Bought to break

I wasn’t supposed to be the one standing here; my sister was. But she’s better at disappearing when things get hard, and I’m better at paying for her mistakes. So here I am, in front of this castle, alone in the dark, with one suitcase, a dying phone battery, and no idea what kind of man waits behind the door I’m about to knock on. I should’ve said no. I wanted to say no. But saying no doesn’t pay off a hospital bill. Saying no doesn’t stop eviction notices or quiet my mother’s breathing in the middle of the night because I can’t afford oxygen. So I said yes. I sold myself to a man I’ve never met—a man whose name feels more like a threat than a promise. Demian Voss. I stood there in the cold for too long. The sky above me looked like it was holding its breath. The trees were still. The wind didn’t blow. Even the birds seemed to have abandoned this place. It was dead silent. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time. The door groaned open without a word. And there he was—no butler, no staff, just him: barefoot, shirtless. A scar cut across his chest like a knife someone forgot to remove. His body was hard and lean, but not in a sculpted way—in a dangerous way. His face was sharp—tired, angry, maybe all three. But it was his eyes that got me: dead still, dark, cold like grave dirt. "You’re late," he said. That was the first thing he said to me—no hello, no invitation to come in, just that. His voice was low and quiet, the kind of voice you lean toward without meaning to. "I—I came as soon as possible," I managed to reply. He stepped back without a word, and I walked into the castle like I’d just agreed to my own funeral. The door slammed shut behind me, hard enough to make me flinch. I hated that he saw it. The air inside smelled like firewood and old books. Everything felt heavy—the walls, the floor, the silence. He walked ahead of me like I already belonged to him. No introduction, no glance back—he just expected me to follow. I did. He led me down a long hall lined with portraits that looked like they could come alive at night. The house creaked in places it shouldn’t. The light was dim, and the shadows didn’t make sense. Finally, we stopped in front of a massive stone fireplace. The room was empty except for two armchairs and the fire burning low between them. He turned around and studied me like he was measuring how far he could push me before I broke. "What’s your name?" he asked. "You already know it." "Say it." My voice was quieter than I wanted it to be. "Lena." He nodded once, then said, "Take off your coat." I blinked. "Excuse me?" "You won’t need it here." I didn’t move. He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you plan to sleep in it." I pulled the coat off slowly, trying not to look nervous. My hands were stiff, my breath uneven, and I could feel his eyes sliding over me like a weight. I hated how much that made me shiver. "Did your sister tell you anything about me?" he asked. "Only that you’d fix everything." "Did she mention the price?" I hesitated. "She said I’d have to stay. That there was a marriage. But that was… just for show." He smirked. "Nothing about the rooms? The rules? The fact that you’d be sleeping in my house instead of hers?" "I figured it out pretty fast—when you opened the door half-naked." He stepped closer. I didn’t back up, but I wanted to. "I don’t care about what you thought this would be," he said. "I don’t care what she told you. You’re here now. That’s what matters." "What exactly do you want from me?" I asked. "I want silence, obedience, and presence." "You want a pet." "No," he said. "I want a wife who doesn’t talk unless she’s spoken to, who doesn’t open locked doors, and who understands she was bought—not invited." His words stung more than I expected. "I’m not property." "Then don’t act like it," he said, turning away. "You can sleep in the guest room tonight. Or mine. Your choice." He disappeared down a hallway without saying another word. I stood there too long, staring into the fire as if it would provide me with answers. The guest room looked like something out of a cursed fairy tale—gold mirrors, heavy drapes, a bed too big for someone who felt this small. I sat on the edge and buried my face in my hands. I’m not crying. Not yet. But it’s in my throat, pushing. My sister made this choice, but I’m the one living it. I could have said no. I should have said no. But I didn’t. And now I’m in a stranger’s house—a castle that creaks like it remembers pain, with a man whose face looks carved from stone and whose voice sounds like it’s used to being obeyed. I lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he was listening, wondering if the walls here breathed, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I closed my eyes and prayed I wouldn’t wake up screaming.