whole days. A sub-ceiling crawlspace…a forgotten vein in the building’s body. He had survived on protein bars that tasted like chalk and sips of warm water.A small, hidden earpiece played quiet classical music, a lifeline to keep the creeping claustrophobia and the pounding in his skull from driving him insane.The pain was a white-hot drill behind his left eye. He bit down hard on the leather sleeve of his jacket, the taste of oil and grit filling his mouth, swallowing back the groan that wanted to escape. He fumbled in the dark for the orange bottle, shook out two pills, and dry-swallowed them, wincing.Just a little longer. Just hold on. Don’t you dare pass out now.His own stubborn will was the only dam holding back a tidal wave of agony.Then, he heard it. A change in the rhythm of the building. The muffled thump-