COLLATERAL

THE DEBT THAT SWALLOWED ME

If anyone had told me that my life would twist into this—that I would end up living in the mansion of the richest man in the city held in place by a debt older than me—I would have laughed. Or cried. Maybe both.

But here I was twenty‑five years old staring at myself in the mirror of Adrian Draven’s penthouse bathroom while the sound of music drifted through the walls. Laughter, champagne flutes clinking, people dancing under chandeliers… and me hiding behind a locked door trying to steady my breathing.

My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the marble sink. My reflection looked nothing like the girl I used to be.

My name is Liana Reed.

And for as long as I’ve been alive my life has belonged to Adrian Draven.

Not because I wanted it to.

Not because fate chose it.

But because thirty years ago—five years before I was even born—my father signed a contract that destroyed us.

He borrowed nine hundred thousand dollars from Adrian Draven who at the time was a rising tycoon with more power than conscience. My father thought it would save our family, save my mother, save everything falling apart.

It didn’t.

My mother died anyway.

My father’s business collapsed.

And the interest—the cruel climbing interest—grew into a monster no normal man could kill.

Adrian came to collect his payment the year I turned five.

People in our town used to whisper that Adrian Draven wasn’t fully human, that the world bent when he walked. He was already wealthy, already feared, already the man people avoided making eye contact with.

He stood in our doorway in his black suit and cold eyes a storm in the shape of a man.

I remembered clutching my father’s trouser leg as Adrian looked down at me his expression unreadable—like he was assessing a piece of furniture. Something he might buy. Something he might own.

“You don’t have the money,” Adrian had said.

My father could only bow his head.

“And you have nothing else to offer.”

His eyes drifted to me again.

That night I learned what a contract truly meant.

No police.

No lawyers.

No rescue.

Just a signature that chained my life to his.

I grew up on his property not as a daughter not as a ward—something in between a servant and a shadow. He controlled what I learned what I wore what I did where I went. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. I wasn’t allowed to disappear. I wasn’t allowed to dream.

And when I turned eighteen…

my purpose changed.

Not by choice.

Not by desire.

By debt.

He never used gentle words.

He never asked.

He never cared what it broke inside me.

He only reminded me of the contract my father signed and the number:

$900,000 plus thirty years of compounded interest.

No human being could repay that.

And that was the point.

To Adrian Draven I was not a woman.

I was collateral.

A living payment plan.

So now at twenty‑five I stood in the penthouse bathroom while hundreds of wealthy guests laughed and celebrated in the next room completely unaware of the girl hiding behind a locked door trying not to cry.

I pressed a hand to my stomach breathing slowly. The party outside was spinning with music—sharp, elegant, fake.

Unlike me.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Liana.”

His voice. Calm. Controlled. Always controlled.

No one else dared to say my name that way.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered even though he couldn’t hear me.

I unlocked the door.

Adrian Draven filled the doorway—tall, immaculately dressed in a midnight‑black suit. His hair was streaked with silver not from age but from the life he lived—relentless, brutal, calculating. He was fifty‑six now and power clung to him like a second skin.

His eyes swept over me—not with affection; Adrian didn’t feel things like affection—but with ownership. Checking. Assessing. Ensuring his property hadn’t wandered too far from the path he carved for her.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he said quietly.

“I needed a minute,” I murmured.

He stepped inside the bathroom closing the door softly behind him. Not slamming. Never slamming. Adrian didn’t need volume to intimidate. His silence was a sharper weapon.

“You know how these events work,” he said. “People notice things. People talk.”

“About me?” I asked bitterly. “No one even knows who I am.”

“They know,” he replied. “They just pretend not to.”

He reached out brushing a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture that might have seemed tender to anyone who didn’t know him. But I did. I knew that every touch had purpose. Control. Reminder.

“Liana,” he murmured, “you’re trembling.”

I forced myself to steady. “I’m fine.”

He tilted my chin up. “Don’t lie to me.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

The truth was simple:

I was tired.

Tired of being owned.

Tired of debt.

Tired of him.

Tired of this life that never belonged to me.

He studied me for a long moment then lowered his hand.

“Come,” he said, turning toward the door. “Our guests are waiting.”

Our.

As if I belonged at his side.

As if I were something more than the girl whose freedom had been bought and locked away long before she was born.

But I followed him.

I always did.

The moment we stepped out the air changed. People turned to look at him—never at me. Adrian Draven had a presence that pulled a room toward him. Conversations shifted. Spines straightened. The music, the lights, the luxury—everything bent subtly around his existence.

He placed a hand on the small of my back guiding me through the crowd, his touch light but firm. Not affectionate. Just claiming.

A woman approached him—tall, elegant, dripping diamonds.

“Adrian,” she purred, “you disappear too much. I was beginning to think you’d left your own party.”

Adrian gave a polite smile. “A momentary delay.”

Her eyes flicked to me—curious, confused, maybe even jealous. “And who is this?”

Before I could speak Adrian answered for me.

“She’s with me.”

The woman’s eyebrows lifted but she said nothing.

People rarely questioned Adrian Draven twice.

As she walked away Adrian leaned slightly toward me and whispered, “You see? You can handle this. All you need to do is stay close.”

Stay close.

Stay silent.

Stay obedient.

Stay owned.

The night blurred with introductions I didn’t want attention that wasn’t mine and Adrian’s hand lingering on my back as if to remind me that I wasn’t allowed to drift more than an arm’s length away.

At some point I found myself staring out one of the enormous glass windows overlooking the city. Lights stretched endlessly a glittering world I wasn’t part of. My chest tightened with something like longing. Or grief. Or maybe anger. I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Thinking of running?” Adrian’s voice murmured behind me.

I didn’t turn. “Just thinking.”

“You’re quiet.”

“You like me quiet.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No,” I whispered, “but it’s what you expect.”

He stepped beside me. For a moment the reflection in the glass showed us standing side by side—a powerful man and the girl fate had thrown into his shadow before she could even walk.

“You know why you’re here,” he said.

“To pay a debt,” I replied tired.

His jaw tightened a fraction. “To fulfill a contract.”

“Same thing.”

“Not to me.”

I looked at him then—really looked.

The man who had taken everything.

The man who had shaped the woman I became.

The man who believed he owned my past, my present, and my future.

He didn’t blink.

He never did.

“Liana,” he said softly, “one day, you’ll understand.”

“No,” I whispered, “one day, I’ll be free.”

He smiled—not unkindly, just knowingly. “Freedom is expensive.”

“So is keeping me,” I said, surprising even myself.

He said nothing but something flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Amusement? Something else I couldn’t name.

I turned away from him from the window from the party from everything.

And for the first time in my life…

I wondered if maybe—just maybe—freedom wasn’t a dream.

Maybe it was a spark.

And maybe tonight for the first time that spark had finally lit inside me.