Todos los capítulos de Married to My enemy's son: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 6

The first time I met my husband, I wanted to slap him across the face. Instead, I signed a contract that made my skin crawl. The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and something else I couldn't name—that chemical undertone that clings to places where people wait to die. My mother was asleep, her chest rising and falling in that fragile rhythm that always made my stomach twist. The machines beeped in their steady, indifferent rhythm. They didn't care that she was the only thing holding our family together. I sat in the hard plastic chair beside her bed, my fingers wrapped around her cold hand. She used to have such warm hands. Before the illness, before the stress, before my father's company collapsed and took everything with it. She used to make soup from scratch and hum old songs while she stirred. Now she barely had the strength to lift a spoon. The bill was in my bag. I didn't need to look at it again to know the number. I'd memorized it the way I'd memorized every number tha

The morning after the gala, I woke up in a room that wasn't mine. White walls. Impersonal furniture. The city skyline pressing against the window like it was trying to get in.I lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, and I thought about the way he'd held me. His hand on my waist. His voice against my ear. The way he'd said "I'm not pretending" like it cost him something.I pushed the thought away. I couldn't afford to think about that.I found Damien in the kitchen. He was making coffee—black, no sugar—and staring out the window like he was searching for something he couldn't name. He didn't turn when I walked in."You're up early," he said."So are you.""I don't sleep much.""You mentioned that."He finally turned. His eyes were dark, shadowed. He looked like he hadn't slept at all."Your mother's treatment starts today," he said. "The money has been transferred."I felt something loosen in my chest. Relief. Guilt. Both. Neither."Thank you," I said. The words felt for

Karem was sitting in the center of the living room like he owned the place because he did, he owned everything, and he wanted us to know it. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his silver hair perfectly combed, his hands resting on the head of an ornate cane, and he looked like a man who had just finished a leisurely dinner and decided to drop by for a visit. But his eyes told a different story—they were cold, calculating, sweeping over me like I was a bug he was deciding whether to crush.Behind him stood two men, bodyguards, the kind that didn't blink, and next to him, perched on the edge of the couch like she belonged there, was a woman I didn't recognize. She was young, maybe my age, with dark hair and sharp features, wearing expensive clothes that probably cost more than my mother's entire hospital stay, and she looked at me like I was an inconvenience she'd rather not deal with."Hazel," Karem said, his voice smooth and warm, the kind of voice that made you forget he was a monste