Sold To The Billionaire

Allena~

It was a bright, pleasant morning—the kind that makes the world look softer, where golden sunlight filters through the trees and paints everything in warm hues. Today, I was finally going home. Home to my Mumma and Dad. It had been nearly two months since I last saw them, months swallowed whole by endless college projects and a demanding internship.

Oh! Forgive me—I forgot to introduce myself.

I'm Allena. Allena Wotson. I study Fine Arts in Paris, thanks to a scholarship I fought tooth and nail to earn. Every late night, every sacrifice, every moment of doubt—it was all worth it to hold that acceptance letter in my trembling hands.

I belong to a joint family: my Mumma, my stepdad, my uncle, aunt, and two step-cousins. My mom now carries my stepdad's surname, Evans. But me? I kept my biological father's name—Wotson. He died in an accident when I was just a child, too young to understand that some goodbyes are forever. His loss crushed my mother until she remarried. She once told me, tears streaming down her face, that she wanted me to carry my father's last name. I respected that decision with every fiber of my being.

But truth be told, my stepdad's family never truly accepted me. I was always the outsider, the constant reminder of another man, another life. Only Mumma and Dad ever stood by me—or so I thought...

By evening, I was finally in my hometown. As I reached our home, my heart raced with anticipation, with the innocent excitement of a child who still believed in homecomings. I rang the bell, and within moments, Mumma appeared at the door.

I flung myself into her arms without hesitation, expecting to be caught, to be held, to be home. But instead of the warmth I longed for, I felt... nothing. Her hug was stiff, cold, like embracing a statue. My chest tightened with a dread I couldn't name.

"Mom, I missed you so much!" I whispered, clinging to her desperately.

"I missed you too, baby," she replied, but her tone was different. Hollow. Empty. Like words spoken out of obligation rather than feeling.

Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.

"Where's Dad?" I asked quickly, pulling back to search her face for answers she wouldn't give.

I've always kept them separate in my heart—Papa, the father I lost, and Dad, the father who raised me.

"He's inside, waiting for you," she said, her eyes not quite meeting mine.

I rushed in, expecting him to lift me in one of his signature bear hugs. But instead, when I wrapped my arms around him, he stepped back—actually stepped back—shoving my hands away as if I were contagious.

My heart sank into my stomach, heavy as lead.

"Dad, I missed you so much," I said, my voice trembling.

He looked away, his face blank, expressionless. "Go to your room, Allena. Freshen up and come down for dinner."

That was all. No smile, no hug, no "I missed you too." Just cold, clinical instructions.

I climbed the stairs quietly, each step heavier than the last. Something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Everyone was missing—no uncle, no aunt, no cousins. The house felt like a tomb. This wasn't the home I'd dreamed about during lonely nights in Paris.

Later, after a shower that did nothing to wash away the unease crawling under my skin, I joined them at the dining table. The silence was suffocating, oppressive, like a living thing pressing down on my chest.

"Mumma, Dad... where is everyone?" I asked carefully, my fork pushing food around my plate.

"They're at the hospital," Dad replied flatly.

My fork clattered against the plate. "Hospital? Why? What happened? Is everyone okay?"

He met my eyes then—really looked at me for the first time since I'd arrived—and what I saw there made my blood run cold. Then he looked at Mumma. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet mine.

"Allena, your cousin Miya... she needs a heart transplant. Urgently."

The world seemed to spin. "What? But—is she okay? How serious is it?"

He ignored my questions entirely. "We don't have the money for the surgery. But someone offered to pay—all of it, every last rupee—on one condition."

I frowned, confusion mixing with growing dread. "What condition?"

His next words changed everything.

"You'll marry his son."

The words hit me like a thunderclap, like a physical blow that knocked the air from my lungs.

For a moment—one desperate, hope-filled moment—I thought it was a cruel joke. But Mumma's silence, the way she stared at her plate, Dad's expressionless face—it was all real.

"You're joking, right?" My voice cracked with desperate hope.

"No, Allena. I'm not," he said firmly, his voice hard as steel. "I can't risk my niece's life for anyone."

