The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

2

“You can take it from here. You know what to do,” my father said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room.

He didn’t even look back.

The door clicked shut with an eerie finality, and there I was—left alone. Alone, except for the man in the corner, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me since my father started talking to him. A low hum of tension simmered in the air. My first instinct was to follow my father, to run to the door and grab the handle before it sealed me into whatever fate they had arranged for me. But no sooner had I reached for it than I felt hands, strong and unyielding, clamp down on my wrists.

Two men. One on each side of me, as if I were some criminal they were arresting.

“Let me go!” My voice trembled, caught between panic and disbelief. I wasn’t sure if I even sounded human, or if I was more like a trapped animal trying to plead with a predator.

The man my father had been speaking to—his posture far too casual for the gravity of the situation—finally stepped forward. His face was smooth, unreadable, like he’d played this role a thousand times before.

“I’m Charles,” he said, though his name seemed like an afterthought. “Not that it matters to you.” His voice was clipped, mechanical, as if he had long stopped caring about how his words affected people. “But what does matter is that you’re going to do everything I tell you to do. Understood?”

I stared at him, my mouth dry, words refusing to form. All I managed to say was, “I want to leave.” But even that came out more as a whisper, a wish, rather than a command.

Charles sighed, rolling his eyes like he’d heard this before. “You can’t leave. You’re the highlight of tonight’s event.” He waved his hand, as if that explained everything.

My chest tightened. “What event?” I asked, though deep down, I knew the answer would be something horrific. My body had already told me what my mind didn’t want to process.

“This,” he said, voice heavy with exasperation, “is an auction. And you, well—you’re the first human being we’ve ever auctioned off. A groundbreaking moment, really. We’re all excited.” He looked at me, and for a split second, a flicker of excitement passed through his eyes.

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat, not knowing if I was more terrified or repulsed. “Auctioned?” I whispered, the word itself like poison on my tongue. My mind struggled to make sense of the situation. My father. My own father. The man who was supposed to protect me, to be my shield. He left me here—to be sold.

Tears began to spill down my cheeks, unbidden, unstoppable. It felt like a betrayal so deep, so all-consuming, that I couldn’t even scream. My heart felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces inside my chest.

Charles watched me for a moment, and for the briefest second, pity flickered in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Crying won’t help,” he snapped, his voice cold now. “You think I can take a sobbing girl onstage? Pull yourself together!”

I couldn’t stop crying, though. It was as if my body had been disconnected from my mind. All I could think about was Liam. My brother. What would he think? What would happen to him if I didn’t escape? How could I ever face him knowing I hadn’t even tried to save myself? No—I had to get out. For me. For him.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. Mia, get it together!

In a flash, I stamped my heel down on the foot of the man gripping my left arm. He howled in pain, releasing me just long enough for me to shove the other guard with all my strength. He stumbled, colliding into Charles, who didn’t even try to stop him. I spun around, my hands frantically reaching for the doorknob. I can do this, I can get out.

But as I yanked the door open, there stood my father.

Everything inside me froze.

The sight of him made my blood run cold. For a brief moment, I thought, Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe he’s here to take me home.

But I was wrong.

Before I could even say a word, he slapped me—hard. The force of it sent me sprawling to the floor. Pain shot through my cheek, and my head throbbed as I tried to process what had just happened. My own father had hit me.

He loomed over me, shutting the door behind him with a slow, deliberate motion. “I should kill you for disobeying me,” he hissed, his voice full of venom. “But that wouldn’t get me any money, now would it?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This wasn’t just betrayal; it was annihilation. The father I thought I knew no longer existed. All that stood before me was a monster in his place.

He glared at the men who were still reeling from my attack. “You’re all pathetic,” he spat. “Can’t even handle a girl.”

His irritation grew as he rubbed his temples, like the whole situation was an inconvenience he wanted to be rid of. Finally, he snapped, “Get out. I need to speak to my daughter alone.”

The men scrambled to obey, leaving the room in tense silence. My father turned to me, pacing, and for a moment, all I could hear was the sound of his footsteps, slow and deliberate, like a countdown to something worse.

“Didn’t I teach you to obey me, no matter what?” His eyes bore into mine, cold, unforgiving.

“Dad… please…” I could barely get the words out between my sobs. “Please don’t do this to me. I’ll work, I’ll earn more money—anything! Just don’t do this.”

A twisted smile crept onto his face, and he started to laugh. Not a warm laugh, not the kind of laugh that comes from shared joy or even recognition, but something dark, bitter. “You?” he mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’ll earn more money? Do you honestly believe that? Do you think you could ever earn millions? You’re a high school graduate! A high school graduate, Mia. You won’t make a cent worth my time.”

I looked down at the floor, tears dripping from my chin.

And then he said it: “But I’ll give you a choice.” His voice turned mockingly tender, like he was offering me some grand act of mercy. “You want to save yourself, or would you rather save your brother?”

At the mention of Liam, my head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, see… you working alone won’t cut it,” he said, pacing in front of me as if he were toying with the idea, enjoying every second of it. “But if I pull Liam out of college and make him work with you… well, that would be different, wouldn’t it? He’d have to give up his dream of finishing school, but two of you working would be much more useful to me.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Or, I could let Liam continue his studies. He’ll never know what happened here, never know how his precious sister was sold off. You just have to decide. What’s more important, Mia? Your freedom or your brother’s future?”

His cruelty took my breath away.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of panic that was clouding my mind. I couldn’t let Liam suffer for this. I couldn’t let him give up everything he’d worked for, everything we had both hoped for. He had dreams of finishing school, getting a job, and getting us out of this nightmare once and for all. I couldn’t be the reason those dreams were destroyed.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, barely able to force the words out. “I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t take Liam out of school. Please.”

My father smiled, that same cold, satisfied smile, as if he had just won some twisted game. “You really are a loving sister,” he said, almost fondly. “Liam will be so happy.”

“No… no… don’t tell him,” I begged, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t let him know.”

“Relax,” my father said, his voice oily with false reassurance. “He won’t know a thing.”

I let out a shaky breath, though I felt no relief.

“Now,” he continued, his tone returning to that same brusque indifference, “fix yourself up. No one will bid on you looking like that.”

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving me behind with the shattered pieces of my own life.

Time passed in a blur. I don’t remember what happened next, only that Charles came back in with his men. They pulled me to my feet, their hands cool and efficient, like I was nothing more than an object. A doll to be painted and prepped.

The next thing I knew, I was on stage. My body was moving, but my mind felt disconnected, floating somewhere far above. I kept my head down, refusing to acknowledge the faces in the crowd, refusing to acknowledge what was happening to me.

I was already gone.

“Five million,” someone called.

“Five million and one.”

“Six million.”

The numbers blurred together, meaningless.

“Eight million.”

“Ten million.”

My soul felt dead. I was already sold.

And then a voice, clear and decisive, cut through the air.

“Seventy million.”

The room gasped. And for the first time, I looked up.