Owned By The Enemy

"You're not serious."

Liana's voice trembled, but her spine stayed straight.

Dominic Stone didn't flinch. He stood on the opposite end of the hallway, black suit flawless, hands in his pockets, face carved in granite.

"I never joke, Liana," he said, calm as a loaded gun. "You marry me, or your father goes to prison."

She stared at him, heart pounding so hard she could hear it over the echo of footsteps, whispers from the courthouse, the ringing in her ears. "You set him up."

"Did I?" His brows twitched. "Funny. The evidence says otherwise. Millions of dollars missing. Falsified accounts. Fraud. That's not my signature on those documents, sweetheart. It's your daddy's."

"I know what this is," she spat. "This is revenge."

Dominic's smile was slow and dangerous, like something with teeth. "Very observant."

"Why me?" she whispered. "You could have destroyed him and walked away. Why drag me into it?"

His eyes darkened. "Because you walked away five years ago, Liana. And I never forget betrayal."

Her father had begged her not to come.

"There's nothing you can do, sweetheart," he had whispered, cuffed to a table, eyes hollow.

But she had come anyway. And now she stood here, across from the man she once trusted, once nearly loved-before everything shattered.

"You want to punish me by marrying me?" she asked, disgust curling in her throat.

Dominic stepped forward, slow, steady. "No. I want to own you. Completely. Publicly. Legally."

She took a step back. "You're sick."

"You're desperate."

Her silence gave him the answer.

He pulled a folded document from his coat. Set it on the bench between them. "Marriage contract. One year. You move in with me, play the doting wife, keep your mouth shut, and do as I say."

She didn't touch it.

"Your father walks out clean," he said, voice colder now. "Refuse, and I call in every favor I have to make sure he rots."

She stared at the paper. Her eyes stung. Her throat burned.

"I hate you," she whispered.

Dominic's voice dipped like a silk knife. "That's a good start, Mrs. Stone."

---

Three days later...

Flashbulbs exploded as Liana stepped out of the black car in white silk and cold silence. The press screamed questions. She didn't answer. Her hand clutched Dominic's arm like a prisoner clutches her chains.

The wedding was fast. Painless.

Until the kiss.

His mouth pressed to hers, slow and hard, for the cameras. But when he leaned in, lips brushing her ear, he whispered, "Smile, darling. You're mine now."

And she did.

With hate burning behind her eyes.

---

That night, she stood inside his penthouse-staring at the bedroom door like it was a trap.

She didn't want to cry.

Didn't want to scream.

But she wanted to run. Far.

Then she heard his footsteps behind her.

"You'll get used to this," Dominic said, voice low, as he poured himself a glass of something expensive. "The cameras. The pressure. Me."

"I'll never get used to you."

He took a sip and met her eyes over the rim of the glass. "You will. Every inch of me."

And as the bedroom door clicked shut behind him, Liana realized something horrifying:

The prison wasn't the contract.

It was the man.

Liana awoke in silk sheets that didn't belong to her.

For a moment, she forgot everything-until the weight of her reality came crashing back in.

The marriage. The threat. The man.

Dominic Stone.

The scent of his expensive cologne still lingered in the room like a warning. She sat up slowly, her head spinning as she took in her surroundings: marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the penthouse in golden morning light, and a velvet chair with her folded clothes placed neatly on it. Every inch of the room screamed luxury-and prison.

She wrapped her arms around herself. The silk nightgown clung to her skin like a secret she hadn't agreed to keep.

The door opened without a knock. She didn't need to look to know it was him.

"Sleep well, wife?" Dominic asked, walking in with two mugs of coffee.

He looked infuriatingly perfect. Tailored grey suit, no tie, shirt open just enough to be indecently charming. The world bowed at his feet, and he expected her to do the same.

"I'm not your wife," she muttered.

"You signed the papers. You said the vows. You wore the ring." He placed a mug on her nightstand. "That makes you mine."

Her eyes snapped to him. "You didn't marry me for love. You did it to control me. To punish me."

"And you agreed. To save your father. Or did you forget?"

"I didn't forget anything," she hissed. "Especially not the man you used to be."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "That man died the day you disappeared."

She flinched.

Dominic leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Why did you run, Liana?"

"I was seventeen!" she snapped. "I didn't run. I escaped. My father pulled me out before things got worse."

"Worse?" he repeated, voice like steel. "We were in love."

She looked away.

"We were stupid," she said softly. "And your world was dangerous. My father knew that. He wanted to protect me."

"And now look where you are," Dominic said, his voice low. "Right back in my world. But now it's mine. All of it. And you? You're mine, too."

Her heart thundered.

She hated him. She hated that he could still do this-still make her feel something between fear and... something else.

"You don't own me."

He smiled slowly. "We'll see about that."

---

Later that night, Liana stood in front of the mirror in a gown that fit too perfectly to be coincidence. Crimson silk, a dangerously high slit, and a low back that left little to the imagination. The dress screamed seduction-and submission.

One of Dominic's assistants had delivered it with a single line: "Mr. Stone expects you ready by seven."

She stared at her reflection.

Who was this woman?

When Dominic entered the room, he stopped mid-step.

His eyes dragged over her, slow and burning.

"You look..." he paused, voice husky. "Like trouble."

She didn't smile.

"Don't pretend you care," she said, turning away.

His hand caught her wrist gently, but firmly.

"I care more than you think," he murmured, voice deep. "That's the problem."

***

The gala was held in a luxury hotel ballroom, dripping with wealth and hypocrisy. She walked in on his arm like a perfectly trained puppet. Cameras flashed, people whispered, champagne flowed.

All eyes were on them.

