Sold To A Monster

The night my father sold me, he wore his best suit.

I remember that detail more clearly than anything else.

Not the rain beating against the windows. Not the expensive chandelier illuminating the sitting room. Not even the strange men standing near the door with their hands clasped in front of them.

I remember my father's suit.

Black. Perfectly pressed. The same one he wore to my mother's funeral three years ago.

He had dressed beautifully to bury my mother.

And tonight, he had dressed beautifully to bury me.

"Sit down, Isabella."

His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

I stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at him in disbelief. "Why are there strangers in our house at this hour?"

My father didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the man seated on the sofa opposite him.

The stranger hadn't spoken since I entered the room.

He was dressed entirely in black, his long legs crossed casually. A glass of untouched whiskey rested between his fingers. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his face was so striking that it almost seemed unfair.

Almost.

Because there was something terribly wrong with him.

It wasn't his cold expression or the scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. It was the way everyone in the room seemed afraid to breathe too loudly around him.

Even my father, a man who shouted at servants and insulted business partners without blinking, looked uncomfortable in his presence.

"Who is he?" I asked.

My father cleared his throat.

"His name is Adrian Blackwood."

The name meant nothing to me.

But the reaction of the maid standing near the staircase told me it should have.

She dropped the tray she was holding.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the silence.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

Adrian slowly turned his head toward her.

She immediately lowered her eyes.

"Leave us," he said.

His voice was quiet.

That was what frightened me most.

The maid hurried away, and the two men by the door followed her out. Within seconds, only three people remained in the room.

My father.

Adrian Blackwood.

And me.

I folded my arms across my chest. "What is going on?"

My father rubbed his forehead.

"Isabella, our family is facing certain financial difficulties."

I stared at him.

"Financial difficulties?"

He had been telling me that for months. First, it was a temporary problem with his company. Then it was an unfortunate business deal. Last week, he had even sold my mother's jewelry, claiming he needed the money to save the business.

Now there was a stranger in our house after midnight.

I felt something cold settle in my stomach.

"How much do you owe him?" I whispered.

My father's silence was answer enough.

I turned toward Adrian.

He watched me with an unsettling calm, as if my fear were a conversation he had heard a thousand times before.

"How much?" I demanded.

Adrian placed his glass on the table.

"Your father owes me thirty million dollars."

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Thirty million dollars.

That was not a debt. It was a death sentence.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

His eyes met mine.

"Everything."

I looked at my father, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me this was some horrible joke.

He did neither.

Instead, he stood up and approached me.

"Isabella, listen to me. Mr. Blackwood has made an offer that will save this family."

"What offer?"

He swallowed.

"You're going to live with him."

The words struck me harder than a slap.

"What?"

"It's only for a year," he rushed to explain. "You will stay at his estate, and he will take care of everything. My debts will be settled, the company will survive, and you will have everything you need."

I stared at him as if I had never seen him before.

"You are sending me away?"

"Don't make this difficult."

I laughed, but the sound came out broken.

"Difficult? Daddy, you're talking about sending your daughter to live with a stranger!"

"He's not a stranger," my father snapped. "He's a powerful businessman."

Adrian let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"That's an interesting way to describe me."

My father immediately fell silent.

I took a step backward.

"Why does everyone look afraid of him?"

Neither man answered.

Then I remembered the rumors.

Stories whispered at parties. Newspaper articles that disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared. Businessmen who challenged Adrian Blackwood and lost everything. A former business partner who reportedly vanished after accusing him of fraud.

People called him the Monster of Blackwood Manor.

I had always assumed it was an exaggeration.

Looking at him now, I wasn't so sure.

I turned to my father, tears burning behind my eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't agree to this."

He couldn't look at me.

"Isabella-"

"Tell me!"

His shoulders sagged.

"I had no choice."

Something inside me broke.

"You had a choice," I whispered. "You could have told me the truth. You could have asked me for help. You could have-"

"Enough!"

His shout echoed through the room.

"You have no idea what I've sacrificed for this family! You have lived comfortably your entire life because of me. The least you can do is help me when I need you!"

I stood frozen.

So that was what my life was worth.

The roof over my head.

The clothes on my back.

The food I had eaten as a child.

Apparently, every birthday, every school fee, every sacrifice he claimed to have made had become a bill I was now expected to repay with my freedom.

I wiped my tears angrily.

"You didn't raise a daughter," I said. "You raised something you could sell when you ran out of money."

My father's face twisted with rage.

Before he could respond, Adrian stood.

The movement was unhurried, but the entire room seemed to change around him.

"That's enough," he said.

