Owned By The Enemy

Katherine, 24

The morning sun poured lazily through the open terrace doors, gilding the marble tiles in warmth.

I carried the watering can with both hands, tipping it gently over the line of violets that stretched along the stone ledge.

Water trickled softly, soaking into the soil. The scent of jasmine spread in the air.

Simple things. Things I never used to do, not before the blood, the lies, the Agency.

But here I was. Watering flowers like a woman who had never once put a bullet through a man’s skull.

I had just moved to the roses when the door slammed open behind me.

Raven.

He strode in like a storm, black coat, black eyes, carrying bad news like it was stitched into his skin.

“You need to know what he did,” he growled.

I didn’t look at him yet. I set the watering can down and pressed my fingers to the petals, listening.

“Elena’s family,” he continued, voice hard. “All of them. Thorne wiped them out, Katherine. Burned their house down. Her mother, her little sister, their names don’t exist anymore.”

My fingers froze on the rose.

I knew.

Somehow, I already knew.

I straightened, brushing my hands off on my dress. “I expected that,” I said, softly. “He was always going to retaliate. No one can stop him from what he did.”

Raven stared at me like I’d gone mad. “You’re responsible for what happened.”

“No,” I said, picking the can up again. “But she suffered because of me. That’s on my name now, not because I owe anyone, but because I’m the only one who can fix it.”

I tilted the can, letting the water soak into the soil again.

“Guilt doesn’t move me, Raven. Strategy does.”

He stepped forward, voice tight. “You’re talking about sacrifice. But you haven’t seen what he’s become. Thorne is crueler than even we thought. He’s not just broken—he’s poisoned.”

I paused again, staring at the rose. Its red color looked too much like blood under this light.

Then I watered it anyway.

“I know what’s coming,” I said, quiet but sure. “And I know what I have to do.”

“If you’re thinking of fighting him, you must be insane,” Raven said, his voice dark with warning. “He’ll come for you, and you won’t survive it.”

I didn’t flinch. Just let the watering can tilt slightly, droplets darkening the soil around the blood-red rose.

“Let’s say that’s how you see it,” I murmured, straightening with a small, cold smile. “Once Thorne kills Elena, the legend of Agent Zoey fades into nothing. The chase ends, the past gets buried… and I stay buried with it.”

I chuckled, soft, sharp. “Like I’ve been all these years. Like I was dead. I would keep a low profile.”

Thanks for your patience—let’s lock into your vision properly this time.

Here’s a revised version that keeps Katherine’s tone sharp and clever, while making the interaction with Raven darker, seductive, and charged with tension, using “breast” as you specified, and allowing dialogue to lead naturally into physical contact:

I smiled faintly, a mockery of peace.

“You sound awfully calm about a girl being destroyed in your place,” he said.

“I never asked her to step into the fire,” I replied coldly. “I never planned for her to be captured by Thorne, but nature made it happen. And now she's going to die without knowing why.”

I poured the last of the water, then straightened. I didn’t need to turn around to feel him watching me.

“You’ve always had a talent for making ruin sound poetic,” he said, his voice lower now, closer.

I didn’t respond. Not immediately.

Then his hand brushed me. Deliberate. Bold. His knuckles grazed the underside of my breast.

I blinked, then let out a soft, amused sound. “Is that how we’re doing this now?” I asked, swatting his hand lightly.

But he caught my wrist, pulling me back, his chest against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You talk about disappearing,” he whispered, “but you forget I’ve tasted you before, Zoey. That doesn’t fade.”

His other hand found my waist, possessive. His thumb traced along my ribs, stopping just below my breast again.

“You’re playing with fire,” I murmured, leaning my head back against his shoulder.

“You are fire,” he growled softly. “Since you've been running away from Thorne for years, I've been the one protecting the fire.”

I didn’t stop him when he came closer. I didn’t want to.

I sat on the stone bench, fingers idly stroking a fallen petal in my lap.

Raven stood over me, watching like he had something to say but didn’t trust the words. He rarely did.

“Say it,” I murmured.

He knelt in front of me, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. “You act like you’ve buried everything… but I know you're still scared.”

I looked away, but he reached up and gently turned my face toward him.

“Stop pretending you don’t burn too,” he whispered.

His hand slid down my arm, slow, controlled until his fingers curled beneath mine. I didn’t resist. I let him feel the tremble.

Then he leaned in. His lips brushed mine, tentative at first, tasting, teasing. I kissed him back with a need that surprised even me.

His hands roamed now, one cupping my face, the other slipping around my waist, pulling me closer until my body molded against his.

His thumb brushed along the edge of my breast, not hurried, just enough to make my breath catch.

I gasped softly against his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss like he’d been waiting for that sound.

His mouth moved to my neck, tongue grazing skin, teeth lightly scraping until my back arched, and I dug my nails into his shirt.

“Raven…” I breathed.

His hand slid down, fingers curving over my hip, then lower, pressing just above where my thighs met. I could feel the heat of him even through his pants, his arousal hard and undeniable.

My legs shifted without meaning to, a silent plea.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “You’re playing dangerous,” he murmured against my skin.

“So are you,” I replied, voice hoarse with want.

He pushed me back gently onto the bench, half-laying me across it, one knee between mine.

We kissed again, deeper this time, teeth grazing lips, hands roaming with urgency now. His palm covered my breast, thumb teasing the nipple through the thin fabric.

I moaned softly, fingers sliding into his hair as his other hand gripped my thigh.

This could have gone further.

Maybe it should have.

But then—

Footsteps. Fast.

A man stumbled into the garden, breathless.

“Sir....” he gasped, eyes flicking away from the indecent closeness we hadn’t broken yet. “Forgive me, but… our spy at Thorne’s estate just confirmed something.”

We both froze.

“What is it?” Raven barked, hand still gripping my thigh.

The man swallowed hard. “It’s Elena. She’s pregnant. For Thorne.”

The words shattered the moment.

I sat up slowly, heart slamming against my ribs.

Pregnant.

For Thorne. Impossible.

I couldn’t breathe.