Anyone.

The word tore me apart, shredded something vital inside my chest. That's what I was to him—anyone. Not his daughter. Not the girl he'd raised, the girl who called him Dad, who trusted him, who loved him. Just... anyone. Expendable.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and burning. I turned to Mumma, praying with everything I had that she'd stop this madness, that she'd be the mother I needed her to be. But she looked away.

"I'm not marrying anyone!" I screamed, my voice breaking, raw with betrayal. "Especially not for her—the most selfish, spoiled girl alive! She never even liked me! None of them did!"

I couldn't breathe. The room was closing in. I ran upstairs, choking on my sobs, my chest heaving with the effort to draw air into my burning lungs.

Hours later—I don't know how many—Mumma came. She sat beside me on the bed, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little. I clung to her desperately, like a drowning person clutching driftwood.

"Mumma, please," I begged, my voice hoarse from crying. "Make him understand. I'm just twenty-two! I'm still studying. I have dreams, plans, a whole life ahead of me. Please don't do this to me."

But instead of comfort, instead of reassurance, her next words destroyed me completely.

"Allena, I want you to marry his son."

The betrayal was so complete, so absolute, that for a moment I couldn't even process it.

"Mumma!" I gasped, pulling away from her as if she'd struck me. "How can you—? You're my mother!"

"You have to understand," she said, and her voice was cold, practical. "Johnson has done so much for us. He took us in when we had nothing, provided for you, raised you like his own daughter, gave you opportunities you never would have had. You owe him this much. Repay his kindness."

Her words sliced through me like shards of glass.

Repay?

Did I ask for any of it? Did I beg to be raised, clothed, or educated? Did I fall on my knees and plead for a roof over my head? No—I never did. I was a child. And now I was supposed to pay for my own childhood? Pay for being fed, for being loved—or what I thought was love?

"You're selling me," I whispered, the realization settling over me like a shroud. "You're actually selling your own daughter."

"Allena, don't be dramatic—"

"Just get out, Mumma," I said, my voice breaking. "Please. Just leave me alone."

She flinched as if I'd hurt her, tears streaming down her face, but I couldn't look at her anymore.

She left without another word, and the silence she left behind was deafening.

I fell asleep in tears, her words echoing in my mind like a curse I couldn't escape. Repay his kindness. You owe him. Repay. Repay. Repay.

The next morning, I went downstairs mechanically. Dad's face was the same—stone cold, unreadable.

"Allena, I need your answer."

My lips quivered, my whole body trembled, but my voice was hollow, empty, and dead when I spoke.

"I'm ready to sell myself to the man you chose."

"Allena!" Mumma gasped, horrified.

"Don't act shocked, Mom," I said, and I barely recognized my own voice—it was so cold, so bitter. "That's what it is, isn't it? Selling me for money. Selling me for your precious niece. Trading your daughter for cash. At least be honest about what you're doing."

Her eyes filled with tears, but I felt nothing. No sympathy. No love. Nothing.

"We're not selling you," she protested weakly. "He's a billionaire. He'll keep you happy. You'll want for nothing—"

I laughed then, a horrible, broken sound. "Call it marriage if it helps you sleep at night. Dress it up in pretty words, in justifications and excuses. But I know the truth. And so do you."

I left the house, walking blindly through the streets I'd grown up on, the weight of betrayal pressing down on me until I could barely stand upright. Everything looked the same but felt different, tainted by the knowledge that the people I loved most had thrown me away without a second thought.

Papa... why did you leave me in this cruel world?

The thought came unbidden, a child's desperate plea to a ghost who couldn't answer.

The man I accepted as my father—the man I called Dad—now treats me as nothing more than a debt to be paid. And Mumma—my own mother, the woman who carried me in her womb—is willing to give me away like I'm an unwanted piece of furniture.

For the first time since you died, Papa, I missed you so unbearably that it felt like dying. My heart shattered in the middle of nowhere, and I cried until I couldn't breathe, until my throat was raw, until there were no tears left.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life.