Used By My Husband; Desired By His Son

Amelia's pov.

I stood in my father's study with a straight face. The way I had learned to do it over the years. But inside me, everything was shaking.

I tried to hide the anger inside of me but I couldn't. My heart pounded so loud in my chest and I was sure they could hear it. Lawson Clark's name still echoed in my head like a bad joke that refused to be funny, no matter what. It refused to make sense no matter how many times it was said.

My father wanted me to marry his friend. Not just any friend, but a man old enough to be my grandfather.

A man whose hair was already grey when I was learning how to write my name.

A man who had watched me grow up and now wanted to own me. That thought alone made me feel disgusted.

And for the man I call my father. How could a father look at his daughter and decide she was something to be traded? Like a bag of rice. Like a contract. Like a price tag that could save a failing company.

My chest felt very tight, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.

“I won't do it.” I said, my voice shaking despite how hard I tried to sound firm. “I won't marry him.”

My father leaned back slowly, as if my words mesmerized him or rather my refusal entertained him. “You will get married to Lawson Clark . This family needs him.” he replied.

Silence filled his study room, and I spoke up again.

“Have you ever asked me what I wanted?” The question slipped out of my mouth before I could even swallow it back. My chest burned as I spoke. “Even once?-

“ You think I care about that ?” he said, his sharp gaze piercing through my eyes. “I took you in. I fed you. I clothed you. I saved you from that filthy place you called an orphanage. Everything you are is because of me. So you'll do exactly what I ask.”

His words landed on me like slaps. Each one stung deeper than the last.

“You weren't even living like a human being,” he continued. “You were in a pit. I don't even know who birthed you and you should be grateful I picked you up”

“Then you shouldn't have adopted me.” I lashed out. “ If you were never going to love me, then you should have left me there.” I added and the slap came so fast on my face that I didn’t see it. I only felt it.

I felt pain on my cheek. My head was snapped to the side as my ears rang. My vision blurred instantly and for a second I couldn't breathe.

The pain inside my chest hurt so much more. I stood there frozen as pain wrapped around me.

Emily, my sister who had been sitting quietly on the couch, finally looked up from her phone. And a cunning smirk formed on her lips.

“Honestly, Dad, she should be grateful,” she said lazily. “Not everyone gets the chance to marry a powerful man. Especially someone who isn't really family.”

I turned to her. And Emily's eyes held no pity for me, instead it held satisfaction that she was finally getting rid of me.

She had always hated that I existed, that I took up space in a house she believed was hers alone.

I sat on my bed and stared down at my hands. They were trembling. I pressed them together, trying to hold myself in one piece. Being sold to a man old enough to be my father felt like a disaster, it didn't feel like a disaster. That was it.

It was like something that happened to other girls in sad stories, not to me. I was thinking so much and it became difficult for me to breathe.

I had only one remedy to help myself get back on track. I reached for my laptop. Writing was the only place where no one owned me. The only place I got to choose.

I logged into my account, The familiar username blinking back at me: Inked Heart. I had chosen it years ago, back when I still believed hearts couldn't be broken beyond repair.

My latest chapter stared at me from the dashboard, waiting. But I clicked on the comments instead.

There it was. The same username I always looked for. Nightreader27.

“Still here,” the comment read. “I don't know how you do it but, your words feel like home. Please don't ever stop writing.”

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could even realize how relieved I felt reading the comment. Nightreader27 had always been there. From the first chapter to the first comment. Every update, without failing.

I didn't know if it was a he or a she. I didn't really know anything about them. But somehow, knowing someone out there waited for my words made me feel less invisible.

I scrolled through the rest of the comments, I let the kind messages sink into my heart and wrapped around me like a blanket. For a few minutes, I wasn't the adopted girl being offered up to save a drowning company. I was just a writer. Just Amelia.

I opened a new document and began to type. The words came out messy and raw, spilling all the things I couldn't say out loud.

A girl trapped in a life she didn't choose. A heart screaming to be heard. My fingers flew over the laptop tabs, tears blurring the screen, but I didn't stop.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the house. Somewhere downstairs, my father was probably already planning my future without me.

I thought of Ben Lawson's face from the few times I had seen him on television. His eyes were always empty, but his smiles were the brightest ever.

The idea of his hands on me made my stomach twist. I hugged myself tightly, rocking my body slightly, reminding my body that I was still here, still mine.

Writing didn't fix everything. But it gave me a place to bleed without anyone telling me to stop. Each sentence felt like a quiet rebellion, a promise that even if they took my choices, they would never fully take my voice.

I typed until my wrists ached, until the pain grounded me, until the noise in my head softened enough for me to remember that stories could be doors, and someday, somehow. I would find one that led me out, alive and free.

I was distracted when I heard a soft knock on my door.

“Amelia. Can I come in?” my Adopted father gentle voice called out to me. And I wiped my face quickly.

“Yes.” I replied.

She pushed the door open and walked inside my room, her eyes immediately finding mine. I could see concern flickered across her face as she sat beside me.

She reached out, pulling me into her arms without saying a word and that was when I broke free. Tears flowing down my cheeks and my sobs shaking my body as I held tightly onto her. Then she rubbed my back.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. Your father didn't mean to_”

“He said I owe him,” I said, choking on my tears. “Like my life belongs to him. But I won't listen to him. For once I want my own life. He has never let me choose anything. Sometimes I wonder why he adopted me when he clearly doesn't love me.”

“I know your father can be harsh. But I promise I'll try to talk to him. I won't stop trying.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes were also teary. That was how much she felt my pain. She didn't argue with me, she didn't tell me to calm down or tell me that I am too dramatic. She just pulled me into her arms again, like I was something precious instead of a problem.

“You are not alone, my baby girl. No matter what, your mom is here for you.” she whispered, pressing a kiss to my hair and I nodded at her, holding onto her words like they were the only solid thing left in my world.

And again, I wished she was the woman who gave birth to me.