The Billionaire's Price

Freya stared at her reflection, smoothing down her black tailored suit. The call from her mother had been unexpected: "Your father wants you at dinner tonight."

Those words echoed in her mind as she adjusted her collar. In five years working at his company, she'd watched countless young men in expensive suits parade into his office – all potential heirs to his empire. Her father's search for a "responsible successor" had been a deliberate slight. Women need not apply, his actions had made clear.

Yet today, he'd asked for her. After years of silence, after their last explosive argument where he'd torn apart her dedication to the company. She'd already drafted her resignation letter, planning to submit it after closing the Total Stars deal this week.

But now... this dinner invitation. Her stomach tightened. Was he finally seeing her worth? Or was this another opportunity for disappointment?

She squared her shoulders in a feat to appear confident and calm. Whatever her father's intentions, she wouldn't let him see her uncertainty. Not tonight.

The confidence she'd mustered in front of her mirror crumbled with each passing minute at the dinner table. Her father hadn't even looked at her since his curt "hi" when she arrived. The elaborate dining room felt suffocating, filled only with the clink of silverware and her mother's feeble attempts at conversation.

"The garden looks lovely this spring," her mother offered weakly, glancing between them.

Freya pushed her untouched food around the plate. Five years of proving herself, and this was all she deserved? Just as she placed her napkin on the table, ready to leave, her father cleared his throat.

"You are to marry Mark Wilson, the only son of the Wilsons, next month." He delivered the news as if reading a business memo. "You'll meet with him tomorrow, 4pm. Do not be late, he doesn’t like waiting."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Freya's hand froze mid-reach for her water glass. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"This isn't up for discussion." He finally looked at her, his expression impassive. "The arrangements have been made."

Her laugh came out sharp and bitter. "So this is why you called me here? Not to acknowledge my work, but to sell me off like some corporate asset?"

"Freya, please—" her mother started.

"No." Sarah stood, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "I've spent years trying to prove myself to you. I've earned my place in that company. And now you think you can just... what? Trade me away to secure a business deal?"

Her father's jaw tightened. "The company would be yours if you marry him.”

"What? You'd rather marry me off to a stranger because I’m a woman as the only criteria to run your shit hole of a company that I worked so hard for?" Her voice shook with rage. The taste of her words felt bitter in her mouth. "Well, here's something you'll understand: I quit. Effective immediately."

With that she strode out, not looking back at her father’s unapologetic stern face or her mother’s horrifying eyes.

Freya came home angry. She couldn't believe this user she calls a father, was trying to control her life again.

She remembered the first time this happened. Years ago, she was just doing her job, bringing a report to her father's office. That's when she met David, her ex husband. He was in a meeting with her father, and as soon as he saw her, he was interested in her.

Her father really liked David. "Give him a chance," he told Freya subtly. Being a good daughter who always listened to her father, she did what he asked. She dated David and later married him. But this turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.

Now, years later, her father was doing the same thing again - trying to tell her who to date.

"Why won't he stop?" she shouted in her empty house. She was so frustrated.

But this time was different. Freya wasn't the same person anymore, she was not a little fuckin puppet her dad could play with when he's bored. She wasn't going to just do what her father wanted. She stood up straight and made a promise to herself: "I'll show him he's wrong. His choices for me have always been bad, and I won't let him control me again. I'm his daughter alright - and that means I'm just as stubborn as he is. I won't give up!"

Freya was done being the perfect, obedient daughter. This time, she would fight for her right to make her own choices.

If my father thinks he can sell me out like a commercial commodity, I would make sure his perfect plan end in a catastrophe. The next evening, she traded her perfectly tailored dresses- in neutral shades of navy, black, and gray which perfectly complemented her pairings of statement heels for a wild, electric blue dress and a scuffed combat boots. Her reflection showed a woman her father would be horrified to have associated with his precious company image. She arrived forty-five minutes late to the five-star restaurant, prepared to horrify the rude business man; Mark Wilson.

Except the table was empty.

Sarah checked her reflection in the restaurant's window, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Her wild, electric-blue dress and combat boots were a far cry from the corporate suits her father loved. Perfect for sabotaging an arranged marriage.

But as the minutes ticked by in the empty private dining room, her satisfaction faded to irritation. She'd planned to be an hour late, yet her supposed fiancé hadn't even shown. A waiter hovered nearby, clearly uncomfortable with her request for "just water."

"I'm done," she muttered, grabbing her bag. Just as she pushed through the restaurant's door, she collided with something solid.

"Leaving so soon?" A deep voice rumbled above her. Strong hands steadied her shoulders.

Sarah looked up, ready to snap – and froze. Mark Wilson wasn't the stuffy businessman she'd expected. Dark eyes sparkled with amusement as they took in her outfit. His sleeve tattoos peeked out from a rolled-up dress shirt that fit him perfectly.

"You're late," she managed, trying to step back. His hands lingered a moment too long.

"So were you." His mouth curved into a knowing smile. "Nice dress. Trying to scare me off?"

Heat crept up her neck.

He leaned in slightly. "I have a confession, I saw you arrive. I wanted to see what you'd do."

"You were testing me?" Sarah's anger flared.

"Just like you were testing me." His eyes held hers. "Shall we try this again? Without the games?"