Chapter 3- Bound in ink

The next day came too quickly. I thought I was ready to face my family with their scrutinizing eyes and cruel glares. What was the worst that could happen?

Apparently—everything.

The moment I stepped into the living room, the air shifted—sharp, suffocating, like the calm before a hurricane. My parents sat stiffly at the far end of the couch, their expressions carved in stone. Beside them, Marielle looked all glammed up, sitting like a queen basking in stolen light. Her manicured fingers traced the rim of her teacup lazily, eyes flicking up to me with a satisfaction she didn’t bother to hide.

Across from them was a man in a custom charcoal suit. Sleek. Unbothered. Cold. The kind of man whose presence swallowed the space he occupied.

On the central table, an open briefcase waited like a silent judge—its contents gleaming under the chandelier’s white glow. The conversation stopped the instant I entered, their gazes slicing through me. The silence that followed was heavy, hostile, deliberate.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

No one answered. My father only exhaled sharply through his nose, as if the mere sound of my voice irritated him.

Then his words cut through the still air, cold and final—tearing the ground from beneath my feet.

“When we get the money, he can have her.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard. The words echoed in my skull, bouncing around until their meaning hit me like a punch to the gut.

The air left my lungs.

Who is being sold? I whispered, but no one answered—and it could only mean one thing.

Me.

Panic surged through me, thick and choking. My pulse hammered in my ears so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

The sharp-looking man—calm, detached—slid a folder across the table with the precision of a knife. My father didn’t even hesitate. He took the pen, his hand steady, and signed.

Ink spilled across the pages, binding me to something darker than I could imagine—something I never agreed to.

My body refused to move. My legs trembled, my fingers numb. It was like watching myself drown in slow motion. My mind spun in wild circles.

Who the hell is this man? What the fuck is going on?

My mother’s perfume hit my nose as she brushed past me, and for the first time, I realized—she couldn’t even look at me. Neither of them could. My parents walked past me as though I didn’t exist, as though I hadn’t just been traded like a piece of furniture.

The edges of my vision blurred, black spots forming. Then my father’s voice sliced through again—only to break me completely.

“Brace yourself. You’re getting married to Lucas Rodriguez by noon today.”

I staggered backward, nearly collapsing. The room tilted. My hand struck a vase by the shelves, and when it shattered, dull red blood dripped from my palm onto the marble floor.

They didn’t care. Not one glance.

Lucas Rodriguez.

The name alone made my knees buckle. I’d heard it whispered before—in boardrooms, in dark corners of the city, in the trembling breaths of people who knew better than to say it aloud. Enough to make men flinch in back alleys and moguls swallow their pride.

A phantom In tailored suits. A shadow that crushed his rivals before they could breathe. Some called him a top mogul. Others, a mafia lord. But everyone agreed on one thing—he was untouchable.

And now—that man was to be my husband.

Except this wasn’t him. The man before me was only his assistant, a messenger of doom wearing an emotionless mask. The devil himself waited elsewhere.

I turned desperately to my mother. My voice cracked, raw from the rising panic.

“Mom, please tell me this is a mistake. A sick joke. Please.”

She finally looked at me—but her eyes were empty. Cold. The kind of cold that burns.

“It’s the least you can do,” she said quietly, “to save your face after trying to ruin your sister’s relationship.”

The words hit harder than a slap. I stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief.

What is wrong with these people?

Tears stung my eyes as I asked again—why she was supporting my father in selling me for money. My voice trembled, desperation leaking through every syllable.

She only met me with icy calm.

You were given enough chances to be responsible,” she said flatly. “You didn’t take them. Now you’ll pay for your misdeeds.”

The world tilted. I wanted to scream, but my throat was raw.

I cried. I begged. Nothing reached them.

My mother turned away, already ordering me to pack, as if I were some unwanted guest being evicted. Marielle leaned into her, her lips curved in that perfect serpent’s smile, drinking in every second of my humiliation.

And at that moment, I understood.

I would never be enough for them compared to my green tea bitch of a sister. I wasn’t a daughter. I wasn’t loved. I wasn’t even a sister. I was just currency—something to be traded away, used to clean up their messes.

Something inside me snapped.

The fear drained out of me, replaced by something heavier. Resolve. I wiped my tears, squared my shoulders, and accepted it. What other choice did I have?

The last shred of affection I held for them died when my father spat the final blow:

“Never return here.”

My chest tightened painfully. I stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to breathe. My voice cracked when I whispered, “So that’s it? After everything… you’re just throwing me away?”

He didn’t even flinch.

My gaze shifted to the family photo on the wall—the one from when I was twelve. The smiling girl between them looked like a stranger now. Back then, I’d believed I belonged. I’d believed love was unconditional. What a fool I’d been.

I went to my room for the last time. I didn’t pack a thing. What was there to take? Memories? Wounds? Those were already etched into me.

When I came back to the living room, no one was there to see me off. The faint ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.

A bitter laugh escaped me. It sounded hollow. Then I followed the assistant outside.

A sleek black Porsche waited at the curb, gleaming like polished sin. I slid inside, the leather cold against my skin, and the tinted glass sealed me away from the world.

I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the city blur past. My reflection stared back at me—red-eyed, broken, barely recognizable. And for the first time, I let my tears fall freely.

I thought of the girl I used to be. The girl who dreamed. The girl who believed in family. The girl I was now—a girl forged in betrayal.

After a while, the assistant tapped my shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts. His voice was calm, detached.

“We’ve arrived.”

The courthouse loomed ahead, a fortress of fate. Its marble steps gleamed under the noon sun, tall and unyielding. Each one seemed eager to swallow me whole.

For a moment, I wanted to run. My heart slammed against my ribs, wild and terrified.

But there was nowhere to go.

I stepped out. My broken heels clattered against the pavement, the sound too weak to defend me. The wind bit against my cheeks, drying the remnants of my tears.

I heard the assistant acknowledge his boss. Instinctively, I looked up.

And then I saw him.

He stood at the top of the stairs. Tall. Commanding. The light carved sharp shadows across his flawless face, every angle a weapon. His dark eyes locked on mine—steady, unreadable, merciless.

My breath hitched. My entire body froze.

Because the person staring back at me was someone I swore never to see again.