My heart beating and pounding like there was a heavy stone placed on it. I bent down beside the window, watching the sky Illuminate indicating that it was almost dawn. Every second felt like an eternity, every rustle of leaves outside made me jump. I had packed the barest essentials: a toothbrush, a pair of jeans, an oversized sweater, and the small amount of cash I'd saved from the money dad gave me on a daily basis and from tutoring kids in the neighborhood. It wasn't much, but it might have been enough to get me to a bus station or at least away from this nightmare.
I couldn't believe Daddy could do this to me. He Sold me off to that monster because of his debts. The betrayal burned hotter than any thing I'd ever known. I was his daughter, not some pawn to be traded to the highest bidder. My stomach twisted at the thought of Justin Shawn, the billionaire with a reputation for cruelty that even the tabloids couldn't sugarcoat. He'd taken everything from me before we'd even met my choices, my dreams, my future.
I edged the window open and felt the cool dawn air on my face. I needed to be gone before they realized I was missing. My feet had barely touched the ground outside when I heard the sharp click of polished shoes on the pavement behind me.
"Miss Clark," a voice said, low and rigid . My stomach dropped. I turned, and there they were two men in dark suits, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses .
Shit, I should have escaped before dawn.
"Please," I tried, my voice trembling. "Let me go."
One of them shook his head. "Mr. Shawn has requested your company. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"But I'm not even dressed," I protested. The realization that I was still in my faded pajama pants and tank top hit me with a wave of humiliation.
One of them quirked an eyebrow. "He's arranged for that."
They surrounded me, one on either side, their presence like iron bars on a cell. My legs felt weak as they guided me to a sleek black car parked on the left side of the stret.The interior smelled like expensive leather and cold indifference.
The drive was silent. Every attempt I made to reason with them was met with stone faces. I felt like a prisoner on her way to the gallows. My mind raced with plans maybe I could slip out at a stoplight, maybe I could cause a scene at a crowded intersection but the men's cold eyes told me they'd thought of everything.
When the car finally stopped, I stared up at the boutique a palace of glass and steel with a name I couldn't even pronounce. A pair of stylists awaited inside like executioners with hair dryers and makeup kits.
"Miss Clark," the taller one said, his tone as smooth as the marble floor. "We've been expecting you."
I wanted to scream that I didn't want this. That I didn't want him. That I didn't want to be a part of this world where human lives were traded like stocks. But I bit my lip and let them lead me inside, every step echoing in my head like a funeral march.
Inside, the boutique sparkled like a different planet mirrors, gold fixtures, luxurious fabrics. They guided me to a private fitting room, where a mountain of dresses awaited. Silks, satins, chiffons each one more expensive than my entire life's savings. This was the life I was always dreaming to have but not like this.Gosh!!
I tried to hide my disgust as I changed into one of the dresses, the fabric hugging my curves like a trap.
A young stylist examining the dress around me, adjusting the hem. Her eyes were wide with something like pity.
"Please," I whispered, seizing the moment. "Help me. I need to get out of here."
She glanced at the door, then at the men who loitered near the entrance. "I, I can't. I'm sorry."
My heart sank. Another cage, another key I couldn't reach. I felt the tears prick my eyes but refused to let them fall.
Once I was dressed pinned and primped and painted to perfection the men returned, their eyes assessing. One gave a small nod. "Perfect."
"Am I supposed to be grateful?" I snapped, but my voice sounded small in the large wild space.
No one answered.
They led me back to the car. This time, the drive was longer, and I felt the weight of each passing minute like an iron chain around my neck. My stomach churned. I didn't want to meet him. I didn't want to see the man who thought he could own me.
The car finally pulled up to a skyscraper that seemed to pierce the clouds. The lobby was a cathedral of glass and chrome, the kind of place where souls went to die. The elevator was silent as it carried me higher and higher, each floor a reminder of how far I was from freedom.
When the doors finally opened, I stepped into a penthouse that looked like a spread in an architecture magazine. Polished floors, gleaming furniture, walls of glass overlooking the city. Everything screamed wealth, power and cold, calculating control.
He stood at the window, his back to me, hands clasped behind him. Justin Shawn. Even from behind, he radiated authority and menace. His presence sucked the air from the room.
"Miss Clark," he said, his voice as cold as the marble floor.
I froze, the sound of his voice cutting through me like a blade.
He turned, and the impact of his gaze nearly knocked me over. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, a mouth set in a line that promised no mercy. He wore a suit so perfectly tailored it looked like it had been sewn to his skin.
He regarded me like I was a problem to be solved. "Sit."
I stood my ground. "I'd rather stand."
A flicker of amusement so brief I almost missed it crossed his features. "Suit yourself."
He walked closer, each step measured and deliberate. The space between us felt charged, like an electric wire stretched taut. I wanted to step back but refused to give him the satisfaction.
"You tried to run," he said, his tone mild but laced with danger. "I admire the spirit. But it's a waste of time."
"I'm not your possession," I spat. "You can't just"
He raised an eyebrow. "Your father disagrees."
Tears threatened again, hot and unwanted. "My father had no right to sell me."
He tilted his head, studying me like a specimen. "Rights are negotiable. Debts, on the other hand, are not."
I clenched my fists. "You're a monster."
He leaned in close, his breath brushing my cheek. "Perhaps. But I'm a monster who always collects what he's owed."
I wanted to slap him, to scream, to run but I was frozen in place, his presence pinning me like a butterfly on a board. His cold gaze swept over me, and I knew that every tear, every protest, would only feed his sense of control.
"You'll learn to accept your new reality, Miss Clark," he said softly. "Resistance is…futile."
The word sent a chill down my spine. I was in his world now a world of power, of threats, of debts that couldn't be paid with money. I was the currency. And there was no escape.
As he turned away, dismissing me like an afterthought, I realized that the hardest part wasn't being trapped in his penthouse. It was knowing that no one not even my own father would save me from the man who'd bought my freedom with a single snap of his fingers.
"You did not allow me to see my father one last time before you came for me" I blurted out
" And who said you were staying here", he replied