Mafia Heir's Mistaken Obsession

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE – Elira’s POV

UP Diliman – 11:42 PM

She should’ve gone home earlier.

But deadlines didn’t care about safety, and neither did scholarship boards. Elira Cruz shoved her laptop into her backpack and pulled her hoodie tighter around her shoulders. The library lights were shutting off behind her one by one, casting long shadows across the quad.

Her sneakers hit the pavement with soft, hurried slaps. Her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

It wasn’t the first time she’d walked home this late.

But this time, something felt... wrong.

There were no tambay groups at the benches. No guards on their rounds. Even the dogs were quiet.

She picked up her pace.

The rain started as a whisper, cold and misty. She didn’t have an umbrella. Of course.

“Stupid,” she muttered, half to herself, half to the universe.

She turned the corner near the covered walk—

—and saw the car.

Black. Parked illegally. Engine off. Tinted windows.

Definitely not a student’s.

Her steps slowed.

Then stopped.

A chill slid down her spine—not from the rain, but from instinct.

Her father used to tell her: "When the street’s quiet but your pulse isn’t, trust your gut."

She turned around.

Started walking back toward the library. Fast.

Then—

Tires screeched.

A door flew open.

Heavy boots hit the ground.

“Putangina—!” she spat, thrashing hard, twisting away... but something slammed into her back—an arm? a chest?—and she was off her feet.

Kicking. Thrashing.

No one saw. No one helped.

“Let go of me!”

Her scream was muffled by rain and skin and gloved fingers.

The door slammed shut.

The scent of expensive cologne clung to the leather—rich, cold, and sharp as a blade.

“Elira Cruz,” a voice said—calm, male, unbothered.

Her blood ran cold.

She hadn’t told anyone her name.

She lunged for the door handle—

And froze.

Because across from her, in the shadows of the back seat, a man was watching her.

Not blinking.

Not smiling.

Just watching.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a question.

"You look just like her,” he said.

But the way he was staring… it didn’t feel like a compliment.