I turned toward him.

He was taller than I had realized. Up close, I could see the faint scar near his jaw and the icy gray of his eyes.

He studied me for several seconds.

Then he looked at my father.

"Our agreement was that she would come willingly."

My heart leaped.

"Then I refuse."

Adrian's gaze returned to me.

"You're refusing to save your father's company?"

"I'm refusing to be sold like property."

Something flickered across his face.

Amusement, perhaps.

Or anger.

It was impossible to tell.

"Do you believe I brought thirty million dollars into this house because I wanted a polite conversation with your father?"

"No," I replied. "I think you came because you're used to getting whatever you want."

For the first time that night, Adrian smiled.

It wasn't a warm smile.

It was the sort of smile that made me understand why people lowered their voices when they spoke his name.

"Good," he murmured. "At least you aren't stupid."

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded document.

My father moved toward him immediately.

"Everything is prepared," he said. "As agreed."

Adrian handed him the document without looking away from me.

"Then sign it."

My father's hands trembled as he took the pen from the table.

I watched him write his name.

One stroke.

Then another.

And with every movement of his hand, I felt my life slipping further away.

When he finished, Adrian collected the papers.

"Excellent."

He glanced at his wristwatch.

"Bring her things to the car."

I shook my head.

"No."

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

"You seem to have misunderstood the situation, Isabella."

"I said no."

He stepped closer.

I refused to move, even though every instinct in my body begged me to run.

"You have two options," he said quietly. "You can walk out of this house on your own, or my driver can carry your luggage while you follow him. Either way, you're leaving tonight."

"And if I refuse to leave?"

His expression hardened.

"Then your father loses everything he has left. His company. His house. His remaining assets. Everything."

I turned toward my father.

He stared at the floor.

Not once did he defend me.

Not once did he say he would rather lose everything than lose his daughter.

I understood then that I was alone.

Completely alone.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom with my head held high, refusing to let either man see me cry again.

Inside, I closed the door and leaned against it.

My room looked exactly as it always had.

The pale curtains my mother had chosen. The photographs on my bedside table. The little silver music box she had given me on my eighteenth birthday.

I crossed the room and picked up her photograph.

"Why did you leave me?" I whispered.

My mother had always told me that no one had the right to decide my worth.

I wished she were here to tell me what to do now.

A knock sounded at the door.

I quickly wiped my face.

"Who is it?"

"Your carriage awaits, Miss Isabella."

Adrian's voice.

I opened the door.

He stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, looking as composed as ever.

"I'm not your prisoner," I told him.

"No?"

"No. And I will never love a man who thinks he can buy me."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Who said anything about love?"

I had no answer.

He stepped aside, allowing me to pass.

As I walked toward the staircase, he spoke again.

"One more thing."

I stopped.

"At Blackwood Manor, you will follow three rules."

I turned slowly.

"First, you will never enter the east wing of the house."

"Fine."

"Second, you will never lie to me."

I almost laughed.

"You bought my life from my father. What makes you think I owe you the truth?"

He ignored my question.

"Third, you will never attempt to leave the estate without my permission."

My blood ran cold.

"And if I break your rules?"

Adrian leaned closer, his gray eyes holding mine.

"Then you'll discover why everyone calls me a monster."

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then I lifted my chin.

"Perhaps you're not a monster, Mr. Blackwood."

His expression remained unreadable.

"Perhaps you're simply a coward who needs locked doors and frightened people to feel powerful."

The silence that followed was absolute.

I thought he might strike me.

Instead, he stepped back and gestured toward the staircase.

"Get in the car, Isabella."

I walked past him.

I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

Outside, rain poured over the driveway. A black car waited beneath the porch lights, its windows dark enough to hide whoever might be inside.

I climbed into the back seat.

Adrian followed and sat beside me.

The door closed.

The locks clicked.

And as the car pulled away from the only home I had ever known, I looked through the rain-streaked window at my father's house.

He stood on the doorstep.

Watching me leave.

He didn't wave.

He didn't run after me.

He simply watched.

I turned away before the tears could fall.

Beside me, Adrian remained silent.

I hated him already.

I hated his money, his arrogance, and the terrifying calm with which he had purchased my future.

But there was one thing I hated even more.

The terrible certainty that my father had hidden something from me.

Because when Adrian had handed him that contract, I had seen something in my father's expression.

It wasn't relief.

It was fear.

Not fear of losing his company.

Fear of what might happen once I reached Blackwood Manor.

And suddenly, I wondered whether my father had sold me to save his life.

Or whether he had sold me because he knew the monster was coming for me anyway.