OWNED BY A BILLIONAIRE

CHAPTER SEVEN: HOSPITAL VISIT

Three days passed.

Three days of lessons. Three days of rules. Three days of his hands on my body and his voice in my ear and the collar tight around my throat.

I learned the house.

Every room. Every hallway. Every locked door I wasn't allowed to open.

I learned his schedule.

Up at dawn. Work by seven. Home by eight. Dinner at nine. Bed by ten.

I learned his moods.

Silent meant tired. Sharp meant stressed. Soft meant dangerous because soft was when he touched me like I mattered.

On the fourth morning, he found me in the library.

I was reading. A book from his shelf. Something old. Something in Spanish that reminded me of home.

He stood in the doorway. Watching.

"You read," he said.

"People do that."

"My people don't. They pose. They pretend. They wait for me to notice them."

"I'm not waiting for anything."

"Liar."

He walked to the fireplace. Leaned against the mantel. His eyes never left me.

"Your father is asking for you," he said.

My heart stopped.

"The hospital called this morning. He wants to see his daughter." Alexander crossed his arms. "I told them you were working. That you would visit when you could."

"Let me go to him."

"No."

"Alexander"

"The contract says you cannot leave this house without my permission."

"Then give me permission."

"No."

I stood. The book fell to the floor. "He's my father. He's dying. He's alone because of you."

"He's alive because of me." Alexander pushed off the mantel. Walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. "If I hadn't bought you, he would be dead. Remember that."

"I remember everything."

"Then remember your place."

"My place is with my father."

"Your place." He stopped inches from me. His hand touched my collar. "Is here. On your knees. In my bed. Under my name."

"I hate you."

"I know." His thumb traced the leather. "But you need me. Your father needs me. And until his debts are paid, you belong to me."

"Let me see him. Just once."

"Ava"

"Please."

The word hung between us.

He stared at me. His gray eyes were unreadable. Cold. Then something flickered. Something almost human.

"One hour," he said.

"What?"

"One hour. Carmen will take you. You will not tell him where you are. You will not tell him about the contract. You will not tell him my name."

"I won't."

"If you do"

"I won't."

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a key. Unlocked the collar. It fell into his hands.

"You wear this when you return," he said.

"I know."

He touched my face. Just once. Just a brush of his fingers against my cheek.

"Go," he said. "Before I change my mind."

The hospital was white.

White walls. White floors. White lights that hummed overhead. It smelled like bleach and fear and something else, something that reminded me of my mother's funeral.

Carmen walked beside me. Silent. Watchful.

"Room 308," she said.

I knew.

I'd walked these halls a hundred times. A thousand. Every night after work. Every morning before dawn.

But this time was different.

This time, I was wearing a dress he'd chosen. Shoes he'd bought. Perfume he'd picked.

This time, I was his.

I stopped outside the door. Number 308. The paint was chipped. The window was dark.

"He's awake," Carmen said. "The surgery was successful. The tumor is gone."

"Then why is he still here?"

"Recovery. Physical therapy. He'll be out in two weeks."

Two weeks.

I pushed open the door.

My father was sitting up in bed.

He looked smaller than I remembered. Thinner. Older. But his eyes were the same. Brown. Warm. Full of love.

"Ava," he whispered.

"Papa."

I ran to him. Hugged him. Held him. His arms wrapped around me. Weak. Shaking. But real.

"I was so scared," he said. "The surgery. The bills. I didn't know how"

"It's okay." I pulled back. Looked at him. "It's all okay."

"But the money. Where did you get the money?"

"A loan," I said. The lie tasted like poison. "From work. The café owner. He's known me for years."

My father's eyes narrowed. "What kind of loan?"

"A good one. Low interest. I'll pay it back slowly."

"Ava"

"Don't, Papa. Please. Just let me have this. Let me be happy that you're alive."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he pulled me close again.

"I love you, hija," he said.

"I love you too."

