บททั้งหมดของ OWNED BY THE ENEMY, His Dark Claim: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

Elena’s POV I had witnessed everything — from when Signorina Ginevra raised her voice, to the instant she lost control. Her fury filled every corner of the estate. When Signora Amara denied the accusations, Signorina Ginevra struck her. I had tried to help, but what strength could I have against Matilde and the others, whose fear of Signorina Ginevra chained their hands? The room had felt suffocating, thick with the scent of perfume and panic. When Signora Amara fainted, I screamed for help, but no one dared move. They all stood still, pretending deafness was loyalty. So I did what I had to do — I ran. Outside, the wind hit my face like a slap. Along the estate road, I found a few workmen fixing the gate. I begged them for help, and when one of them finally followed me in, I guided them back inside. Together, we lifted Signora Amara’s limp body and took her out. The man called a taxi, and I rode with her to the hospital, her hand cold in mine. At the hospital, I watched as the d

Alessandro’s POV The morning sunlight brightened the day, but it found me in the kitchen instead of the study. I knew it must’ve been a strange sight—“the Don” with his sleeves rolled up, standing beside a stove. Even Damian looked uneasy as I used the toaster to slice bread, as if I might burn the house down. Elena hovered nearby, insisting she handle most of it, but I wanted to help. I needed to. Doing something ordinary felt grounding after the chaos of the last few days. “You’re cutting it too thick, Signore,” she said softly. “Then fix it,” I replied, half-smiling. Within minutes, the smell of butter and eggs filled the room. The kitchen buzzed with whispered shock. “He never did this for Signorina Ginevra,” one servant murmured. “I’ve worked here six years—she’s right,” another whispered. I didn’t tell them to stop. Let them talk. Their gossip was harmless for once, and a strange satisfaction stirred in me as I imagined Ginevra hearing it from afar. Maybe by

Amara’s POV The rain started the moment we drove past the gates of Don Epifanio’s estate — a soft drizzle that grew into a full storm by the time we reached home. On the drive back, laughter still lingered between us like a fragile ribbon of light. My phone rang, and when I checked the screen, it was Rebecca and Lorenzo calling from the honeymoon. “Oh, my baby Amara!” Rebecca squealed the moment I picked up. “I heard the news — congratulations!” “Congrats, man,” Lorenzo added with a grin. “Didnt know you had it in you to pull that kind of game.” I smiled, turning the phone toward Alessandro so they could see him. He gave a faint smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes. “You shouldn't have bothered yourselves,” he said. “The honeymoon’ going smoothly,” Lorenzo replied, “but we couldn't miss this. You two deserve happiness.” Rebecca said something teasing that made us both laugh, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to imagine that this was what norma

Amara’s POV When I woke, the other side of the bed was warm but empty. For a moment, I thought Alessandro was still beside me. His scent lingered on the sheets — clean, sharp, familiar — wrapping around me like the memory of the night before. The rain had stopped, and faint sunlight slipped through the curtains. Everything looked peaceful, but I couldn’t shake the strange heaviness pressing down on my chest. The warmth of last night still clung to my skin, but the house felt…off. Too quiet. Too still. Outside the door, I heard faint footsteps — light, careful — and the sound of something being moved in the living room. I lay there a little longer, pretending to be asleep, until I heard the soft creak of the bathroom door. That’s when I decided to move. If I stayed here, he’d tell me to call one of the servants again. He always did that when he wanted to keep me still. So, I slipped out of bed, tied my robe, and walked toward the kitchen, hoping to surprise him with coffee before

Ginevra’s POV I had always trusted my father to take care of my worries. That was what he did best—solve problems in ways that left no trace of the struggle. When I told him about Alessandro running to the hospital to meet Amara, about how restless and desperate he seemed, my father hadn’t shouted or raged like I expected. He simply poured himself a glass of wine and said quietly, “We’ll find out what’s really going on.” And days later, we did. Amara Vitale—no, Amara whatever—was expecting a child. I remembered sitting in Father’s study as one of his men delivered the report. My heart had cracked in two. Because in that moment, I understood that nothing—no threat, no silence, no humiliation—would ever fully come between them again. The one thing I could never compete with had already taken root inside her. But Father had only smiled. “Let me handle this,” he said. “This time, “I’ll make sure she leaves our world for good.” And like the dutiful daughter, I’d always been, I l