SOLD TO THE BILLIONAIRE

"Sit down, Lyra."

My father's command sends a shiver down my spine, and I freeze at the door. At first, my feet are immobile. His tone causes my stomach to twist and churn. With a gentle click that seems louder than it should be, the door behind me closes as I finally enter the study.

"What's wrong, Dad?" With a smaller-than-intended voice, I ask. Speaking feels weird, almost like I'm trying to wake up from an unending nightmare. His normally tidy clothing is a little rumpled, and his face is dull as if he had been up for hours worried. I already know that this will not be a typical chat.

He says it again, "Sit," in a softer but still tense voice.

My heart hammering against my ribs, I sink into the chair across from him. The only sound in the room is the faint ticking of a clock in the corner. My father's eyes don't look as they usually do when he looks at me. The eyes of the powerful man who always had things under control are hazy and far away. Something has changed.

I take a deep breath. Tell me, Dad, please. What is happening?

With a hand stroking his graying hair, he exhales deeply. His eyes move to the papers in front of him, which are strewn all over his desk like fragments of a broken puzzle. He lifts one, smoothes it out, and then turns it toward me, his hands shaking a little.

I look at the page, attempting to interpret the lines and numbers that I don't comprehend. But it makes no difference. His expression says it all.

"We're done, Lyra." His words pierce me like a hefty stone, and his voice is gruff. "The company is in ruins." Everything is gone. He seems to be seeking strength before continuing, as he leans back in his chair and briefly closes his eyes. We are overwhelmed by all of the bills, investments, and loans. There is no escape.

I look at him, speechless. My thoughts racing, and my throat tightens. I want to scream, but I can't make any noise. This is not logical.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" I attempt, speaking in a barely audible whisper, in the hopes that he will laugh and tell me it's all a horrible joke. However, his expression remains unchanged.

His eyes do not touch me as he whispers, "I wish I were." However, we have no other choices. Lyra, I've tried everything. There is currently only one option available.

Although I'm not sure what he means, I can tell by the icy fear that it's not anything I want to hear.

"What... what option?" I mumble, nearly terrified of the response.

His eyes feel heavy as he looks at me. "You must wed Kensington Creed."

I felt like I was slapped across the face by the words. I blink, finding it difficult to process what he just stated. "What?" I stutter. "Creed in Kensington? Do you wish for me to wed him?

I can't even visualize his face; all I can think of are the rumors and stories that seem too fantastical to be real. The man's name is all over, but it's always in whispers and connected to things I'd rather not consider. Rich. strong. Risky.

My father adds in a flat, resigned voice, "Lyra, this is not a request." "He alone is capable of saving us."

My hands became icy. I struggle to maintain a steady voice. But why him? Kensington Creed: Why?

My father continues in a desperate tone, "Because he can erase our debts with a single signature." He is wealthy, powerful, and well-connected. Everything is wiped clean if you marry him. Our family will live. You will, too.

My chest begins to churn with nausea. Perhaps my father's statements make too much sense, or they don't make sense at all. It's not a fairy tale here. This isn't some idealized notion of a big gesture. This is a last-ditch appeal from a man who has exhausted all other possibilities.

My voice is shaking now as I plead, "But I don't even know him." "Aside from what people say about him, I don't know anything."

His hands are on the desk as he leans forward. "Lyra, you don't have to know him. All you have to do is wed him. It's a commercial agreement. Not much more.

My heart is pounding as I shake my head. "This is not something I can do. I can't get married to a stranger. Dad, it's not just about me. This is my life. You want me to discard everything.

"Are you okay with us losing everything?" He loses it. Would you like to see me and your mother on the streets? Is it your preference?

I wince as though he had smacked me. "Not," I mumble, my eyes burning. That is not what I desire. That was never what I wanted.

My thoughts are racing. I have no idea what to do. I feel like screaming and telling him that this is too much. However, his words weigh heavily on my chest. I can't bear the weight of the implications if I say no.

