Seduced By The Enemy

Name: Seduced By The Enemy
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Jemaima Wilson

Romance | Ongoing

5.0

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Ava Sinclair swore she'd never fall for the wrong man again-not after surviving the ruthless charm of Lucas Ward. Now, years later, she's stronger, smarter, and guarded... until Sebastian Holt crashes into her life with his arrogant smirk, dangerous loyalty, and a passion that tears down every wall she's built. But just as she starts to believe in love again, her past resurfaces-darker and more vengeful than ever. Lucas is back. And this time, he's not just after her heart. He wants her business, her name, her freedom. And he's willing to destroy everything she loves to get it. With only 72 hours to outmaneuver a man who once owned her, Ava must decide: bend to blackmail or fight for the life-and the love-she deserves. In a world of twisted power, forbidden temptation, and dangerous games, the biggest risk isn't betrayal. It's falling for the enemy... again.

Modern Betrayal Revenge CEO Attractive Twist Arrogant/Dominant Romance

Chapter 5 This Doesn't Change Anything

07-10 06:46

Chapter 1 The Billionaire Behind the Mask

The clink of crystal and the murmur of polished lies fill the ballroom like perfume-thick, expensive, and suffocating.

I shift the champagne glass between my fingers and pretend to smile at the woman beside me, though I couldn't care less about her opinion on imported marble. I'm not here to mingle. I'm here to expose Sebastian Drake-the devil in Armani who ruined families for profit.

And tonight, he's hosting this lavish gala for "charity," no doubt to distract the public from the skeletons rotting in his closets.

My heart jumps when I finally spot him across the room. He stands like he owns the air around him, broad-shouldered, immaculately dressed in a black suit, hair slicked back with practiced arrogance. A tight circle of socialites clings to his every word, hanging onto his smirk like it's gospel.

He's taller than I imagined. And annoyingly attractive.

Of course he is.

I raise my phone slightly, pretending to check a message, while the hidden mic on my necklace records the evening's background chatter. I only need one loose-lipped whisper, one slip of the tongue, to finish the exposé that could rip Drake Industries apart.

But then his eyes meet mine.

Sharp. Cool. Piercing. Like he sees right through the burgundy gown I borrowed and down to the wiretap underneath.

He excuses himself from the group and walks toward me.

Oh, hell.

My body tenses, every instinct screaming to turn and run. But I stay rooted, chin high, like I belong in this glittering hell.

"A woman in red," he says smoothly, stopping inches away from me. His voice is low and smoky-more dangerous than it has any right to be. "That's a bold choice."

I smile sweetly. "Bold suits me."

He studies me like I'm a puzzle he doesn't like not solving. "Have we met?"

"Not officially." I tilt my head. "But you're kind of hard to miss, Mr. Drake."

Something flashes in his eyes-interest or suspicion, I can't tell.

"And you are?"

I wet my lips, hating how his gaze drops to follow the movement.

"Amelia Hart," I lie. "PR consultant."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? I've never heard of you."

"I'm new," I say. "But fast."

That smile. That damn slow, dangerous smile.

"I like fast," he murmurs.

My pulse stutters.

This man is the reason I haven't slept in days. The reason dozens of families lost their jobs. The reason my sister cried herself to sleep for months.

And now he's flirting with me like I'm just another woman he can buy.

Let him.

Because the deeper I get into his world, the more secrets I'll uncover.

He offers his hand. "Dance with me."

"Is that a request or a demand?" I ask, arching a brow.

His lips curl. "Does it matter?"

I place my hand in his, heart hammering against my ribs.

Game on.

His hand slides around my waist like he owns it.

The heat of his palm bleeds through the satin of my dress, setting my nerves on fire. I let him lead me onto the dance floor, the lights dimming as a sensual jazz number spills through the speakers.

It feels like the room fades away, just me and the man I've sworn to bring down.

Up close, Sebastian Drake is worse than I imagined.

His scent-clean, expensive, a hint of danger.

His fingers-strong, sure, confident.

His eyes-still watching me like I'm a riddle he wants to solve.

"You're good at this," he murmurs, voice low by my ear.

"Dancing?" I ask.

"Pretending."

I falter. Just slightly. Barely enough for the average man to notice.

But he's not average. And I hate how thrilling that makes this.

"Excuse me?" I ask with a polite smile, lifting my chin.

He spins me, slowly, then pulls me back in, closer than before. "You don't belong here. Not really. That dress, the diamonds, the smile-it's all borrowed."

His hand tightens subtly on my waist, and something in my gut twists.

"You must think highly of yourself," I say coolly, "if you believe women dress up just to get your attention."

He leans down slightly. His breath ghosts along my skin. "No. I think highly of myself because I can tell when someone is lying."

God, he's infuriating.

And attractive.

Infuriatingly attractive.

The music slows to a sultry finish, and I take a tiny step back as applause ripples through the room. But he doesn't release me.

Instead, his voice drops another octave.

"Have dinner with me. Tonight."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You're here. I'm here. And I'm curious." His gaze flicks to my mouth. "Unless you're afraid of what might happen if we spend a little more time alone."

I laugh lightly. "You think I'm scared of you?"

"No," he says, leaning in. "I think you're scared of what you might feel."

For a second, I forget the mic. The lies. The mission.

For a second, I want to say yes.

But I don't get this far by being reckless.

I step back, reclaiming space. "I don't mix business with pleasure."

His smile returns, slow and unbothered. "That sounds like something a woman says right before doing exactly that."

He walks away before I can respond, disappearing into the glittering crowd.

I stand frozen, breath unsteady, the warmth of his hand still imprinted on my skin.

I came here to destroy him.

So why does it feel like he's the one playing me?