Sold by Blood

Amelia did not remember leaving the penthouse.

She only remembered the feeling, like something crucial had been ripped from her chest and left behind on the cold marble floor of Lawson Reynolds’ world. By the time she found herself sitting in the back seat of her father’s car again, the city lights blurred past her window, and her hands trembled uncontrollably.

She pressed her palms together, trying to steady herself.

You will, Lawson’s voice echoed in her mind. Because the moment you walk away, your father goes to prison

She shut her eyes tightly, but it didn’t help. His face was burned into her memory, those piercing blue eyes that saw right through her. They stripped her of choice, agency, and dignity. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t needed to. His power weighed heavily in every word he spoke.

Beside her, Philip was silent.

Too silent.

Amelia turned slowly to look at him. Her father stared straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His face was pale, his mouth set in a tight line.

“You didn’t even fight him,” she said quietly.

Philip flinched.

“I didn’t hear you argue,” she continued, her voice trembling. “You didn’t tell him I wasn’t for sale. You didn’t say I was your daughter.”

He swallowed hard. “Amelia....”

“No,” she snapped, anger finally breaking through the numbness. “Don’t say my name like that. Not now.”

The car slowed at a red light. Philip exhaled shakily, his shoulders drooping. “You don’t understand the position I’m in.”

“I understand perfectly,” Amelia replied. “You’re drowning. And you decided to use me as your lifeline.”

“That’s not fair.”

She laughed bitterly. “Isn’t it?”

The light turned green. The car moved again.

“They were going to arrest me,” Philip said quietly. “The charges were already being prepared. Fraud. Embezzlement. The investors want blood.”

“And he offered money,” Amelia said flatly. “In exchange for me.”

Philip nodded, his eyes glistening. “He didn’t ask for shares or control of the company. Just… you.”

Her chest ached. “You should have said no.”

“And let them take me away?” he asked hoarsely. “Let your mother lose everything? Let our name be dragged through the mud?”

Amelia turned fully toward him now. “You taught me that integrity mattered more than wealth. That doing the right thing was worth sacrifice.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “And now I’m asking you to sacrifice.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re asking me to marry a man who sees me as an object, a man who made it clear he doesn’t care if I want this or not.”

Philip’s voice broke. “I wouldn’t ask if there was another way.”

Silence fell between them again, thick and unbearable.

When they arrived home, Amelia stepped out of the car without another word. She walked into the house that had once felt safe and familiar but now felt like a place she no longer belonged.

She climbed the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her.

Then she collapsed.

Her knees hit the floor as sobs tore from her chest, raw and unrestrained. She pressed her hands over her mouth, but the pain was too big to contain. Every breath hurt. Every thought felt like a betrayal.

She had been sold.

Not by strangers. Not by circumstance.

By her own blood.

---

The next morning, Amelia woke with swollen eyes and a pounding headache. Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the bedside table.

Sophie.

She answered without speaking.

“Amelia,” Sophie’s voice rushed through the phone. “Where are you? You disappeared last night. I was worried sick.”

Amelia swallowed. “I’m home.”

“What happened? You sounded terrified yesterday.”

Tears burned behind Amelia’s eyes again. “I can’t talk about it,” she said weakly.

There was a pause. Then Sophie’s voice softened. “Did he force you?”

Amelia stiffened. “No. Not like that.”

“Then what?”

“They’re marrying me off,” she whispered. “To save my father.”

Silence.

Then, “What?”

“To Lawson Reynolds,” Amelia added.

Sophie gasped. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“Oh my God,” Sophie said. “Amelia, that man is..”

“A monster,” Amelia finished. “I know.”

“This can’t be real,” Sophie said urgently. “You can’t let them do this.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice!”

“Not when prison is the alternative,” Amelia snapped.

Sophie went quiet again, then said softly, “Do you love him?”

Amelia let out a broken laugh. “I barely know him. And he barely sees me as human.”

