Bukan Milikku 22 Novels & Stories

My brows pulled together. “This doesn’t make sense,” I murmured. I flipped another page. And another. My breathing slowed. Then stopped. Because I recognized what I was looking at. Ownership. Assets. Accounts. All tied to one name. Mine. My chest tightened. “This…” My voice came out barely above a whisper. “This doesn’t belong to my father.” Silence filled the room. Then Rebecca spoke. Calm. Certain. “No.” A pause. Just long enough to let it sink in. “It doesn’t.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the paper. “Then whose is it?” I asked. Rebecca’s gaze didn’t waver. “It belongs to you.”

I told her, calmly, about my mother trying to sell me off, and how I'd cut her loose. When I finished, Sarah looked at me for a long time. She started to say something, stopped, sighed, and picked up her phone. "Actually… Ben has a condo in the luxury district. It's been sitting empty. He was going to rent it out. You can use it." "Don't worry, the security there is excellent. Card access for every door, twenty-four-hour surveillance." She hesitated, then added: "I don't know if you'll like it." She showed me the photos on her phone.

"You think I don't know what that request actually is? He's not asking for a healer. He's asking for an excuse to keep you close." "That's not your business anymore." "Everything about you is my business." His jaw tightens. "You're still pack. You're still under obligation here whether you like the sound of that or not." I don't answer. I don't owe him an answer, not after what he said to me two nights ago, not after watching him grab my arm hard enough to bruise and growl about ownership like I was property instead of a person.

A slow smile tugged at my mouth. She was already unraveling. And I hadn’t laid a finger on her yet. I stepped closer. Her breath hitched. Her eyes lifted to mine, pupils blown wide. “You brought me here,” she said carefully. “I did.” “Is this your house?” “One of them.” She let out a small breath. “Of course it is.” “People come here to think,” I said. She glanced at me. “Is that what you’re doing?” “No.” “What are you doing then?”

What's your name? "Mia," Lorenzo answered on behalf of Mia as she clung to him. She was eyeing me with open hostility. "She's the one I want to adopt." I nodded. "She's beautiful. From now on, I'll be her mother." The moment the words left my mouth, Lorenzo's expression stiffened. But before he could say anything, Mia suddenly burst into tears. "I have my own mommy! I don't want you to be mine! Daddy, I want my mommy!"

"Girl, I don't care who you are. Right now, you're going to lick Miss Jenkins's car and apologize! Otherwise, believe it or not, I'll have the guards break your legs and throw you out!" The security guards cracked their knuckles and advanced step by step, eyes filled with menace.

"Too good for two hundred bucks? Name your price, then. It's a waste on you, anyway." "What's a single girl gonna do with it? Plant some flowers? Get a cat?" My thumb hovered over the screen. I took a deep breath, pushing down the instincts my family drilled into me. I tried to handle it like a normal person. "First, it's my private property. The title says so, loud and clear. Second, two hundred bucks doesn't even cover basic upkeep," I typed, my knuckles white. "And third, I don't need to 'let' anyone use it, because I'm using it. It's my private studio."

She walked towards me, and I averted my eyes from her. "What are you freak doing here in the meeting of wolves?" she said with an arrogant face, and I rolled my eyes at her. "I have every right to be here. I will get my wolf spirit on my 18th birthday," I said in a confident tone, even though I had no chance of getting my wolf spirit. She gazed at my bag, and I followed her gaze, finding out that she was looking at the necklace in my bag. I tried to hide it, but before I could do it, Bianca snatched it.

Two years of choosing each other, of building something solid, of becoming who they were supposed to be. She thought about the woman she'd been two years ago. Scared, uncertain, still carrying the weight of the past. She thought about the woman she was now. Stronger. Safer. Whole. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up. Unknown number. Nice anniversary. Very sweet. But sweetness doesn't last. Tomorrow. 2 PM. The warehouse. Bring the recordings. Come alone. Or the next two years won't be something to celebrate. They'll be something to survive.

Not for me, not for the child I carried. When he came to my door that morning, I was already ready. Calm. Determined. “You can’t leave,” he said, voice low but dangerous. “You’re mine. And so is that baby.” I stared at him, eyes steady, heart pounding. “You don’t own me,” I said softly but firmly. “And you don’t own this life. I will raise this child on my terms, not yours.” His face twisted in fury. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t walk away!”