Married to the Son :Owned by the Father

Name: Married to the Son :Owned by the Father
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

silvermoon

Billionaires | Ongoing

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(Sexual Content) I stepped out of the bedroom, sleep having abandoned me. I needed something-anything-to silence the noise inside me. But I wasn't alone. He was there. Standing in the dark, by the window... The top buttons of his shirt undone, a glass of whiskey between his fingers. He turned to me slowly. "Couldn't sleep?" I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't want to sleep." He took a step. Then another. Until he was right in front of me-close enough for the heat of his body to kiss my skin. He said, "You know you're playing with fire, don't you?" I looked into his eyes-those eyes that shattered all my defenses. And I whispered, voice trembling, "I'd rather burn... than stay this cold." I don't know who moved first. All I know is that suddenly, I was in his arms. Surrounded by his breath. And in that moment-I forgot my name, my marriage... everything. He leaned in, his breath rough against my ear. "I'm your husband's father... this is wrong." Then after a beat, "But I want it to happen." --- I married him to escape the pain. But my heart only beat for one man-his father. I thought marriage would bring peace. A shelter from a bleeding past. But I didn't realize I was stepping straight into the storm. A storm named Leonardo Ricardo. A man who knows no mercy. A man who never accepts defeat. And worst of all? He's my husband's father. His eyes trap me. His voice chains me. And his touch... His touch brands me with sin. What happens when a woman shifts from obedient wife to prey caught between two flames? One gave her his name. The other stole her soul. Forbidden Romance · Age Gap · Family Drama · Steamy · Dark Passion

R18+ Secret relationship Age gap Forbidden love Second chance

Chapter 5 I Am His Father, Little One

06-26 05:18

Chapter 1 Please Don't Do It

Rosalie Gaston - POV

I watched the shopkeeper as he carefully prepared the small cake for me. He wrapped it gently, handed it over with a warm smile. I smiled back politely, paid, and stepped outside with the box in my hands.

It was my brother's wife's birthday. He'd told me to go to the bakery before the weather turned bad. But I dragged my feet, put it off for a few minutes. And now, here I was-face tight with frustration as the cold rain started falling from above.

"He's going to kill me. My funeral's probably being planned as we speak."

I clutched the white box tightly with both my thin arms, trying to shield it from the downpour. The rain only grew harsher, soaking my hair and my plain clothes completely.

"Bad luck. As always. Fucking hell."

I started running, faster this time. But then-my foot twisted, and I went down hard on my knees. The box slipped from my hands. My heart dropped. The look on my face must've been pure horror.

There was no doubt about it-the cake's shape was ruined.

I didn't dare open the box. Couldn't face another shock. So I picked myself up and rushed to the house.

As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by the furious glare of my brother.

"When the hell will you learn to follow my orders the second I give them, you stubborn brat? Didn't you look outside? Didn't I warn you about the weather? I told you it would rain if you didn't leave when I said!"

He yanked the box from my hands, his breath ragged with rage. I stammered nervously, "I ran back as fast as I could... I didn't want to be even later-"

He grabbed my wet hair and dragged me inside, slamming the door behind us. Pain lit up my scalp as my face twisted in agony.

"Look at yourself, for fuck's sake! You look like a stray goddamn cat!"

I clutched my chest, humiliated, covering myself. I'd always dressed modestly. His rules. His house.

"Did you ruin my wife's birthday cake?"

He was about to open the box. I caught his hand in panic.

"No! I didn't mean to. I swear, I-"

He shoved my hand away, his face curling in disgust. "Admit it before I beat the truth out of you."

My breath hitched. My whole body started to tremble violently.

"I tripped... my foot twisted, I fell. The box just slipped... it wasn't on purpose, I swear."

That's when his wife's sharp voice cut in from behind, laced with venom.

"So what now? Should I cancel my birthday celebration because your idiot sister couldn't walk straight?"

He growled, irritated. "Don't worry, babe. Let's just check the cake."

He opened the box. His eyes narrowed. He licked his lips like he was trying to control his anger-but he failed.

"The cake's ruined, you useless bitch!"

I expected it. Honestly, my funeral was overdue.

"I'm sorry... brother."

Instinctively, I shut my eyes. Fast. His hand was already in the air. Then-crack. The slap landed, hard. My face whipped to the side as I gasped.

"You're sorry? Want another one? Maybe then you'll say it again!"

I didn't dare lift my head. Tears streamed down both cheeks, burning hot against my cold skin.

"When the fuck are you going to grow up? Stop acting like some little girl I'm supposed to forgive all the time!"

This was routine. The ritual of my pain.

"That's enough, Damon," his wife said, rolling her eyes. "Don't waste your energy on a girl who clearly doesn't deserve it. I expected her to mess up. She never gets anything right."

I wiped my face with trembling fingers. He snapped back at her:

"She's not getting off that easy. I'm adding some fresh bruises to that weak little body of hers. Don't you agree?"

His voice dipped low and cruel as he gripped my chin harshly and turned my face up to his.

"Please... don't do this."

He didn't care.

He dropped the box carelessly and dragged me up the stairs to the attic. He shoved me inside like garbage. My arms scraped the floor. The pain stung deep.

"This won't be as bad as last time, Rosalie," he said. "I'll go easy on you-for once. After all, you didn't argue about the short clothes. Not like you did last week."

Last week, a friend gave me a pair of loose shorts for gym class. His wife found out-she was snooping through my closet. She always did that shit.

"I won't use my belt this time," he sneered. "My hands will do just fine."

I tried crawling back on my palms, but he bent down in front of me, getting way too close. My chest tightened.

"You should've watched the road. Should've obeyed me. But you don't know how to do anything but fuck up your own life."

He leaned in closer, gripped my jaw so hard it felt like it might break.

"You pissed off my wife. Because you're careless. Like always."

"I wasn't... I didn't mean to..." I whispered, my voice shaking.

He yanked my hair hard, making my whole vision blur. "Don't backtalk me, Rosalie. One day, I will kill you. And you won't be able to do a damn thing about it."

I've gotten used to this. To all the bruises. To his hate. To being punished for being born. He always blamed me for our mother's death-said I killed her just by existing. Said she was his everything... and I took her away.

"I made a mistake," he muttered coldly. "I should have used the belt."

Then, without warning, he started hitting me. Hard. His hand came down on mine with a brutal thud that left the skin swollen instantly.

"The older you get, the nastier your mouth becomes. Especially when you talk to me. You'd better memorize my rules like it's your first fucking day in this house."

He knelt in front of me again. This time, he slapped the corner of my mouth. Hard enough to make me bleed.

"Go on. Say something. Let's hear what you've got now."

I touched my lips. My fingers came away red. My chest shook. The sobs broke free before I could stop them.

"Tomorrow's Sunday... I have to go to school. Why did you have to leave marks?"

He twisted my hair again and spat, "So everyone knows you're a filthy little bitch who gets what she deserves-from someone who knows what's best for her."

This isn't a home. It's a fucking cage. And he's the beast who guards it.

His rage, his cruelty-it all goes back to when we were kids. When Mom died. When everything broke.

"I'll lock you in until morning. You're not leaving this room. And don't piss off Genevieve about the fucking bathroom."

He stood, pulled the key from his pocket, and left. The door slammed. The lock clicked.

Not that I was surprised.

It's been like this for three years.

Every night after he beats me, he locks me up. No dinner. No water. Just silence and aching bones. He only lets me use the bathroom twice. Genevieve hates me too. Treats me worse than dirt.

"I should finish my homework before I pass out."