Sold Like Property – Episode 1
590 Words
The rain poured in heavy sheets against the broken roof of our tiny house. I pressed my back to the cold wall, trying to ignore the shouting downstairs. My stepfather’s voice, hoarse and irritable as always, carried through the walls.
“Do you think debts pay themselves?” he snarled. A bottle shattered, and I flinched even though I was two rooms away. “Tomorrow, I’m done! I’m selling her, whether she likes it or not!”
Her. That was me.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, my chest tight with dread. He had threatened this before, but something in his voice tonight was different, final, vicious.
The memory of my mother’s face flickered in my mind. Gentle eyes, soft smile. She had died when I was still young, leaving me with this man who had never once looked at me as family. To him, I was only a burden, a reminder that he’d been forced into marriage he never wanted.
My door creaked open. He stood there, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and cruel.
“Get dressed,” he barked. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where?” My voice trembled, though I tried to keep it steady.
“To meet the man who’s going to own you now.”
My stomach dropped, and ice spread through my veins.
The car ride into the city was silent except for the growl of the engine. Neon lights smeared against the rain-streaked windows, but none of it felt real. My fingers dug into the worn fabric of my skirt, my pulse a steady roar in my ears.
We pulled up in front of a grand, dark mansion, its gates taller than anything I’d ever seen. Guards in black suits stood like statues, their eyes sharp, predatory.
My stepfather smirked, satisfied. “Behave, girl. He’s not a man you want to anger.”
Who was he talking about?
Inside, the air was thick with power and danger. Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead, casting shadows across polished marble floors. Every step echoed, reminding me I didn’t belong here.
And then I saw him.
Dante Russo.
He leaned against a mahogany table, dressed in black, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His broad shoulders filled the room, his presence magnetic, suffocating. Even from across the hall, his eyes, sharp, piercing silver, caught mine and held them.
My stepfather cleared his throat nervously. “Mr. Russo, here she is. As promised.”
Dante didn’t answer right away. He set his glass down slowly, deliberately, then crossed the space between us. Each step radiated dominance, control.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. My breath caught. His scent was dark, intoxicating, like smoke and wild forests.
His eyes lingered on me, unblinking. For a terrifying second, I thought he could hear my frantic heartbeat.
Finally, his lips curved into the faintest smirk.
“She’ll do,” he said, his voice low, rich, and commanding.
The room tilted. Heat rose in my face, anger, fear, humiliation. I wanted to scream, to tell him I wasn’t some object to be bought. But when I opened my mouth, no words came out.
Dante’s gaze softened for a split second, so brief I almost missed it. Then it hardened again, cold and unreadable.
He reached out, brushing a finger along my jaw, claiming me with nothing more than a touch.
“She’s mine now.”
The words sliced through me, sealing my fate.
- Writer