I stayed for fifty-three minutes.

We talked about nothing. The weather. The nurses. The terrible hospital food. We didn't talk about the money. We didn't talk about where I was living. We didn't talk about the collar that wasn't around my neck.

Carmen appeared in the doorway.

"Time," she said.

My father looked at her. "Who is that?"

"My boss," I said. "From the café. She drove me."

"Your boss dresses like that?"

Carmen was wearing black. Expensive black. The kind of black that cost more than my father's rent.

"She's fancy," I said. "The café is fancy now."

My father laughed. Weak. But real.

"Go," he said. "Work. I'll be here when you come back."

I kissed his forehead. "I love you, Papa."

"Te quiero, hija."

I walked out.

Carmen was waiting.

"He doesn't believe you," she said.

"What?"

"About the loan. About the café. He knows you're lying."

My chest tightened. "Then why didn't he say anything?"

"Because he's afraid of the truth." Carmen walked toward the exit. "And because he loves you. Even if you're breaking his heart."

The car ride back was silent.

I stared out the window. Madrid passed by. My old neighborhood. My old apartment. The café where I used to work.

I pressed my hand against the glass.

"I used to be happy here," I said.

"You can be happy again."

"No." I turned to Carmen. "He owns me. My body. My time. My voice. There's no happiness in that."

"Señorita"

"Don't. Don't tell me it gets better. Don't tell me he's not that bad." I looked away. "I know what he is. I just can't afford to care."

Carmen was quiet.

The car pulled into the garage. The doors closed behind us. The house swallowed us whole.

Alexander was waiting in the bedroom.

He stood by the window. Looking out at the city. His back was to me.

"Did you see him?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Is he well?"

"The surgery worked. He's recovering."

"Good."

I waited.

He turned.

His face was unreadable. But his eyes were softer than before.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For letting me go."

"I didn't do it for you."

"Then why?"

He walked toward me. Stopped inches away. His hand reached for my neck. The collar was in his other hand.

"I did it because I know what it's like to lose a father," he said.

I froze.

"You never told me"

"There are many things I haven't told you." He wrapped the collar around my throat. Buckled it. Tight. "This doesn't mean I'm soft."

"I know."

"This doesn't mean the rules have changed."

"I know."

"This means I gave you something. And I expect something in return."

My heart pounded. "What?"

He leaned closer. His lips brushed my ear.

"Tonight," he said, "you're going to show me what you'd do to keep him alive."

Dinner was silent.

The food was perfect. The wine was red. The candles flickered between us.

I couldn't eat.

"Eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry."

"You said that yesterday."

"I meant it yesterday."

He set down his fork. "Ava. Look at me."

I looked.

"I saw my father die," he said.

The words hung in the air.

"I was twenty-three. He had a heart attack. I was in London. By the time I got to the hospital, he was gone." Alexander picked up his wine. Drank. Swallowed. "I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to thank him. I didn't get to tell him I loved him."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you got to see your father. You got to hug him. You got to say goodbye." He set down his glass. "That's more than I had."

"You bought me."

"I know."

"You're keeping me from him."

"I know."

"You're a monster."

"I know." He stood. Walked around the table. Knelt in front of my chair. "But I'm a monster who understands."

His hands rested on my knees.

"Tonight," he said, "I'm not going to take you."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Hold you."

"What?"

"You heard me." He stood. Took my hand. Led me to the bedroom. "Tonight, you're going to sleep. And I'm going to hold you. And tomorrow..." He stopped at the bed. Turned to face me. "Tomorrow, we start again."

"Why?"

"Because even monsters get tired, Ava." He pulled back the sheets. "And tonight, I'm tired."

I climbed into bed.

He climbed in beside me.

His arm wrapped around my waist. His chest pressed against my back. His breath was warm on my neck.

"Alexander," I whispered.

"Hmm."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being human. Just for tonight."

He didn't answer.

But his arm tightened around me.

And I slept