Bought By The Billionaire Don

The Rayne's apartment was unusually silent as Alina stepped inside, the faint hum of the city outside the windows the only sound breaking the stillness. The air was stale, like it had been waiting for her to return. She slipped her shoes off and tossed her backpack on the chair by the door, her mind already buzzing with thoughts of the long day at school.

"Papa?" she called out softly, expecting the usual response - a grunt from the kitchen, or a muttered, "I'm in the back."

But there was nothing. No greeting. No shuffle of footsteps.

A chill crept down her spine. Alina frowned and closed the door behind her, then dropped her keys into the bowl on the small table by the hallway. Her father was always around when she came back from class. He worked odd hours, but he never went far.

"Papa?" she called again, louder this time.

She moved through the narrow hallway and into the living room. The apartment wasn't large, but it was home. The worn, red velvet couch that had been passed down from her grandmother, the old record player that always made the air feel cozy, the scent of coffee and the faint remnants of perfume her mother had left behind. All of it was comforting - until now.

Something was wrong.

The living room was too quiet. Too still.

Her gaze was immediately drawn to the overturned chair in the center of the room. It wasn't like this when she'd left. The small coffee table was askew, and papers were scattered across the floor. Some were torn, others crumpled, and a few were even partially burned, the edges blackened as though they'd been hastily discarded.

Her heart began to race.

Alina knelt to pick up the closest piece of paper, her fingers trembling. It was an old receipt from a store she didn't recognize. Her father's wallet was next to it, wide open, its contents spilling out onto the floor. She reached for it, and her fingers brushed against the cool leather.

This wasn't like him. Her father had always been meticulous. His wallet was never out of his sight.

Her breath hitched as she noticed something else - his phone was gone, too. The one thing he never left the apartment without. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Alina stood up slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. Something wasn't adding up.

She moved into the kitchen, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the empty space. The kitchen was clean, as expected, with the faint scent of whatever her father had cooked for lunch still lingering in the air. But it didn't feel right. There were no usual signs of him being there. No coffee cup on the counter, no plates stacked in the sink.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she noticed something on the floor, just beside the old wooden table where her father usually sat. A locket.

Alina's breath caught in her throat. She bent down to pick it up, her fingers brushing the delicate gold chain. The locket was small and simple, a keepsake from her mother that had always hung from her neck. It had been years since she'd seen it-her mother's death had been too sudden for her to hold onto many of the things she'd loved.

Why would he leave this behind?

Alina's chest tightened as she turned the locket over in her palm. It was the one thing that didn't belong here, the one thing that shouldn't have been left behind. Her mother's locket wasn't something her father would part with.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified, a creeping dread that something terrible had happened.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the locket as though it could somehow explain everything. Her mind spun with questions, but none of them made sense. Why was her father gone? Where was he? Why leave the locket?

A sound came from the hallway, a soft thud followed by a faint creak of the door.

Footsteps.

Alina's pulse spiked. Her breath caught in her throat, and instinctively, her body tensed. She was certain someone was there, just beyond the corner.

Papa?

She took a cautious step toward the hallway, her feet feeling like lead. The air seemed to grow heavier around her, thick with an unfamiliar tension that settled into her bones.

"Papa?" she whispered again, her voice barely above a breath.

Nothing.

Then, a door creaked. A faint scraping sound. It came from the direction of her father's study, a place she had only entered on rare occasions. Alina's heartbeat quickened, her fingers curling around the locket in her hand. She wasn't sure why, but the study felt like the last place she should go. Still, her feet moved toward it, drawn by a force she couldn't explain.

The study door was slightly ajar, and as she pushed it open, a rush of cold air hit her. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the desk lamp. The desk, her father's prized possession, sat untouched in the corner. But it was the drawer that caught her eye-the one that was half-open, the contents spilling out.

Alina's breath hitched. Papers, files-nothing was where it should have been. The drawer was emptied, and nothing seemed to make sense. This wasn't just an absence of her father; this was something worse.

What happened here?

The door to the study slammed shut behind her with a jolt, making her jump. She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest.

Footsteps. Closer this time.

Her eyes darted toward the hallway again. Someone was in the apartment with her. Someone she hadn't heard come in. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her hands trembling. There was no time to think. No time to wonder. Only time to act.

She turned to leave, her feet moving on their own. But before she could reach the front door, she heard it again-footsteps, this time more deliberate. Closer. Too close.

Her heart raced as she made a quick turn into the kitchen. The door to her father's office was already in her line of sight, her mind screaming for her to run, to escape, but her body froze.

Suddenly, the door behind her opened.

"Alina."

The voice was cold, unfamiliar. Her stomach dropped as a man's hand clamped over her mouth, the sharp smell of antiseptic filling her nostrils. She tried to scream, but it was muffled by the man's hand.

The next thing she knew, something cold and hard hit the back of her head.

Darkness.