"Please, Lyra," my father pleads, his voice lower now. "I've given you everything. You have no idea how much is at stake here. This can only be fixed by you. Everything we've achieved and everything we've worked for will come crashing down if you don't do this.

I can see the intense fear that has taken hold of him in his eyes. He is afraid. But I'm also afraid. I was afraid of dying and of what would happen to me and my future if I married Kensington Creed.

The words nearly escape my lips as I mutter, "I... I can't just marry him."

"You have no other option," he says. "Lyra, this is it. There is nothing else we can do.

The room is filled with dense, oppressive quiet. I am aware of the strain my father is putting on me and the weight of his expectations. The duty to protect our family. However, how can I? For a man I don't even know, how can I give up everything I am?

My father's voice is raw as he continues, "I know it's hard." However, there is no other option. It's all over if you don't marry him.

With trembling legs, I get to my feet. With my voice breaking, I mumble, "I don't know what to do."

With a gentle creak, the door behind me opens. I look around, thinking I'll see my mom when a man enters the room. Broad-shouldered and tall, with dark, piercing eyes that instantly meet mine. My throat tightens with every breath.

Kensington Street.

His presence fills the room as he stands there. He never takes his eyes off me. My heart beats faster.

"I think we need to talk, Lyra," he adds in a silky, low voice.

My heartbeat continues to pound in my chest as I stand motionless in the doorway. Kensington Creed. My father just gave me the man to save everything. And now he's here, directly in front of me.

I can't breathe for a second as his presence permeates the space. He has sharp features that seem to come from someone's nightmare or dream, and he's tall-almost too tall. He looks much more powerful because his dark outfit fits him wonderfully. He looks at me intently, as though I'm the only object in the space. Even so, it seems like he's far away.

Uncertain of what to do, I stand there. My heart was pounding in my ears, my mind racing. There is a long, uncomfortable silence. Whatever I want to say, I can't get the words out of my throat.

My father breaks the tension by saying, "Lyra." Kensington Creed is this. This is Lyra, my daughter, Kensington.

Kensington's gaze briefly shifts to my father before coming back to me. There is something unreadable and icy about his look, even though his lips don't quite twist into a smile. I have to keep my head up even when it makes my skin crawl.

Despite my best efforts to remain composed, my voice trembles a little as I add, "Nice to meet you."

His eyes move over me, calculating and keen. His eyes are icy and devoid of warmth. Despite my desire to turn away, I make myself look him in the eye.

At last, Kensington replies in a low, even growling voice, "You're not what I expected."

I blink, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

He takes a while to respond. Rather, he advances a step, and I naturally retreat a little. His eyes narrow as he examines me with a level of intensity that exposes me. Uncomfortable. It's as if he can see right through me.

He pauses, obviously searching for the proper word, before continuing, "I thought you would be..." "Much like your dad."

"What is the intended meaning of that?" Before I can stop myself, I lose my temper.

He merely looks at me for a moment, his face unreadable. The corner of his mouth then curls into a slight grin.

He mockingly remarks, "I didn't expect you to be so... spirited," but there's a certain emptiness in his gaze that makes me shudder.

I want to retaliate, to say something incisive, but my father's voice breaks the tension with its firmness and softness.

He says, "Enough, you two." "Business is the reason we are here. Please just sit down, Kensington and Lyra.

I nod rigidly as we both turn to face my father, still feeling the pressure of Kensington's stare. I approach the chair next to the desk and take a seat, gripping the edge of the chair with my fingers. Kensington takes the seat across from me and does the same. Every motion he makes is deliberate and exact, giving the impression that he is constantly in control.

With his hands folded on the desk and a strained voice, my father adds, "I assume you know why we're here." The destiny of Lyra rests on this deal. We hope you will-

"Yes, save your family," Kensington interrupts in a firm tone. "I have heard the tale."

With each syllable, I sense the tension between us getting stronger. I never imagined that his eyes could be so frigid. He acts as though I'm just another part of the arrangement and that he doesn't even see me.