“Then don’t do it,” Sophie pleaded. “Run. Leave the city. I’ll help you.”

“And let my father rot in jail?” Amelia asked. “I can’t.”

Sophie exhaled shakily. “This is wrong.”

“I know,” Amelia whispered.

After the call ended, Amelia sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, staring at nothing.

By noon, Anita arrived.

She didn’t knock. She never knocked.

The woman stepped into the living room, her leather folder tucked neatly under her arm, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Amelia watched from the staircase as her father greeted her nervously.

“Miss Anita,” Philip said. “Please, have a seat.”

“There’s no time,” Anita replied coolly. “Mr. Reynolds wants everything finalized today.”

Amelia descended the stairs slowly. “Finalized?”

Anita’s eyes flicked to her. “The marriage contract.”

Amelia’s hands curled into fists. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Anita’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Your agreement is implied.”

Philip turned to Amelia. “It’s just paperwork.”

“Paperwork that binds me to a man I don’t want,” Amelia said sharply.

Anita placed the folder on the table and opened it. “Mr. Reynolds is not a patient man.”

Amelia walked closer, staring down at the neatly typed pages. Her name stared back at her from the document, bold and final.

“You planned this,” she said to her father. “All of it.”

Philip couldn’t meet her eyes. “I was trying to save us.”

“You were trying to save yourself,” she corrected.

Anita slid a pen across the table. “Sign, Amelia.”

She looked at the pen as though it were a weapon.

“What happens if I don’t?” she asked quietly.

Anita’s gaze hardened. “The deal collapses. Mr. Reynolds withdraws his funds. The investors proceed with legal action.”

Amelia laughed softly, hollow. “So that’s it. My life or my father’s freedom.”

“Yes,” Anita said.

Amelia turned to Philip. “Look at me,” she demanded.

Slowly, he did.

“If I sign this,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her, “you lose the right to call yourself my father.”

His face crumpled. “Amelia...”

“I’ll do it,” she said, cutting him off. “But don’t expect me to forgive you.”

Her fingers shook as she picked up the pen.

She hesitated only once, long enough for her heart to scream run, then sighed.

The moment the pen left the paper, something inside her broke.

Anita collected the documents immediately. “The wedding will be in fourteen days,” she said. “Mr. Reynolds expects you at the courthouse tomorrow to complete the legal formalities.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “Courthouse?”

“This marriage will be binding before the ceremony,” Anita replied. “Mr. Reynolds likes efficiency.”

Amelia’s stomach churned. “Of course he does.”

Anita turned to leave, then paused. “One more thing.”

She reached into her folder and pulled out a black envelope, handing it to Amelia.

“What’s this?” Amelia asked.

“Your relocation notice,” Anita said. “Once the marriage is registered, you will move into Mr. Reynolds’ residence.”

“When?”

Anita met her eyes. “Tomorrow night.”

The door closed behind her, leaving Amelia standing there with the envelope clutched in her hand.

Tomorrow night.

She was running out of time.

Upstairs, alone in her room, Amelia opened the envelope. Inside was an address, a penthouse overlooking the city, and a single sentence typed beneath it.

Welcome home, Mrs. Reynolds.

Her breath caught.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

She stared at the screen for a long moment before answering.

“Yes?” she said cautiously.

“Amelia,” a deep, familiar voice said.

Her heart stopped.

“Lawson Reynolds,” he continued smoothly. “I trust the papers have been signed.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. “They have.”

“Good,” he said. “Tomorrow, you become my wife.”

She swallowed hard. “And if I change my mind?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

Then he spoke, his voice calm but dangerous.

“You won’t.”

The line went dead.

Amelia stared at her phone, her reflection staring back at her from the dark screen.

Tomorrow, she would legally belong to him.

And for the first time since all of this began, one terrifying thought settled deep in her chest:

What if marrying Lawson Reynolds wasn’t the worst part?

What if surviving him was?