CHAPTER 2 - TIME BOMBED

The ocean sounded different at night.

During the day, its rhythm was steady—comforting, almost. But now, under the moon’s cold eye, the waves crashed harder, faster. Restless. Hungry. Like they knew what I was thinking.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling,  Sebastian Velez’s voice still wrapped around me like a silk noose.

“You belong to me.”

The words had followed me home, crawling under my skin, leaving a heat that I couldn’t wash away no matter how many cold showers I took.

I told myself there was no way I’d ever say yes. Not to him. Not to a man who looked at me like I was something to devour.

But my mind kept circling back to Paul. To the pale tint of his skin. To the way his breath sometimes caught in his chest. To the fact that the clock on our home was ticking down to fourteen days.

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

By morning, I’d decided I was going to find another way.

The diner smelled like burnt toast and overworked coffee when I clocked in for the breakfast shift. It was busy—summer always brought tourists—and I forced myself into autopilot. Smile. Pour coffee. Take orders. Pretend your life isn’t one match away from going up in flames.

“Ramirez,” my manager, Rosie, called from behind the counter. “Got a phone call for you. Line one.”

I frowned. No one called me at work except Paul if something was wrong.

I picked up the receiver, tucking it between my shoulder and ear. “Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice, low and smooth: “You’ve got thirteen days now.”

My stomach dropped. “Sebastian?”

“Mr. Velez” he corrected. “And you should know—I’m a very impatient man.”

I gripped the phone harder. “You have no right to call me here.”

“I have every right,” he said. “I’m offering you salvation. You’re the one pretending it’s poison.”

“I’m not for sale,” I snapped.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His tone sharpened, cutting through the line. “Everything is for sale if the price is right. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Before I could reply, the line went dead.

I hung up slowly, my pulse still racing.

The rest of my shift was a blur. Even when I got home, I felt his words clinging to me, like his presence had followed me through the door.

That night, I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, scouring job boards, loan sites, anything that might keep me afloat. But every path led to a dead end. No one gave loans to people drowning in debt. No one offered salaries big enough to cover Paul’s surgery on short notice.

Around midnight, Paul came into the kitchen for water.

“You’re still up?” he asked.

I clicked the laptop shut. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze dropped to the unopened stack of bills on the counter. “Ocean…”

“Don’t start,” I said, sharper than I meant.

He leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing. “You’re hiding something. What is it?”

I thought about telling him. About the man in the black suit with the cold eyes and the indecent offer. But saying it out loud would make it real.

“Nothing,” I lied. “Go back to bed.”

He didn’t push. He never did. But his silence was heavier than words.

Three days passed. Each morning, another letter from the bank landed in the mailbox. Each night, I checked my phone half-expecting Sebastian to call again.

On the fourth day, he didn’t call.

He showed up.

I was cleaning houses in the next town over—a job that paid just enough to cover groceries—when I stepped outside with a bag of trash and saw him leaning against a sleek black car, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“How do you know where I work?” I demanded.

He straightened, buttoning his jacket. “Like I said. I make it my business to know.”

“This is harassment.”

“This is persistence,” he corrected. “You’ve got ten days now, Ocean.”

I crossed my arms. “Still not interested.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You’ve thought about it,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve imagined what it would feel like to stop drowning. To breathe without the weight crushing your chest. To wake up knowing every problem in your life is gone.”

I hated that my pulse jumped. Hated more that he could read it in my face.

“Go to hell,” I said, brushing past him.

He let me walk away, but his voice followed me like smoke. “We both know where this ends, Ocean.  You’ll come to me. And when you do, you won’t be able to walk away.”

By the time a week had passed, I was cracking.

The bank called to confirm the foreclosure date. Paul’s doctor called to remind me that postponing his surgery was risking more than his comfort—it was risking his life. My car broke down, and the repair bill was another weight I couldn’t carry.

That night, I stood in the shower until the water ran cold, thinking about Sebastian 's hands. His voice. The way he’d said mine.

I told myself it would just be a year. One year of my life in exchange for my brother’s future.

And maybe… maybe a part of me wanted to know what it would feel like to be wanted by a man like him.

I called him the next morning.

He answered on the first ring. “Ocean.”

I swallowed. “We need to talk.”

“Tonight,” he said. “Eight o’clock. Concordia.”

He hung up without waiting for me to agree.

The hotel felt different this time. The first time, it had been intimidating. Now, it felt inevitable.

Sebastian was already waiting in the same secluded corner. When he saw me, his mouth curved—not in a smile, but in something darker.

“I knew you’d come,” he said.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I told him, sliding into the chair.

He poured me wine. “You will.”

We didn’t talk about the weather or the menu. We talked about the contract. About the terms. About the year I would spend as his wife.

“You’ll live with me,” he said. “Travel with me. There will be events, dinners, trips. You’ll wear what I choose, you’ll stand where I tell you, and you’ll smile like I’m the only man in the room.”

“And in private?” I asked, my voice low.

His gaze locked onto mine, and the heat there made my skin prickle. “In private, you’ll learn what it means to be owned.”

My breath caught, but I didn’t look away.

“What happens if I break the rules?”

“You won’t,” he said simply. “But if you do… you’ll find I’m far more creative with punishments than rewards.”

When the contract came, it was thick, the pages heavy with ink. Legal jargon tangled with words that had nothing to do with law and everything to do with possession.

By the time I reached the last page, my hands were trembling.

“All you have to do,” Sebastian said, “is sign.”

I thought about Paul. About the house. About the life I’d been trying to save with nothing but stubbornness and desperation.

Then I thought about Sebastian. About the way he watched me like I was already naked.

I picked up the pen.

The scratch of my signature across the paper was the loudest sound in the room.

Sebastian took the contract, slid it into his briefcase, and stood.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“Home.” His eyes burned into mine. “You’re mine now, Ocean. And we don’t waste time.”