With a sharp tone, he asks, "Do you mind if we skip the formalities?" "We should get right to the subject. Although I'm here to help you with your money issues, I won't do it for free.

My father responds, "Of course," almost too hastily. I watch as his hands shake and then he makes them remain motionless. "We comprehend. We are prepared to talk about the terms.

I make an effort to ignore the growing panic in my chest. I know Kensington Creed isn't a man who contributes without receiving something in return since I've heard enough stories about him. I take another look at him, but I can't read his face. The man I pictured is nowhere to be seen. All of the tales and stories about him being cold and cruel are accurate. However, beneath the surface is something more, something darker.

"I'll make this easy," Kensington adds in a calm tone. "I'll settle your loans. I'll go over everything. However, I have one expectation in return.

My heart beats faster. I have to ask even though I don't want to.

"What do you expect, exactly?" Even if the words seem to be made of lead, I manage to whisper.

Kensington keeps his gaze fixed on me as he leans forward a little. "Your marriage hand."

Sharp and decisive, the words linger in the air. I blink, processing them in my thoughts. My astonishment is broken by my father's words.

"Of course," he replies in a tight but relieved tone. That's what we decided. Lyra, it's the only option.

I am unable to look at my dad. He doesn't sound like the man I know when he speaks. The man who consistently assured me that my happiness came first and who always protected me. His eyes are now, however, frantic. He has shaken hands. He is prepared to make this sacrifice. My life.

Kensington looks at me, then at my father, and back to me. He looks at me like I'm a riddle he's trying to solve, as though he enjoys the stillness.

"You're quiet," he remarks in a tone that borders on insulting. "What's wrong? I believed that this was your only option.

I swallow hard, attempting to regain my composure. It's difficult to keep my fury in check. I'd rather not be here. I do not wish to participate in this transaction. However, I know in my heart that my father is correct. There's no escape. Not until I give up this thing.

I mumble, barely raising my voice above a whisper, "I didn't think it would be like this."

Kensington looks at me with a tilt of his head. "So, how did you anticipate it to be?"

I want to yell and shout that this is unfair. That I'm not a negotiating chip for him. Instead, I feel like I'm regressing, the decision's weight weighing more heavily on me every second.

"I'm not sure," I continue, my voice trailing off. "I assumed that you may be different. However, you are no different from everybody else.

At first, he doesn't respond, and for a brief minute, I believe he won't say anything. However, he leans forward as I'm about to say something else. I'm startled by the abrupt movement, but what makes me gasp is the expression in his eyes.

His voice is low and deadly quiet as he says, "Lyra, I'm not like everyone else." And you're not either. The luxury of pretending is no longer available to you.

His form towers over me as he gets to his feet, sending a shiver down my spine. I feel stuck, and my heart is pounding.

He says, "I'm giving you a choice." But hurry up. The offer is not always on the table.

As I attempt to calm myself, my hands shake. I'm at a loss for words. I have no idea what to do. I can only watch as his footsteps reverberate in the quiet as he approaches the door.

Then he looks back at me, his eyes blazing into mine, right before he leaves.

His voice is colder than ever when he replies, "Think carefully, Lyra." "Everything will be defined by your choice."

He closes the door behind him, leaving me by myself with my heart in pieces and my mind racing.

Staring out the window, I sit in my room. As the sun sets below the horizon, orange and pink streaks adorn the sky. However, I fail to see its beauty. I can't stop thinking about anything Kensington said earlier.

* "Lyra, think carefully. Everything will be defined by your decision.*

I'm haunted by the words. They hover over my mind like a thundercloud, obscuring all potential outcomes. I feel as though a weight is pressing down on my chest, immobilizing me.

The silence is broken by a gentle knock.

I say, "Come in," in a hardly audible voice.

My father enters through the creaking door. He has a more aged face than I've ever seen. At first, he just stands there and looks at me with sorrowful and guilty eyes without saying anything. At last, he takes a seat on the bed's edge.

