SHE SOLD ME TO THE DEVIL

CHAPTER TWO — RUN

"He's the man buying you," my stepmother said, smiling as though it were the right thing to do.

For a moment, her words made no sense. I just looked at her.

Buying me? Like I was something she'd found in a shop?

"No." The word slipped out before I could stop it. "No," I said again.

My stepmother tightened her grip on that stupid envelope. That was all she'd ever really cared about.

"You sold me?"

Instead of looking ashamed, she looked irritated. "Oh, stop making a scene."

My father's voice came back to me, from his room, before he died.

"Dad, what's going on?" I'd asked him.

"Elena, I'm in serious trouble. Lucien is—" He'd stopped himself.

"I would protect you, my daughter," he'd said.

At the time, I hadn't understood. Now the words made a different kind of sense — he'd been trying to warn me, and his illness hadn't let him finish. Whatever he'd been afraid of had happened anyway.

My stepmother had sold me to my father's enemy.

"A scene?" I repeated. "You sold me!"

"Lower your voice."

"I won't!" I didn't care anymore. I'd endured enough in this house. Now I would fight for myself.

My eyes landed on the flower vase on the table. I grabbed it and threw it across the room. It shattered against the tile, glass scattering under the chairs.

I regretted it fast, but not because of the vase.

My mother used to tell me to control my anger, no matter how badly someone hurt me. I was breaking her rule anyway.

If these people weren't here, my stepmother would have beaten me until I couldn't stand. I waited for her to shout, insult me, slap me — whatever came first.

Instead, she laughed.

"Thank God," my stepmother said.

I frowned. "What?"

She lifted the envelope slightly. "Thank God your money is here. At least I can replace the vase."

I couldn't speak. The money was her only concern. That she'd just sold me meant nothing. A flower vase mattered more.

I hated her. She was no mother at all.

Then she turned to Lucien with a smile. "See what your future wife has done already?"

"I'm not his wife," I said.

No one paid attention to me.

Why would anyone sell an eighteen-year-old girl to a complete stranger? My stepmother kept talking as though I wasn't even in the room.

"Imagine destroying your husband's property before you've even stepped into his house."

I looked at Lucien. He wasn't looking at the broken vase. He was watching me, his expression giving nothing away, though his eyes followed my every move like he was cataloguing it.

My gaze dropped to the shattered glass on the floor. I crouched down and picked up one of the sharpest pieces.

A gasp rippled through the room.

"Elena!"

The color drained from my stepmother's face. I ignored her. If hurting him was the only way to save myself, then so be it.

The edge dug into my palm, and blood trickled down my hand. I barely felt it. My hand shook around the glass.

"I am not marrying him."

The bodyguards went on alert. I pointed the glass at Lucien, my hand shaking.

"Stay away from me," I warned.

The room went quiet. Lucien didn't move. He didn't look afraid, and he didn't look surprised either. That scared me more than if he'd gotten angry. Any normal person would have stepped back, or ordered his men to disarm me. Instead he just stood there, watching.

"Did you hear me?" I shouted. "Stay away from me!"

He stepped toward me instead.

"I mean it!"

I swung the glass. The edge sliced across his arm. A thin tear opened in his sleeve, and blood slowly seeped through the fabric.

Oh God. I had actually cut him.

One of the bodyguards rushed forward. "Boss!"

Without taking his eyes off me, Lucien raised a hand. The man froze instantly.

A drop of blood slid down Lucien's wrist. He looked at it, then lifted his eyes back to mine.

I waited for him to lose his temper, to order his men to drag me away. Instead the corner of his mouth lifted. He wiped the blood away with his thumb.

"Interesting," he murmured. "You're as stubborn as your father."

Why did he keep mentioning my father? What did he know that I didn't?

I wanted to run and disappear. My knees wouldn't cooperate.

Lucien glanced around the room. "Everyone out."

One of the bodyguards hesitated. "Boss?"

Lucien didn't look at him. "I said out."

No one questioned him again. The bodyguards left first, the servant hurried after them. Even my stepmother walked out, though she paused briefly at the door before disappearing into the hallway.

The door clicked shut. Now it was just the two of us.

Lucien started walking toward me. I tightened my grip on the glass.

"Don't come any closer," I warned.

"Do you plan to stab me with that?" he asked calmly.

He ignored my warning and kept walking until my back hit the wall. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the small scar near his jaw.

Tears ran down my cheeks.

His eyes dropped to my bleeding palm, then to the glass in my hand, before returning to my face.

"You attacked me."

"You deserved it."

Then he asked quietly, "Do you know what usually happens to people who spill my blood?"

I couldn't answer. I already knew I'd put myself in serious trouble.

He reached for my hand. I flinched. Instead of hurting me, he gently took the glass from my fingers. It slipped free and landed on the floor with a soft clink.

Lucien looked down at me, calm and completely in control. "Most of them never live long enough to regret it."

Nothing kind touched his face when he said it.

Then his hand closed around my wrist.

"Let me go!"

"No."

"Please!"

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document. Holding it out to me, he said, "Elena. Sign it."

"I'm not signing it."

Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me down onto my knees. Pain shot through my scalp.

"Sign it."

"I won't!" I cried, tears streaming as he tightened his grip.

If I signed those papers, I'd lose the little freedom I had left.

"You're as stubborn as your father," he said.

"Why do you keep mentioning my father?" I demanded.

He didn't answer. He held the papers out again. "Sign."

I shook my head. "I'm not signing it."

After a long moment, he released my hair. I stayed on my knees, trying to steady my breathing. He looked down at me without saying a word.

"Stop crying, wife."

"I'm not your wife."

The corner of his mouth curved, just barely. "You became mine the moment I walked through that door."

He leaned closer, until our eyes met. "Whether you sign those papers or not... you're already mine."

I hated that some part of me believed him.