CHAPTER 1: Sold

I knew something was wrong before I even stepped inside.

The front door was unlocked.

It never stayed unlocked.

I pushed it open slowly, the familiar scent of expensive furniture polish and fresh flowers greeting me. To anyone else, this house probably looked perfect. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Family portraits hanging on the walls like we were the picture of happiness.

They were all lies.

People always said I was lucky to grow up in a mansion.

If only walls could talk.

I slipped off my shoes and quietly closed the door behind me. My classes had ended later than usual, and all I wanted was to go upstairs, shower, and lock myself in my room until morning.

That was my routine.

Stay invisible.

Stay quiet.

Stay out of my father's way.

It was the only way to survive.

"Alessia."

His voice echoed through the house.

I closed my eyes for a second.

There went my plan.

"I'm in the living room," he called again.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my feet to move.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

When I entered the room, both of my parents were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa. My father held a glass of whiskey while my mother stared blankly at her hands.

Neither of them smiled.

Not that I expected them to.

"Sit," my father ordered.

I lowered myself into the armchair across from them, careful not to make eye contact.

Silence filled the room.

The ticking grandfather clock suddenly sounded deafening.

Finally, my father spoke.

"You're getting married."

For a moment, I genuinely thought I'd heard him wrong.

"I'm... what?"

"You're getting married."

I blinked.

Then I laughed.

A short, confused laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"That's funny."

His expression didn't change.

The laughter died instantly.

"Oh."

He was serious.

"I'm not getting married."

"You don't have a choice."

"Actually, I do."

The words had barely left my mouth before he stood.

My entire body tensed.

Years of experience had taught me to recognize that look.

Too late.

The slap landed across my cheek with enough force to make my ears ring.

Pain spread through the left side of my face.

I pressed my lips together.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

Don't ever let him see you cry.

"Watch your tone when you speak to me," he said calmly, as if he hadn't just hit me.

I slowly turned my face back toward him.

My cheek burned.

"I asked you a question," I whispered.

"Who am I marrying?"

"A man whose family will be beneficial to ours."

"So I'm a business deal."

"You are my daughter," he replied.

I almost laughed again.

If I was really his daughter, he had a strange way of showing it.

"I won't do it."

"You will."

"No."

The second slap never came.

Instead, he leaned forward until we were inches apart.

"If you walk away from this marriage, don't ever come back to this house."

I looked around the room.

The expensive paintings.

The polished floors.

The staircase I'd run up more times than I could count after another argument.

This house had never felt like home.

It was a prison with beautiful decorations.

His threat should have terrified me.

Instead...

It almost sounded like freedom.

He mistook my silence for hesitation.

"You'll have everything you could ever want," he continued. "Money. Security. Status."

I wanted to tell him that none of those things had ever protected me.

Not once.

Money didn't stop bruises.

A mansion didn't make a family.

Status didn't erase fear.

"You'll thank me one day."

I met his eyes.

"I doubt that."

For a second, I thought he might hit me again.

Instead, he smiled.

It was the kind of smile that never reached his eyes.

"The wedding is in two weeks."

Two weeks.

My future had been decided in less than two minutes.

My mother still hadn't said a word.

I turned to look at her.

"Mum?"

Nothing.

She wouldn't even meet my gaze.

"Mum, please..."

Her fingers tightened around each other.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

That was all.

Two words.

No argument.

No protest.

No attempt to stop him.

Just...

I'm sorry.

Something inside me cracked.

I wasn't surprised.

Not really.

She had spent years apologizing instead of protecting me.

I stood from the chair.

"Can I go now?"

My father nodded without looking up from his drink.

I turned and walked toward the stairs.

I refused to run.

Running would make it look like I was afraid.

I climbed each step carefully until I reached my bedroom.

The second the door closed behind me, my shoulders sagged.

I leaned against the wood and finally let out the breath I'd been holding.

The room felt unusually small.

My gaze drifted to the window overlooking the gardens.

People probably envied this life.

They saw designer clothes, luxury cars, and private schools.

They didn't see the nights I cried myself to sleep.

They didn't hear the shouting through these walls.

They didn't know how many times I'd counted down the years until I could leave.

I walked over to my desk and stared at the acceptance letter from the university I'd dreamed of attending overseas.

I'd hidden it from my father for weeks.

I had planned to tell him after I received my scholarship confirmation.

Now none of it mattered.

He'd already decided what my future would be.

I picked up the letter, folded it carefully, and slid it back into the drawer.

A knock sounded on my door.

Before I could answer, it opened.

My mother stepped inside.

She looked smaller than usual.

Older somehow.

"I know you hate me," she said quietly.

I looked away.

"I don't hate you."

The truth was more complicated than that.

"I just wish... just once... you had chosen me."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm trying to protect you."

I laughed bitterly.

"By marrying me off to a stranger?"

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

She opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

After a long silence, she whispered, "He's not the monster you think he is."

My chest tightened.

"You know him?"

Another silence.

Then she nodded.

Only once.

Before I could ask another question, she turned and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

I stared after her, my mind racing.

Who was this man?

Why him?

And why did everyone act as if my life no longer belonged to me?

I walked to the mirror above my dresser.

The outline of my father's hand was already blooming across my cheek.

I touched it gently.

It stung.

In two weeks, I would marry a man whose face I had never seen.

Maybe he'd be cruel.

Maybe he'd be cold.

Maybe he'd be everything I'd feared.

But as I looked around the room that had never truly been mine, one thought settled heavily in my chest.

No matter what waited for me beyond these walls...

It couldn't be worse than the life I was leaving behind.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I had no idea I was about to walk straight into the devil's world.