บททั้งหมดของ Owned By my father's Enemy : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Ronan returned later that evening, his presence announced not by sound but by the shift in the atmosphere of the house, as though the walls themselves recognized him and straightened under his authority, and Mrs Margareta was already waiting, her posture respectful, her expression careful as she stepped forward to receive him, concern flickering in her eyes despite her attempt to hide it, because she had noticed his habits, the way he neglected food, the way he carried his burdens in silence, and it unsettled her more than she would admit."Do you need anything sir, need me to make dinner for you"Her voice was polite, gentle, laced with quiet worry as she searched his face for any sign of weakness, any sign that he might allow himself to be taken care of, even in the smallest way."No, I'm fine"His response came immediately, his tone sharp and precise, cutting through the air with finality, leaving no room for argument, no space for concern."Miss Whitmore should be the one attendin

Chapter 13Adaline rushed into the mansion the moment the car came to a halt. She didn't wait for the driver. She didn't look back. Her shoes barely made a sound against the marble floor as she hurried inside, her chest tight, her vision blurred. She kept her head down, as if the walls themselves might laugh at her if she lifted her gaze. Mrs. Margareta was in the hallway.The older woman looked up just in time to see Adaline pass too fast, too stiff, her shoulders trembling despite the rigid way she held herself. One look was enough. Years of serving in that house had taught Margareta how to read silence better than words. Something was wrong."Adaline" she called softly.But Adaline didn't stop. Mrs. Margareta hesitated only a second before following her down the corridor, stopping in front of the door to the small room Adaline occupied. Her hand lifted, knuckles hovering inches from the wood. She was about to knock when she stopped herself. Slowly, she lowered her hand. Whatever ha

Chapter 15Adaline moved quietly, carrying the second tray of breakfast toward the dining table. Initially, she had prepared only one for Ronan but Mrs. Margareta had instructed her to make another for Camilla. She had learned from Mrs Margareta who Camila is to Ronan and she didn't want to offend her as well, she's his mistress today and might be his wife tomorrow. She placed the tray gently on the table, arranging the food neatly, then stepped back and bowed slightly, retreating to the corner as she always did. Her eyes were lowered, every muscle taut with anticipation of a word, a glance, a reprimand. Ronan barely acknowledged her. He stood, pushed his chair back, and left the room without a word. Camilla, however, lingered. She leaned back slightly in her seat, smirking. "Goodbye, baby," she said after Ronan, who didn't respond. Mrs. Margareta appeared beside him, murmuring something about taking a few days off to visit her son and his newborn, and he nodded once before leaving. T

By the time Adaline returned to the mansion, night had already draped its dark veil over the city. Ronan had instructed the driver not to take her home, leaving her no choice but to walk the long way back. Each step felt heavier than the last, her body aching from the day's ordeal, her mind replaying every humiliating moment.Onlookers glanced at her as she passed, whispers trailing behind her like shadows. She looked nothing like the young woman she once was, a mere shadow of herself now, hair disheveled, face drawn and moody, eyes still wet from unshed tears.She ignored the murmurs, the pointed stares, and even the tentative looks of the maids inside the mansion. Each step brought her closer to her room, her sanctuary, the one place she could shut out the world for a little while. Without hesitation, she went straight to her room, closing the door behind her, the muffled sounds of the house fading into silence.In the dim glow of her room, Adaline sank onto the edge of the bed, the

Camilla returned to the mansion dressed like she was stepping into a battlefield she already intended to win. Her outfit spoke before she did, tailored black trousers fitting her legs with sharp precision, an ivory blouse pressed flawlessly against her frame, and a structured blazer resting on her shoulders like armor designed for authority rather than comfort. Every detail of her appearance was intentional, every fold, every line, every polished surface announcing control. Her heels struck the marble driveway with deliberate rhythm, each step echoing with confidence that bordered on possession.As she approached the entrance, her eyes swept across the compound with a slow, assessing gaze. There were no familiar cars, no sign of movement that suggested he was anywhere near. The silence confirmed what she already suspected.So it's true. Ronan has traveled. A faint smile curved her lips, but it held nothing warm or pleasant. It was sharp, calculated, almost satisfied.Now is the time