Sold to a cruel man

There was something unreal about that night. Something suspended. A party too dazzling, too lavish, too decadent to be genuine.It was a charity gala at a luxury hotel, an evening where the wealthy flaunted their generosity like jewels. Léna didn't belong there. And yet, there she was, a last-minute waitress, her hair hastily styled, dressed in a black uniform that clashed with the shimmering gowns and high heels.She was 20 years old. Léna Delcourt, blonde with blue eyes, was an unassuming girl, a quiet beauty with pale cheeks and precise movements, possessing that rare blend of gentleness and fire that drew people in without her seeking it.That evening, she served glasses of champagne with discipline, her eyes lowered, trying to avoid overly bold hands. And that's when she saw him for the first time.He didn't need to speak. He hadn't even moved yet. But everything about his presence screamed control, power, danger.Ilyès Blackwood. 27 years old. Black suit. Impeccable shirt. Dark

Lena felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.But she kept her eyes downcast."I thought it wasn't an unreasonable request...""Everything is excessive coming from you."He stood up abruptly. He circled his desk.She recoiled slightly, instinctively."You want a phone? What for? To cry in the ear of your father who sold you? To call a friend and play the victim? You want us to come and rescue you, Lena?""No. That's not it," she murmured."You think I'm going to give you a weapon, just like that? A tool to run away? To manipulate? To lie?""I don't want to run away, Ilyès."But he wasn't listening anymore. He slammed a file violently on the table."Get out."She froze. “I told you to get out!” The word smacked like a slap.She jumped slightly. Her heart raced. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t protest.She simply nodded, like a punished schoolgirl, and turned away without a word.He didn’t follow her. He didn’t call her back.She closed the door gently behind her.The hallway was longer than

He slowly turned his head toward her. His gaze was strange. Almost… empty.“Do you hate me, Lena?” She stared at him. She could have lied. Said no. Said yes. But she said nothing.He nodded gently, as if his silence were enough.A dry laugh.Lena swallowed hard.He hadn’t touched her, no. But his presence beside her was worse than contact. He took up all the space. All the air. All night.He turned onto his side. Slowly slid his hand down until it brushed against her arm. Just the tips of his fingers.She shivered.“You’re trembling.”She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to cry. Not now.“You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” Still no answer. But he sensed she was holding her breath.So he whispered,"You have no idea how hard I try... not to be like this with you."His voice cracked. Just for a second. And then... nothing.He closed his eyes. His hand still on her arm. Not possessive.Not rough.Just there.Lena, motionless, felt the tension in his body. It wasn't fatigue. It was s

The morning was almost absurdly calm.The manor, as always, exuded a cold elegance. The immaculate walls, the polished staircases, the lingering scent of coffee. Everything seemed… normal.But inside Lena, nothing was.She walked slowly down the first-floor hallway, her gait stiff, her gaze lost. Her legs felt heavy. Her body felt alien. She wore a loose cotton dress, one of the few that didn't cling too tightly to her skin.She had washed the sheets herself at dawn, her hands trembling, her eyes fixed.She had hung them out to dry in a secluded corner of the garden, where no one ever went.She hadn't slept.She had survived the night.And now… she told herself that if she walked slowly enough, perhaps the day would pass without her encountering him. But fate, that day, had other plans. The sound of a door opening.Lena stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't even have to turn her head. She felt it.Ilyes.He was coming out of his room, pulling up his shirt sleeves. His face was smooth

The manor was bathed in a warm, deceptively golden light. At first glance, everything seemed calm. The table had been cleared. Dalia had tidied the kitchen. Lena was locked in her room, motionless, like a shadow folded in a drawer. But in the master of the house's study, an invisible tension had just erupted. Silvia slammed the door shut. Her bag in her hand. Her made-up face, icy. She walked straight to the desk, without greeting, without turning back. "Here," she said, placing a small white stick on the smooth surface. Ilyes looked up from his screen, an irritated expression on his face. He saw the test. A pregnancy test. Another one. And on it, as on the previous ones: a single line. Negative. He pursed his lips. Closed his eyes for a moment. "It's still no." Silvia crossed her arms. "Yes. Again." A heavy silence fell. Too familiar. Silvia stared at him, without a trace of tenderness. "Five times, Ilyès. Five cycles. Three specialists. One dose of fertility h