Bought by the billionaire prince

Sold to the Cold Billionaire “He bought me? For what, bragging rights or boredom?” Scott Audrey couldn’t breathe. Curtains separated her from the stage, but she could hear every word. Every cheer. Every laugh. Her knees bounced under the silky black dress that clung to her body like it didn’t belong there. Because it didn’t. That dress cost her $15 from a secondhand rack and three YouTube tutorials on how to tailor it without a sewing machine. And yet somehow, it looked like it had come off a runway. Lucky her. Fake it 'til you make it. Backstage was buzzing with light laughter and low, elegant voices. Women in floor-length gowns sparkled with real diamonds. Men in suits worth more than her student debt sipped champagne from glasses she would’ve needed a security deposit to touch. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t like them. And they could all see it. “Next up!” the host called from beyond the curtain. “A beauty with brains, and maybe just a hint of mischief in her smile. Gentlemen, meet Scott Audrey!” What. Scott froze.Before she could panic further, someone gave her a light nudge on the bac k.Time to die. She stepped onto the stage with her chin up, shoulders back, and stomach doing flips. Lights hit her instant,ly blinding and hot. The crowd hushed, but not because they were awestruck. No. It was the kind of pause people made when they couldn’t decide if they were confused or disappointed. She kept her smile locked in place. Her heels wobbled once, but she caught herself. Her black dress clung in the right places. Her thick, dark curls had been forced into submission. She looked elegant. Even if she didn’t feel it. “We’ll begin the bidding at ten thousand,” the host announced cheerfully.A hand went up.“Ten! Do I hear fifteen?”“Fifteen!”“Twenty-fiv !”“Thirty-five!”Her throat tightened.Fifty.Seventy. Then the bidding began to slow.“Seventy-five?” the host asked again. The silence was louder than the bids. She felt her cheeks warm. Was this how it ended? A stage full of people who saw her as cheap and unnecessary? Then, a voice.Not loud. Not dramatic. Just clear and smooth like ice slipping over glass.“Two hundred thousand.”Silence. Complete and tota l.Scott blinked. A man rose from the shadows at the back of the room. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look amused. Tall. Black suit. Dark hair. Sculpted face like stone. Sharp eyes that cut through everything and saw you. Jules Bastian. She’d seen his face on magazines. Business sites. News channels. Jules Basti,an the tech billionaire who'd fired an entire division overnight for “inefficiency.” The man whose net worth had commas she couldn’t count. Cold. Silent. Feared. And now... bidding on her? The host stammered. “Sold... sold to Mr. Jules Bastian!”Applause followed, scattered and unsure. Scott's feet felt cemented to the stage. She wanted to run. Maybe scream. Instead, she stepped down on legs made of noodles and tried not to pass out. She had just been sold. The lounge smelled of leather and secrets. Scott sat stiff-backed on a massive chair that probably cost more than her whole apartment. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her lap? The arms of the chair? On her face to hide thawkwardnessrd? She pick,ed crossing and uncrossing her legs. Across from her, Jules Bastian sat like a king who didn’t care for company. His long legs were crossed. His suit jacket was still buttoned. He hadn't said a word since they entered. She waited. And waited. And then she broke. “Did I come with a return receipt, or is this a final sale?” she asked, trying to sound bold. He raised one eyebrow, eyes steady on hers. No smile. No hint of amusement. She leaned forward slightly. “You could’ve picked any woman in that room. Ones with real diamonds and names like Anastasia or Evelyn.” She shrugged. “Why me?” His voice came low, slow, like it had been carved out of stone. “Because you looked like you didn’t want to be sold.” Her lips parted slightly. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Not from him. Before she could decide how to answer, a tall woman entered the room. She wore all black and confidence like perfume. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid so tight it could slice glass. “Miss Audrey,” she said crisply. “Mr. Bastian has arranged a date. Next Friday. Seven o’clock. A car will pick you up. Dress well.” She handed Scott a small silver card, the letters embossed in gold. Bastian. No first name. Just power. Scott took it slowly. The woman turned and walked out without another word. Jules rose. Tall. Silent. Intimidating. He adjusted his cufflinks and said, “Let’s see if you’re worth what I paid.” She gaped. “Excuse me?” But he was already gone. “He bought me like a goddamn chair.” Scott flopped onto the faded couch, her thrift-store heels flying one way, her clutch another. Mina Clarke was sitting cross-legged with a pizza box open on her lap. She blinked once. “At least you’re a sexy chair.” Scott glared. Then she snatched a slice. “Do you want the full horror story or just the highlights?” Mina raised her hands in surrender. “I want it all. Give me the cringe.” Scott sighed, her voice muffled through a bite of cheesy heaven. “He didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just sat there looking at me like I was a bug he couldn’t identify.” “That’s kinda hot.” “No! That’s terrifying!” They both laughed. Mina handed her a beer. “So why’d he buy you?” Scott swallowed and leaned back. “He said I looked like I didn’t want to be sold.” Mina blinked. “...Okay, that’s either the coldest or most poetic thing I’ve heard in months.” Scott chuckled. Then frowned. “I don’t get it, though. He could’ve had any of those women. I mean, some of them were practically licking his shoes.” “Maybe he’s into thrift-store queens with sharp tongues.” Scott rolled her eyes, but her phone was already in her hand. “Let’s do some digging.” She typed in Jules Bastian. Up came pages of articles, interviews, and photos. “Ugh. He’s everywhere. CEO of Bastian Tech. Rich as hell. Zero social media. They say he’s obsessed with privacy.” “Sounds lonely.” Scott stopped scrolling at a photo. Jules standing on a red carpet, expression unreadable. Beside him were other tech giants, politicians, and... royalty? Mina leaned over. “Oh wow. He really is connected.” Scott bit her lip. “I don’t get him. He’s all stone face and cold hands, but then he says something like that—like I didn’t want to be sold. Like he was watching me.” “You liked that,” Mina said knowingly. Scott groaned. “I hate that I liked that.” Jules stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse. New York glowed below, alive and indifferent. He didn’t notice it anymore. He heard Raina enter behind him, the soft clink of ice in glass. “Two hundred thousand,” she said. “You could’ve bought a yacht instead.” He didn’t turn. “I already own three.” “Then why her? He hesitated.“She was angry. Not scared. Not flirty. Just... angry.”Raina gave a quiet hum. “Is that your new recruitment filter now?” “She felt honest,” he said, more to himself. Raina walked away, shaking her head. “You’re playing with fire.”Once alone, Jules moved to his desk. He opened a side drawer, slow and deliberate. Inside sat a small crown. Real gold. Old. Beautiful.He stared at it for a long time. His reflection curved in the shiny surface. Then he shut the drawer and locked it.Scott Audrey.Not polished. Not trained. Not ready.But different.And dangerous.He leaned back in his chair, her voice echoing in his memory. “Did I come with a receipt?”No, Miss Audrey.You came wi th trouble.And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to return you—or keep you forever.