The Billionaire’s Price

Amelia barely remembered the drive to Lawson Reynolds' penthouse.

She sat stiffly in the back seat of her father's car, her hands tightly clenched in her lap, her nails digging into her skin as if pain could keep her grounded. Los Angeles zipped by the tinted windows. Lights, traffic, and life all moved ahead, while her own seemed to halt abruptly.

This was happening.

No matter how much she tried to convince herself it wasn’t real, the truth weighed heavily on her chest: she was being delivered like a sacrifice.

Her phone buzzed softly beside her—a message from Sophie.

*Where are you? You sound scared. Please call me.*

Amelia swallowed and locked her phone without replying. What could she say? *I’m on my way to meet the man who bought me.*

The car finally slowed. When Amelia looked up, her breath caught.

The building towered above them, sleek and imposing, all glass and steel. It looked cold, untouchable, and powerful, just like the man waiting inside.

Lawson Reynolds.

The driver stepped out and opened her door. Amelia hesitated, then forced herself to move. Her legs felt weak as she stepped onto the pavement, staring up at the skyscraper that would soon become her prison.

Philip cleared his throat beside her. “You don’t have to say much,” he murmured. “Just… listen.”

Amelia said nothing.

They were escorted inside, past marble floors and silent security guards, into a private elevator that rose smoothly and far too quickly. Each floor felt like another second of her freedom slipping away.

When the elevator doors opened, a woman stood waiting.

Anita.

She looked polished and composed, dressed in a fitted black suit, her posture straight, and her expression unreadable. Her sharp eyes flicked briefly to Amelia, assessing her like an item on a list.

“Mr. Reynolds is expecting you,” Anita said coolly. “This way.”

Amelia followed, her heart pounding louder with every step. The penthouse was massive—open, minimal, and luxurious but without warmth. Everything felt controlled.

Anita stopped in front of a large glass door and knocked once before pushing it open.

“He’s inside,” she said, stepping aside.

Amelia’s chest tightened.

Philip entered first. Amelia followed slowly, her gaze lifting—

And then she saw him.

Lawson Reynolds stood near the windows, his back turned to them, the city lights stretching endlessly behind him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and commanding even in stillness. He didn’t turn right away. He didn’t rush.

He waited.

As if he knew they would stand there, powerless, until he decided differently.

“Mr. Reynolds,” Philip said nervously. “Thank you for seeing us.”

Lawson turned.

Amelia’s breath caught despite herself.

He was impossibly handsome in a dangerous way—sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and dark hair perfectly styled. His gaze fell on her, slow and deliberate, as if he was measuring something he already owned.

This is him, her mind whispered. *This is the man.*

“So,” Lawson said calmly, his voice deep and emotionless, “this is Amelia.”

Her name sounded different when he said it. He stepped closer, stopping just inches away. Amelia forced herself not to step back.

“You’re more beautiful than the pictures,” he said flatly.

Amelia’s stomach twisted.

“I didn’t come here for compliments,” she replied, surprising even herself.

Philip inhaled sharply. “Amelia—”

Lawson lifted a hand, silencing him. His eyes never left her face. “Good,” he said. “I prefer honesty.”

He turned slightly toward Philip. “We’ve discussed the terms.”

“Yes,” Philip said quickly. “And I’m grateful. You’re saving my family.”

Lawson nodded once. “I don’t save people,” he corrected. “I invest.”

He looked back at Amelia. “And you,” he said slowly, “are my return.”

Her chest burned. “I’m not a product.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips—not warm, not amused. Possessive.

“Everything has a price,” he replied. “Your father agreed to mine.”

Amelia turned to Philip, disbelief flooding her eyes. “You told him I’d accept this?”

Philip’s voice trembled. “I told him you were strong.”

Lawson stepped closer, invading her space. “The wedding will take place in two weeks,” he said. “After that, you move in with me.”

“No,” Amelia said immediately. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Lawson’s gaze hardened. “You will.”

Something in his tone sent a chill through her veins.

“I don’t belong to you,” she said through clenched teeth.

Lawson leaned down slightly so only she could hear him. “You will,” he murmured, “because the moment you walk away, your father goes to prison.”

Her breath hitched.

He straightened and addressed Philip. “You may go. Anita will finalize the paperwork.”

Philip looked at Amelia, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Then he turned and left.

The door closed behind him.

Amelia stood alone with Lawson Reynolds.

The silence stretched thick and suffocating.

“You look like you want to run,” Lawson said calmly.

“I do,” she replied.

He nodded. “You won’t.”

Her heart pounded violently. “You can’t force me.”

Lawson’s eyes darkened. “I already have.”

He reached into his jacket and placed a thin folder on the table.

“Sign,” he said. “And this nightmare ends quickly.”

Amelia stared at the folder, her hands shaking.

“What if I refuse?” she asked quietly.

Lawson’s voice dropped, cold and lethal.

“Then I destroy everything you love.”

Her eyes slowly lifted to his.

And in that moment, Amelia realized the truth.

She hadn’t been invited here.

She had been summoned.