Owned By My Father's Enemy
Adaline Whitmore becomes the price for her father's betrayal when she is forced to live under the roof of the ruthless billionaire Ronan Frost, the man who lost everything because of her family.
But neither of them knows one truth. She is the same girl who once saved him years ago.
As everything begins to change and secrets come to light, the line between punishment and desire fades. Now Ronan must choose between his need for revenge and the woman quietly stealing his heart.
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Chapter 2
Ronan stepped into his villa in silence, the heavy doors closing behind him with a final sound that echoed through the vast interior.
The house was dark, but not empty. It was designed that way. Expensive marble floors stretched across the hallway, reflecting faint light from the hidden ceiling panels. Abstract paintings hung on the walls, cold and meaningless, chosen more for intimidation than beauty. Everything in the house felt controlled, distant, untouched by softness.
Ronan did not slow down. He walked straight toward his room.
On the way, he pulled out his phone and made a single call.
"I want Camilla here," he said simply. "Now."
He did not wait for a reply before ending the call. Camilla always came when he called.
And right now, he did not want silence. He wanted release.
Camilla was already in his room when he arrived. She sat comfortably on the edge of his bed as if she belonged there more than anyone else ever could. Silk clung to her skin, confidence wrapped around her like a second outfit. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, observant, waiting.
She was not just his mistress. In the corporate world, people whispered about her. They called her his shadow. His second command. The woman who handled meetings when he was absent, crushed negotiations without hesitation, and smiled while others broke under pressure.
With Ronan, she was different.
Close. Dangerous. Replaceable in name only.
The moment the door opened, she felt it.
The air changed.
Ronan stepped in, and the atmosphere in the room tightened instantly. His presence carried something heavy, something unstable.
Camilla tilted her head slightly.
"Bad day?" she asked softly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Ronan did not answer. He shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, as if holding himself together by force alone. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. His eyes were darker than usual, stripped of restraint.
Camilla's expression shifted slightly. She understood him without words.
Before she could stand, before she could say anything else, Ronan crossed the room in two strides.
He grabbed her wrist, then her waist, and pulled her toward him with a force that erased all distance between them.
His kiss came without warning. Hard. Deep. Uncontrolled. It was not gentle. It was not affectionate. It was something else entirely.
Release.
Camilla gasped against his mouth for a second, but she did not resist. Her fingers tightened around his shirt as she responded to him with equal intensity.
Ronan pushed her back onto the bed without breaking the kiss.
The mattress dipped beneath their weight as he hovered over her, his movements driven by anger rather than desire. Every action carried frustration, every touch carried something unresolved.
Camilla felt it. The rage in him was not random.
It was focused. Controlled chaos. She let it happen. Because she understood him better than anyone else did.
The room grew quieter in sound but heavier in energy. Their breathing filled the space, uneven and fast, until everything else disappeared into the background. Time blurred. And then, gradually, stillness returned.
Later, Camilla lay against his chest, her fingers tracing slow patterns across his skin as if nothing unusual had just happened.
Ronan stared at the ceiling, his expression still tight, still distant. Camilla studied him quietly.
"Something happened," she said finally.
Ronan did not respond immediately.
Then, coldly, he spoke.
"I finally got my revenge, after many years of plotting".
Camilla caressed him slightly. Ronan continued.
"My revenge is just beginning."
A brief silence followed. Then his voice hardened further.
"I am going to break their daughter. Slowly. Until she begs for death."
Camilla's fingers stopped for a second.
"His daughter?" she asked.
Ronan turned his head slightly.
"Yes."
His tone did not change.
"She will pay for everything her father did."
There was no hesitation. No emotion. Only certainty. Camilla watched him for a moment longer, then something subtle flickered in her eyes. Not fear. Not concern. Something closer to possession.
"So she is not a threat," she murmured slowly.
"Just a target." Because she wasn't about to let any woman take away her man.
Ronan did not correct her. He did not need to.
Camilla relaxed again, her earlier tension fading into something more controlled.
If this girl meant nothing to his attention, then she meant nothing to her. And that was enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At the Whitmore villa, morning did not feel peaceful. It felt like something was ending.
Mrs Whitmore's voice cut through the room the moment Ronan left earlier.
"Take her."
Servants moved instantly.
Adaline barely had time to turn before hands grabbed her arms.
"Please," she struggled, her voice breaking.
"Wait, please."
No one listened. Her feet dragged against the floor as she was forced upward the stairs.
"Lock her in her room," Mrs Whitmore ordered sharply.
Her voice trembled, but not with sympathy.
With fear. Adaline was pushed into her room and the door shut behind her with a heavy click.
Silence followed.
For a moment, she just stood there. Then her knees weakened. She sank slowly to the floor as tears filled her eyes. This was her home. Or what was left of it.
A place filled with memories that no longer belonged to her. And now she was being handed over to a stranger who looked at her like she was already condemned.
Her hands trembled as she covered her face.
She did not even know what was coming. Only that it would not be mercy.
Downstairs, Elsie paced nervously in the sitting room.
