CHAPTER TWO
Ronan, still full of rage, stepped inside his villa and went straight to his room
On the way he had already informed his bodyguard to call his mistress
Camilla over. He needed somewhere to bury this rage he's feeling. Camilla, his personal secretary by day and his mistress by night. She was the woman who ran his office with ruthless efficiency, stood beside him like a silent blade, and warmed his bed whenever his nights grew too dark and cold. People whispered about her, calling her the second-in-command of the Ronan King empire, because she acted like it. She walked with an air that made it clear she wasn't just a side ornament, she was close to him… dangerously close.
She was sitting on the edge of his bed now, wearing silk and confidence, her legs crossed as she watched the doorway like she'd been expecting him.
The moment the door swung open and Ronan stepped in, she could feel the fury radiating from him.
"Bad day?" she asked with a slow, sultry smile.
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
His jaw was locked, his shoulders tense, and the fire in his eyes flickered with something lethal.
Before Camilla could rise or tease him further, Ronan reached her in two strides. He grabbed her one hand on her waist, the other at the back of her neck pulling her into a kiss that was hard, hungry, and fueled entirely by rage.
Her breath hitched.
He pushed her down onto the bed, his body hovering over hers, dominance pouring off him in waves. There was no patience in him, no gentleness, only raw intensity and a desperate need to devour something, anything, to drown the fury burning inside him.
She wrapped her arms around him, answering his urgency with her own, whispering his name against his mouth as he silenced her with another bruising kiss.
She let out a loud moan when he rammed into her, filling her up, burying his rage into her.
Camilla didn't resist. She didn't have to.
The room dissolved into heat and tangled sheets.
His movements were firm, commanding, a release of the anger coiled inside him.
She clung to him, breathless, giving in to every shift, every demand, every rough whisper against her ear.
The tension built and snapped between them like a storm breaking.
And then quiet.
Only their breathing filled the dim room.
Camilla lay against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin as she studied his still-tense expression.
"What happened there?" she finally asked, voice soft and curious.
"The Whitmores," Ronan said coldly. "my revenge is just starting, going to torture his daughter till she begs for death instead".
Camilla's nails paused for a moment.
"His daughter"?. She asked.
Ronan didn't hesitate.
"I'm bringing her to me. As a slave. She will pay for everything her father did."
Jealousy flickered in Camilla's eyes, sharp, immediate but then faded when she realized what he meant.
A slow smile replaced it.
"So she's not a threat," Camilla murmured. "Just someone to break."
Ronan didn't bother to correct her. She settled back against him, satisfied… maybe even excited.
Because as long as Adaline Whitmore wasn't replacing her, Camilla didn't care what Ronan planned to do with her.
The whitmore's villa
"Take her," Mrs. Whitmore snapped the moment Ronan left.
Before Adaline could turn to her, the servants held her down.
"Wait, Mother , please"
"Lock her up," her stepmother said, her voice trembling not with pity but with fear.
As soon as she was locked up in her room, her eyes welled up with tears at the thought of being sent away from her home, a place she she grew up in, that holds so many memories to a man that despise her and her family. She feared for the worst that is yet to come.
Meanwhile in the room, Elsie and her Mom were discussing .
"Mom, I'm so scared, I just hope Adaline doesn't mess things up by trying to escape"
Elsie said.
"Don't worry, as long as that brat stayed locked up in the room, we are safe. Besides it's her useless father's fault for putting us in this mess, so it will be more better for her to take the fall".
"Yeah Mom, you are right". Elsie said.
"Not sure she will live to see the light of the next day. Making it a good opportunity for us, she's not going to die by our hands". Mrs whitmore Said with a smugging smile.