Todos os capítulos de Owned by the Billionaire's Heart: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

The heavy mahogany doors of the elevator clicked shut, sealing me inside the seventy-fifth-floor penthouse with an echo that sounded like a final judgment. My shoulders sagged under an invisible, crushing weight, every muscle in my body aching from the sheer, unremitting tension of the evening. I dropped my briefcase onto the minimalist entryway table; it hit the polished wood with a dull, hollow thud that grated against my raw nerves.Walking into the sprawling living room, the panoramic windows offered a sweeping, indifferent view of the glittering city below. Millions of lights twinkled like distant stars, a chaotic tapestry of lives moving freely, completely unaware of the invisible cell that now bound me within its walls. A sharp, stinging pain throbbed behind my eyes, the stubborn remnants of a stress-induced migraine tightening a vice around my temples. I pressed the heels of my hands against my sockets, trying to block out the sterile, humming silence of the apartment.Just bre

The interior of the sleek, tinted limousine smelled of rich leather, expensive cologne, and the distinct, suffocating aura of absolute power. Sitting beside Dante Moreno felt less like sharing a vehicle and more like being strapped into the passenger seat of a runaway freight train hurtling toward a cliff. Every time the car swayed around a corner, my bare shoulder brushed against the razor-sharp fabric of his tailored tuxedo jacket, sending a volatile jolt of static electricity straight through my nervous system. I kept my gaze locked firmly on the passing lights of the city blur through the rain-streaked window, refusing to look at him, yet acutely aware of every micro-movement he made.My heart hammered a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs, a trapped bird beating its wings in a cage of bone and muscle. A dull, throbbing ache blossomed behind my eyes, threatening to morph into a full-scale stress migraine as the seconds ticked closer to our destination. My lungs felt constrict

The rough texture of the stone balustrade dug sharply into my lower back, grounding me against the dizzying, breathless pressure of his proximity. His thumb lingered on my cheek, the warmth of his skin branding a trail of fire across my flesh that made my breath hitch violently in my throat. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to push him away, to raise my hands and shatter the dark, suffocating illusion that I belonged anywhere other than to myself. Yet my arms hung limp at my sides, paralyzed by a traitorous, sickening wave of heat that bloomed low in my stomach, whispering treason to every principle I held dear."You don't protect me, Dante," I whispered, the words trembling as they brushed past my lips. My voice lacked its earlier bite, dissolved into a fragile, broken confession that tasted entirely of defeat. "You cage me. There is a difference.""Is there?" he murmured, leaning in closer until his breath—scented with scotch and clean rain—mingled with mine. His obsidian eyes

The heavy, suffocating silence of the penthouse pressed down on my shoulders like a leaden cloak, refusing to lift even as the first pale streaks of dawn began to bleed through the eastern horizon. I stood motionless by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at a waking Manhattan that looked cold and indifferent beneath a blanket of gray morning mist. My muscles ached with a deep, bone-weary fatigue, and a dull, relentless throbbing behind my temples reminded me that the stress of the previous night had settled in to stay.Footsteps approached softly across the hardwood floor—deliberate, measured, and entirely unmistakable. I didn't need to turn around to know it was Dante. His presence preceded him, altering the barometric pressure of the room, drawing all the available oxygen into his orbit."You didn't sleep," he stated, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the thick wool of the sweater I had pulled on over my pajamas."Sleep requires peace of mind, Dan

The private dining room at L’Ombre suspended its patrons forty floors above the glittering grid of Manhattan, enclosed entirely in soundproof, bullet-resistant glass that made the city look like a motherboard of pulsing neon circuits. Around the custom mahogany table sat six members of the Moreno Enterprises executive board—men with silver hair, tailored Italian wool, and eyes that calculated net worth faster than a machine. They looked at me not with hostility, but with the chilling indifference one reserves for a newly acquired asset or a freshly signed subsidiary.My reflection stared back at me from the polished black tabletop, framed by the dark velvet of my gown and the heavy diamond tennis bracelet Dante had casually locked around my wrist before we left the penthouse. Every breath felt measured, filtered through layers of expensive silk and suffocating expectation."The acquisition of Vance architectural patents has already cleared the legal hurdles, Dante," murmured Arthur St