Sold To My Bestfriend

When Maya Sinclair stepped back into the house she grew up in, nothing had changed — and that was the problem. The cracked tiles in the entryway, the humming refrigerator that always made a weird sound, her dad’s reading glasses sitting on the armrest of the worn-out sofa like they’d never been moved. She had changed. Five years. One degree. A thousand memories buried under things left unsaid. She didn’t expect the smell of home to hit her so hard. Dust and old wood, a little lavender. Her chest tightened the moment she stepped in, but she smiled anyway. “Still smells like the 90s in here,” she muttered to herself. “Maya?” her dad’s voice came from the kitchen. She turned, plastered a smile on, and walked in like she hadn’t left this place with a suitcase and a storm in her heart five years ago. He looked older. Tired. There were grey streaks in his beard that didn’t used to be there. But his eyes lit up when he saw her, and she let him pull her into a hug without protest. "You're here," he said, holding her tighter than she expected. "Yeah," she replied softly. "Got your message. Thought it was serious." "It is." He let her go. That’s when she noticed it — the slump in his shoulders, the papers on the counter, the way he didn’t meet her eyes. Her brother, Caleb, walked in next. Taller now, broader, with that same quiet stare that used to annoy her growing up. He gave her a short nod. "Look who finally decided to come home," he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes. "Missed you too, Caleb." They sat down at the kitchen table. Her dad sighed, rubbed his temples, and got straight to the point. “I didn’t call you back here just to say hello.” Maya leaned back. “Didn’t think so. You sounded... off.” He nodded, not denying it. “I’ve made some bad decisions. Business ones.” Caleb leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed, watching silently. Her dad continued. “The company... it’s not doing well. We’re barely staying afloat. I tried loans, investors... nothing worked.” Maya’s brows furrowed. “What kind of bad decisions, Dad?” “Risks I shouldn’t have taken. People I shouldn’t have trusted. And now... we’re drowning.” She blinked slowly, trying to process it. “Okay, so... what do you need? Money? I can try—” “No,” he cut her off gently. “Someone already offered help.” She stilled. “What kind of help?” she asked, voice cautious. He exhaled, long and heavy. “A full bailout. Enough to clear our debts and restart. But they asked for one thing in return.” She knew. Somehow, she already knew. “What?” she asked anyway, already bracing. “Your hand in marriage.” Silence. Caleb looked at her. Her father looked at the table. Maya stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re joking,” she said finally. “I’m not,” he said softly. Her mouth opened, then closed. No tears. No shouting. Just... silence. She stood up slowly, walked out of the kitchen, and went straight to her old room. Shut the door behind her. That night, she didn’t speak to anyone. The next day? Nothing. Day two? She stayed in bed, barely ate. On the morning of the third day, she came down to breakfast, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat across from her father. He didn’t speak. She took a sip, looked at him. “Tell him I’ll do it.” He stared at her, mouth open slightly. “Maya—” “I said I’ll do it. Just… don’t say anything else.” The meeting was scheduled two days later. It was in a neutral location — a luxury hotel lounge Maya had only ever seen on TV. Polished floors, high ceilings, gold accents everywhere. The kind of place you walk into and feel poor just by breathing. She wore a navy-blue dress. Clean. Elegant. Minimal makeup. Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders. If she was going to be sold, she might as well look good doing it. She sat beside her father in silence. Caleb didn’t come. She didn’t ask why. The man was late. Of course, he was. Then the elevator chimed. Maya looked up and everything inside her... stopped. He stepped out like he owned the building. Black suit. No tie. Watch that probably cost more than her tuition. Hair slightly messy, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it. Same eyes. Colder now. Sharper. Liam Ford. He walked toward them like this was nothing. Like they hadn’t once shared a treehouse and a million secrets. Like she hadn’t left without a word. When he reached their table, his eyes met hers and held. No smile. No warmth. “Hello, Maya.” She blinked. Once. “Oh. Wow. It talks.” His jaw ticked. “Still the mouth on you, I see.” “And still the charm of a rock,” she replied, sipping her water calmly. Her father stood awkwardly. “Liam, thank you for coming. This means a lot.” He nodded once, eyes still on Maya. “Let’s not pretend this is about kindness.” “You’re really going to marry me?” Maya asked, brows raised. “You agreed,” he said simply. “I’m just here to collect.” “You say that like I’m a package at the post office.” “You left me like one,” he snapped. Silence. Her throat tightened, but she didn’t show it. She leaned forward instead, resting her chin on her hand. “So this is revenge.” He smiled then. Sharp. Unkind. “Oh no, sweetheart. Revenge would’ve been not showing up at all.” He reached into a slim leather folder on the table and pulled out a stack of papers. Smooth, crisp, legal. Maya’s eyes narrowed. “This,” he said calmly, “is our agreement.” Her father shifted uncomfortably beside her. Maya stared at the document like it might bite. “You’re seriously making this a contract?” she asked. “This is business, Maya. You think I’d give your father a multi-million-dollar bailout over a pinky promise?” She scoffed. “You always were a dramatic little prick.” “And you always had trouble reading fine print.” He slid a pen across the table to her. “Page three. Your signature. You sign, we move forward.” Maya didn’t look at her dad. Or the paper. She looked straight at Liam. “How soon?” He shrugged, casual as ever. “Two weeks. We get married in two weeks. My lawyer will handle everything else.” She picked up the pen. She held it for a second too long. Then she signed. Neat. Clean. Final. Liam took the document back, tucked it neatly into his folder, and stood. “I’ll have the dress delivered.” And just like that, it wasn’t just a deal anymore. It was a countdown.