The Billionaire's Sin

Stolen Freedom

Rodriguez forgot that Amelia existed for some time, but now seeing her after a long while was frustrating him, and the more he tried to forget about Amelia, the deeper she lodged herself in his mind like a thorn.

There was not a day that passed that he didn’t have the thought of Amelia Morales hunting him, and it was getting out of control.

All he thought about were ways he could inflict pain on the Morales indirectly.

“I should have yanked the wig off, too,” he thought. “How did she even qualify and meet the club’s standard?”

He scoffed, “She’s been working there since she was nineteen?? What a whore.”

The words came out of his mouth like acid, but even they didn’t ease the tight feeling of something he couldn’t name—shame? Guilt? Regret?

Just then, a plan struck him.

“Since she works at Obsidian and—and she signed the contract,” he scoffed, pacing his office. “She owes me meaning; she's mine to deal with.”

The idea sprang up in Rodriguez’s mind like an evil blaze. A transaction. A punishment. A deal.

In Cancún, this wasn’t unusual—dancers and even waitresses at exclusive clubs like Obsidian were sold to billionaires under the guise of business. It was all about power, leverage, and control. And Rodriguez had mastered the game.

Amelia was a thorn in Rodriguez’s flesh that he couldn’t get rid of easily. Seeing her again had stirred old ghosts.

But now… now he had a way to bottle up that hold.

Rodriguez had seen the way Damien looked at her, too curious and intrigued. The young billionaire wasn’t the type to be swayed by lust alone. No, Damien Serrano was precise and logical when he wanted to be, but Rodriguez, on the other hand, knew how to play his cards well if he wanted to get you to do something for him. And he won’t do it by coercing you; he’ll make sure he has a bait to pull you in.

He lit a cigarette, staring at the swirling smoke like it held the map to his revenge.

“Damien wanted Amelia? Fine. He could have her. But not for free.” He thought

Rodriguez picked up the phone.

“Damien,” he began, voice smooth and controlled. “There’s something on the table you might want to consider.”

A pause.

“You remember Amelia from Club Obsidian. She’s been… problematic lately. Causing unnecessary distractions. But I know she is of interest to you. And I think we can both get something out of this.”

He could almost hear Damien raising a brow on the other end. “She’s not for sale.”

Rodriguez smiled coldly. “She signed a contract. She's been working there since she was nineteen. Technically, she's still under obligation to the Club, and the Club belongs to me. You taking her would simply be… a transfer of assets.”

“There’s that project on the Riviera. You’ll need my signature to close the last zoning clearance. Make this move, and that deal becomes a done deal,” he said, sweetening the pot.

“I smell a bit of cunningness here, Santos,” Damien said.

“It’s all fair business, Damien,” Rodriguez replied. “I’m sure you need that contract.”

Rodriguez pressed on, lowering his voice. “Look, her father owes me; I’ll clear off the debt. Consider it my way of balancing the equation.”

Rodriguez didn’t give a damn about the debt. What he craved was control, knowing that Amelia and Diego were still under his thumb.

And then Damien spoke, calm and final. “If I agree, it’s because I assume you already have her consent.”

Rodriguez grinned. “Of course. Consent. She’s yours… officially.”

He hung up.

He had no intention of telling Amelia anything. To him, he just wanted her out of his sight…anywhere but roaming freely. A reminder to the Morales family that their fate was still in his hands.

The next evening, when the streets dimmed and people were already returning home, Amelia left for her shift. As she walks through her lonely street in the outskirts of Cancún city, towards the bus stop, she feels she is being trailed. She hastened her pace—but a black van from nowhere screeched to a halt beside her, and someone snatched her into the van. The men were all masked, except for Rodriguez, who sat and watched her as she struggled.

Her heart began to pound faster.

“What do you want from me?!” she said, in a trembling voice.

“Amelia, Amelia, Amelia… Just a little cooperation here and there, and you will be fine,” Rodriguez said. “Place a tape over a mouth,” he commanded one of the men.

They drove to an isolated area where they stopped at a building, which was surprisingly well furnished. Amelia was flung onto the bed in one of the rooms. Rodriguez broke the silence: “Since you and your father keep failing to pay up, you’ll be an offering. That doesn’t mean there is still no debt—I decide that.”

Amelia’s voice trembled, “You can’t just steal my freedom like this in a minute; I’m not yours.” Rodriguez flung the application and signed contract at her. “I guess I can. I own Club Obsidian… including you. ”

He left. And there Amelia was, frustrated and weeping.

The following morning, there was no trace of Amelia in the house. Panic slowly crept into Diego’s mind.

Meanwhile, Rodriguez arrived with Damien Serrano by his side to seal their twisted deal.

Amelia, filled with dread, pleaded for just one thing: a chance to speak with her father.

Rodriguez dismissed her at first, unmoved. But Damien, catching the fear in her eyes, stepped in.

“Have my phone.”

When the call connected, Amelia did her best to keep her voice steady.

“I’m okay, Papa. I had to leave for work-related matters. Please, call Ma Rosella—she’ll take care of you.”

But Diego knew better. His chest tightened. “Is Rodriguez behind this?”

A silence hung in the air.

Amelia dodged the question. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Yet, as the line went dead, both of them felt the same heavy truth—something was deeply wrong.

Damien let Amelia sit with him in his car, rather than the other escort car, and they headed to his beautiful residence near the prestigious Serrano Estate in Cancún. Her eyes expanded as they approached; she had never seen such a lovely building before. “Everything I think about this man is the opposite.” Her thoughts clashed: “Maybe life with him wouldn’t be bad.” But another voice inside her snapped, “You cannot tell how he will treat you inside, Amelia.” The reality stung.

Amelia still couldn’t ignore the slight sigh of relief she felt in her chest. “At least I’m no longer stuck in that club being treated like an object.”

That was the little hope she held onto as she made her way into the house. But her hopes were fragile. Her father was still out there, sick, alone, and perhaps worried sick. And here she was, attempting to cope with the humiliation of being treated like property.

Amelia kept Damien at arm’s length, resisting his charm. Yet, his calm demeanor and unexpected kindness unsettled her, and slowly, her defenses began to crumble.

One evening, Amelia wandered into Damien’s dimly lit library. She had always loved reading and was admiring his collection when he entered quietly behind her. She didn’t notice—until she stepped back into his shirtless body. His hands steadied her at the waist.

“Mr. Damien,” she murmured, her tenderness breaking through her usual coldness.

“Babygirl, call me Damien…please,” he replied, voice low. “Damsel, what are you up to?”

“Just scanning… your collection.” She reached for a book just out of reach, and Damien’s arm came around her to take it down.

“T-thank you,” she said, her voice tense.

His eyes lingered, shadowed with something between longing and restraint. “Why do you keep fighting the only person who’s never tried to hurt you?”

Her breath caught, fingers tightening around the book. “Because I don’t know if that’s true yet.”

Silence swelled between them. His hand brushed her cheek—light, questioning. She didn’t flinch.

“Why haven’t you done what you brought me here to do?”

Damien smirked. “Yet? Damsel, I said I wanted you. Don’t assume anything. Besides… what if I want to marry you?” He lifted her face toward him, lips inches away—until she pulled back.

She left him with her heartbeat racing, her scent lingering.

“Goodnight, Damien.”