"I'm scared," she said quickly. "What if she tries to escape?"
Mrs Whitmore sat calmly, though her expression was tight.
"She won't get the chance to" she said coldly.
Elsie frowned.
"And if she does?"
Mrs Whitmore leaned back slightly.
"She wouldn't dare, she has become too weak to fight for anything, not even her own life".
A pause. Then she added quietly.
"Everything that happens to her now... is not our problem anymore."
Elsie hesitated.
"So... we're really just giving her away?"
Mrs Whitmore's lips curved faintly.
"Would you like to go in her stead".
Elsie shook her head
"No".
"Good, we are just protecting ourselves ".
Her eyes hardened.
"Your father created this mess. Not us."
Elsie slowly nodded.
"Yes... you are right."
A brief silence passed. Then Mrs Whitmore spoke again, softer this time.
"She will not survive what is coming anyway."
And for the first time that morning, she smiled.
Not kindly. Not warmly. But like someone watching a problem remove itself.
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8.4
Twenty-four-year-old Rain Hart has fought to be seen all her life. Getting admitted into the prestigious Katherine Knight Fashion Academy with nothing but talent was a sign to her that things were finally falling into place in her life... until she encountered Adrian Knight, the billionaire CEO. She never planned to fall for the most dangerous man in it.
Adrian Knight is power, control, and temptation wrapped in a suit, and completely off-limits. He is everything Rain should avoid: married, connected to the Academy. But stolen glances turn into secret meetings, and before Rain can stop herself, she's trapped in an affair that could destroy them both.
Because Adrian doesn't belong to her. He belongs to a world built on dominance, legacy... and ruthless women who don't lose. When their secret explodes, it doesn't just trend...
It detonates. The headlines are merciless. The academy turns toxic. Jealous rivals circle like vultures. Then a blackmailer ends up dead. Adrian is arrested for murder. And Rain becomes the girl everyone loves to hate.
But the scandal isn't the most dangerous thing lurking in the shadows.
It's the truth.
A truth so devastating it shatters everything Rain thought she knew about love, loyalty... and herself.
Now pregnant, hunted by the press, betrayed by the powerful, and drowning in a world where trust is a weapon... Rain runs.
But in the Knight empire, power doesn't forgive. Jealousy doesn't forget. Survival comes at a price. And some secrets?
They should never be uncovered.
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.
8.6
As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess.
When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place.
To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach.
On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance.
"Let her die. It might be for the best."
I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood.
Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.
I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night.
Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity.
Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock.
But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live.
I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure.
"I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him.
In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.
7.9
In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire.
I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter.
I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm.
When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake.
I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance?
Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago.
"Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger."
My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter.
This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity.
I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.
8.7
I died in the terrifying plunge of Flight 815. But when I opened my eyes, I was lying in a luxurious bathtub, completely unharmed.
The door opened, and my husband Jordi walked in—looking fifteen years older, his eyes glacial. He pinned me to the wall, his thumb pressing against my windpipe, demanding to know who hired me to play his dead wife.
I managed to prove I was the real Isadora, biologically still twenty-eight years old. But my nightmare had just begun.
My twenty-three-year-old son Hector looked at my unaged face with pure hatred.
"Get this cheap replica out of my father's house, or I'll have him declared incompetent!"
My twenty-year-old daughter Blossom, now a spoiled stranger treating Jordi like a personal ATM, screamed at me over the phone.
Even Jordi's ambitious female colleague showed up at our estate, treating me like a temporary toy she could easily replace.
In the space of a single breath, I had lost fifteen years. My children had grown up without me, learning to hate instead of grieve. Now, they looked at their real mother as if I were a monster trying to steal my own inheritance.
But I didn't return from the dead just to be pushed out.
I put on my old green silk dress, stepped in front of the female executive, and smiled.
If they want to treat me like a threat, I'll fight them all to get my family back.
7.1
I sat in the emergency room corridor, pressing a soaked bandage against my heavily bleeding arm. I had texted my husband of three years, billionaire Efford Thornton, begging him to come.
He did come, but he walked right past me as if I were a piece of furniture. When the doctor finally brought the last bag of O-negative blood in the city to save my life, Efford's assistant intercepted it.
Efford coldly ordered the blood to be sent to the VIP wing for Aletha Chase.
"Mrs. Chase is pregnant with the Thornton heir," he declared flatly. "The priority is non-negotiable."
As I watched my life-saving blood being carried away, he handed me a divorce agreement and an NDA. If I dared to expose his affair, he would immediately cut off the funding for my grandmother's dementia care, leaving her to rot in a public ward. He then turned his back, leaving me to bleed out in the hallway.
For three years, I had given up my career and my identity to be his perfect, compliant wife. I couldn't understand how the man who once looked at me like I was his whole world could now literally watch me die just to protect his mistress.
But he forgot one thing. The submissive wife he married was just a ghost. I wiped the blood from my hands, dug out the leather half-mask I had hidden away years ago, and made a call.
It was time for the legendary runway model "Phoenix" to rise from the ashes and burn his empire to the ground.