"Smile," Dominic whispered through clenched teeth. "They're watching."

She forced a smile, teeth clenched.

They made their rounds-he shook hands, she nodded politely. Everyone wanted to know who she was, where she came from, how Dominic Stone had finally been tamed.

"Your wife is stunning," one woman cooed, her diamond necklace blinding.

"She's more than stunning," Dominic said, his hand sliding to the small of Liana's back. "She's dangerous. That's why I married her."

Liana looked up at him sharply.

But he didn't glance at her.

He just sipped his drink and smiled at the crowd.

***

Later, on the balcony away from the chatter, Liana exhaled and leaned against the railing.

The night air was cold, but her skin was burning.

"You always did like hiding from crowds," Dominic said, stepping beside her.

"And you always liked creating a scene," she replied.

He smirked. "I created a marriage. That's more than a scene."

She turned to face him. "You think this is marriage? This is control. Blackmail. You bought me, Dominic."

He moved closer, the space between them disappearing.

"I didn't buy you," he said softly. "I waited for years. I watched from the shadows while your father ruined lives-including mine. When I saw your name in that file, I knew fate had just handed me the final card."

"So I'm your revenge?"

"You're my obsession."

She froze.

He leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "You always have been."

Her heart pounded in her chest, blood rushing in her ears.

He stepped back, just as her body betrayed her by swaying forward.

"We leave in ten," he said, like nothing happened.

And just like that, the war continued.

Liana had never felt so exposed.

Not even when she was seventeen, standing in the hallway of her father's estate, crying silently as Dominic pressed a kiss against her tear-soaked cheek and promised he'd find her again. That was a different kind of vulnerability-naïve, tender.

This was something else.

This was calculated. Inevitable.

The penthouse was quiet when they returned from the gala, but her heart was not. It beat like a drum in her chest, as if trying to warn her of the man whose presence filled every inch of the room.

Dominic loosened his tie with a flick of his fingers, dark eyes fixed on her like he could hear every thought she was trying to suppress.

"You didn't say much tonight," he said. His voice wasn't accusing-just observant. As always.

"You said enough for both of us," she replied, kicking off her heels and walking toward the bar in the corner. She poured herself a glass of something amber and sharp and downed it without tasting it.

She needed to feel something that wasn't him.

"You handled yourself well," he continued, stepping behind her. His reflection appeared in the mirror behind the bar-tall, powerful, untouchable. "You played the part."

She set the glass down. "That's all I am to you, isn't it? A part in your sick little performance."

He didn't respond immediately. And that silence wrapped around her like silk-dangerous, suffocating, hard to escape.

Then, quietly, "Is that what you think this is?"

She turned to face him, crossing her arms to steady herself. "Don't pretend this is anything more than revenge."

Dominic moved closer, slow and deliberate. "You think I would go through all this trouble just for revenge?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Because that's who you are now, Dominic. You don't feel. You calculate. You build empires, you destroy enemies, and you use people like chess pieces. And I just happen to be the queen you needed."

A long pause passed between them. Then-

"Wrong," he said. His voice was low, but it vibrated through her ribcage like a warning.

He stepped even closer, so close she could smell his cologne-woodsy and dark, like a forest at nightfall. His hand lifted, not to touch her, but to trace the air between them.

"You're not the queen," he said softly. "You're the weakness I never outgrew."

Her breath caught.

And in that moment, the air between them shifted. No more venom. No more power plays.

Just heat.

Undeniable. Dangerous. And very, very real.

"Don't do this," she whispered.

"I'm not doing anything," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. "You're the one trembling."

She hated that he was right.

She hated even more that part of her wanted to close the distance.

But then, Dominic turned and walked away.

"You can sleep in the master bedroom tonight," he said, loosening the last button of his shirt. "Or take the guest room down the hall. I won't touch you... unless you ask me to."

She stared at him.

"You think I'd ever ask for that?"

He met her gaze evenly. "I think you will. Eventually."

***

The master bedroom was dark when she entered, lit only by the soft city lights bleeding in through the curtains. She didn't know why she chose this room. Maybe because it still smelled like him. Maybe because part of her wanted to prove to herself that she wasn't afraid.

But she was.

Of him. Of herself. Of the twisted, magnetic pull between them.

Liana sat on the edge of the massive bed, fingers trembling as she reached behind her to unzip the crimson dress. It fell in a pool at her feet, and for the first time that night, she felt bare.

Not naked-bare. Vulnerable in ways she didn't know how to name.

The bathroom door creaked open.

She turned instinctively-only to see him. Shirtless. Wet hair. Towel slung low on his hips. And eyes that devoured her like he'd been starving for years.

Neither of them moved.

The silence between them crackled with heat. And when he stepped toward her-just one step-her breath caught.

"I told you I wouldn't touch you," he said, voice hoarse. "But I didn't say I wouldn't look."

She swallowed hard, her body betraying her again-leaning forward, aching toward him like gravity itself had chosen sides.

"Then don't look," she whispered.

"I can't help it."

He stood there, every inch of him sculpted and lethal, and yet-somehow-he looked at her like she was the one who could destroy him.

She turned her face away. "You said this wasn't revenge."

"It's not."

"Then what is it?"

He took a slow breath.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's not over. Not until I know why you left me. Not until I know if you're lying when you say you hate me."

Her heart slammed into her chest.

He took another step. Then another.

She should have stopped him. She should have run. But her body betrayed her completely this time-she didn't move.

He leaned down, voiced just a breath against her skin.

"When you finally beg me to touch you," he said, "I want you to remember this moment. Because I gave you a choice."

And then-he left.

Just like that.

Leaving her alone in the devil's bed.