He says, "Lyra," in a shaky voice. "I am aware that this is unfair."

Even I find the sound strange, so I chuckle bitterly. "Just? Do you believe that this is about fairness when you're asking me to marry a stranger who treats me like a business deal?

I momentarily repent my scathing remarks as he winces. However, the regret wanes as I recall Kensington's words piercing me and the despair in his eyes.

"I didn't want this," he murmurs. "This is not what I ever wanted for you. But we have no other choice, Lyra. Everything has been gobbled up by the debts. The business and the property are both in a precarious situation.

I stare at him in hopes of finding some assurance, any clue that this isn't true, that there's another option. But I just see failure. It's like he's already given up, and committed himself to the belief that Kensington Creed is our only hope.

"And you think this will fix everything?" My voice rising, I ask. Selling me out as a negotiating chip of some sort? Is that the answer?

He rubs a hand through his graying hair and his shoulders slump. "Lyra, it's not like that. You're not-

"So, what is it like?" I interrupted him, my voice shaking with grief and rage. "Because it feels exactly like that."

The silence that follows is deafening. My father glances down at his hands, which are twitching uneasily. My rage simply intensifies when he fails to respond.

His voice is hardly audible above a whisper as he finally says, "I don't know what else to do." "I apologize, Lyra. I'm so sorry.

I turn away, unable to look at him anymore. His apology weighs down on me like a tidal wave, making the room feel oppressive. I want to yell, to weep, to insist that he go in a different direction. But I know in my heart that there isn't. Kensington was correct-there is no other option.

With my father long gone and the sky outside now dark and starry, I sit in silence for hours on end. It feels as though the air has been forced out of the room. One thing keeps coming up in my thoughts: my family. My dad. Everything he has created and fought for. Everything is in jeopardy. And it can only be saved by me.

But at what price?

My stomach turns at the prospect, but I know the solution. We lose everything if I don't do this. And I lose myself if I do.

A knock startles me out of my thoughts. This time, it's heavier and more intentional. I know who it is before I even respond.

"Come in," I say, preparing myself.

The door swings open, and there he is-Kensington Creed. His presence fills the room instantaneously, and I feel my pulse quicken. He goes inside, closing the door behind him, his gaze piercing and unrelenting.

"Have you made your decision?" His voice is as sharp and icy as ever when he demands.

My throat is dry as I swallow hard. "Is there anything I can do?"

He responds, "There's always a choice," yet it's obvious from his tone that this is not the case.

My legs are unsteady yet sturdy enough to support me as I rise. "All right. I will. I'll wed you.

His face remains unchanged. No comfort, no contentment. The same icy, disinterested expression that makes my skin crawl.

"Good," he murmurs plaintively. "Tomorrow, we will finalize the arrangements."

My hands are balled into fists at my sides as I glare at him. "Is that all you have to say? Just 'good'? Do you even give a damn about what this means to me?

His massive frame casts a shadow over me as he approaches. "Lyra, caring doesn't alter the truth. This is a commercial agreement. Not much more.

I take a step back as his words hit me like a slap, my chest heaving with repressed rage. I whisper, "You're a monster," and before I can stop myself, the words flow out.

Something, almost human, flickers in his eyes for a minute. However, it vanished as swiftly as it appeared, to be replaced by the same icy void.

He says in a quiet voice, "Perhaps." "But when your family still has a place to live, you'll thank me."

I don't answer. I am unable to. I feel the weight of his words weighing me down like a heavy blanket. He stops just before he departs, turns, and walks toward the door.

"One last thing, Lyra," he says without looking back. "Don't think for a second that you'll change me. This is what it is. Not much more.

And with that, he's gone, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence once again. My knees weaken, and I sink into the bed, my head in my hands. The truth of what I've just consented to comes over me like a tidal wave, and I feel the tears start to pour.

But even as I cry, a small voice in the back of my mind murmurs something I can't ignore: *You're not just rescuing your family. You're stepping into the lion's den.*

And the lion is already circling.