Sold To My Enemy

My father didn’t look at me when he sold me. He kept his eyes on the glass in his hand, fingers tight around it like if he let go, everything else would shatter too. The amber liquid trembled just slightly—but not enough for anyone else in the room to notice. I noticed. I always noticed. “Please,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Just tell me what’s going on.” No one answered. The men sitting across from us didn’t move, didn’t blink. Dark suits. Colder expressions. The kind of stillness that didn’t come from patience—it came from power. From control. From knowing exactly how this was going to end. A slow, heavy dread settled in my chest. “Dad.” He finally exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then he set his glass down with a soft clink against the table. Still—he didn’t look at me. “Elara…” he started, voice rough. Something in me snapped. “Look at me,” I demanded. That got his attention. For half a second, his eyes met mine—and I saw it. Guilt. Not worry. Not fear. Guilt. My stomach dropped. “What did you do?” I whispered. One of the men across from us shifted slightly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like this was nothing more than a business meeting running long. Like I wasn’t sitting here waiting for my life to be explained to me. “Your father,” he said smoothly, “entered into an agreement.” My head turned toward him slowly. Every instinct I had screamed at me not to ask the next question. I asked it anyway. “…What kind of agreement?” The man’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The kind that requires collateral.” The word hit harder than it should have. Collateral. As if this were numbers. Assets. Property. My pulse started to pound in my ears. “I don’t understand.” “You don’t need to,” my father said quickly. I laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound that didn’t feel like it came from me at all. “Oh, I definitely do,” I said. “Because I’m sitting here with a bunch of strangers talking about agreements like I’m not part of it.” “You weren’t supposed to be,” he snapped. The room went still. Even the air felt heavier. “Then why am I here?” I asked, quieter now. No one answered. And suddenly— I knew. It wasn’t a thought. It wasn’t logic. It was instinct. A sick, sinking certainty that settled deep in my bones. I turned back to the man across from me. “You said collateral.” He inclined his head slightly. “Yes.” My throat tightened. “…What was the debt?” Silence. Then my father said, barely audible— “Everything.” The word echoed in my head like a gunshot. Everything. I stared at him, waiting for him to say more. To explain. To fix it. He didn’t. Instead, he pushed a folder across the table. Toward them. Toward the men who hadn’t taken their eyes off me since I walked in. “No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “No, whatever this is—no.” “Elara—” “No!” I stood so fast my chair scraped harshly against the floor. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just—just hand me over like I’m—” “Sit down.” The command didn’t come from my father. It came from one of the men. Quiet. Controlled. Not loud. Not angry. But it hit harder than a shout ever could. I froze. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. That was my second mistake. The man stood. Tall. Impeccably dressed. The kind of presence that didn’t demand attention—it took it. And when he stepped closer, the room seemed to shift with him. “Miss Vance,” he said calmly, “this isn’t a negotiation.” My pulse roared. “I’m not part of your deal,” I shot back, forcing my voice steady. His gaze didn’t waver. “You are the deal.” The words landed like a blow. I shook my head again, backing up a step. “No. No, that’s not—this is insane. You can’t just—people don’t—” “They do,” he interrupted. My chest tightened. “Not me,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Not anger. Not even irritation. Interest. Like I’d just said something mildly amusing. “That,” he said softly, “isn’t your choice.” My heart slammed against my ribs. I turned to my father, desperate now. “Say something,” I demanded. “Tell him this isn’t happening.” He still wouldn’t look at me. “Elara…” His voice broke slightly. “It’s already done.” Something inside me cracked. “You’re choosing this?” I asked, my voice barely there. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I turned back to the man. “Who are you?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. A pause. Then— “Adrian Russo.” The name meant something. I didn’t know why. But I felt it. Like the ground had just shifted under my feet and I was the only one who didn’t know where it would settle. He held my gaze, steady. Unmovable. Terrifyingly calm. “Get her coat,” he said to someone behind him. “No,” I said immediately. No one moved. For half a second, I thought—maybe I still had control here. Maybe I could still walk out. Then Adrian stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him. Close enough that his voice dropped, meant only for me. “You can walk,” he said quietly. My breath caught. “Or you can be carried.” My stomach twisted. His gaze dipped slightly, taking in my expression. Measuring. Waiting. Then— “Either way,” he added, just as softly, “you’re coming with me.”