Sold to the Possessive Billionaire in a Suit

Sophia Rose's POV

I only have two choices: kill myself or run away.

White pills litter the floor of my closet-a choice I couldn't make. So, I'm running. I step over the pills, suitcase in hand.

My parents have arranged for me to be married off to a rich man. This is the fifth arrangement. But this time, there's no longer a way out.

In an hour, I'll be officially introduced to him. And my fate will be sealed forever.

My hands tremble as I stuff my suitcase.

I blink back tears, rushing to leave this privileged yet caged life for good.

They won't see it coming; I've been the perfect daughter, always saying yes to all their demands. The exemplary scholar with fine grades, the daddy's girl who comes home from London whenever she's needed.

I finally returned home with a resolve to figure out what I want to do with myself. That hasn't happened at all. It's been: 'Sophia, do this, not that.'

Endless rules, constant scripts to follow.

The latest script is: "Sophia, you're getting married."

I was nineteen the first time I heard these words. Now twenty-three, and I'm still trapped.

My eyes flick to my jewelry box. Quickly, I grab it and empty it onto my clothes.

Next, I grab some purses, shove them into my suitcase, and force it shut.

I step into my shoes and pull up my suitcase. The weight halts me for a second, but I drag it out of my closet.

My chest thumps rapidly. I've only disobeyed my parents a few times, but nothing comes close to what I'm about to do.

I rush to my vanity, where my purse full of cash waits. With shaky hands, I scoop all I can from the table and dump them into the purse before wearing it across my shoulder.

My phone buzzes on the bedside desk.

I grab it fast.

It's my best friend, who lives in London.

Layla: {Sure about this, Soph?}

I type my response without hesitation: {My second option is death, Lay. DO YOU WANT TO ATTEND MY FUNERAL??}

Me: {Tell me he's almost here.}

I twist my mouth, tapping my shoe against the ground as I await her reply.

Most of my close friends are in London or far away from New York. Layla has a friend here who's supposed to pick me up and help with my escape.

Layla: {You're not dying. He'll be at your house in 10}

Me: {Thanks}

I throw my phone into my purse, grab the handle of my suitcase, and pull with purpose.

There's a sudden knock on my door.

My breath stops. I freeze, eyes locked on the door.

The knock comes again.

"My love?" My dad's voice echoes.

I swallow hard, chest tightening immediately.

My eyes fall to the doorknob, and I can only hope I locked my door after he and my mom left hours ago-when they broke the bad news of my sell-off to me.

He knocks again, softly. "Sophia? Are you there, my love?"

Tears sting my eyes. I bite my bottom lip when it starts to quiver, fist tightening around the suitcase handle.

"I'll come down in thirty minutes." I lie, putting my hand over my eyes.

"I know you're mad at me, but would you let your dad in for a minute? So, we can talk..."

I stare at my suitcase, knowing I'm trapped for life the minute he walks in.

"Dad?"

"My love?"

My breath trembles.

"I'll... I'll come to your study. I have to get dressed for my fiancé's arrival."

He's quiet.

I sniffle.

"I'll be waiting."

"Mm," I mumble loud enough, choking in pain.

Seconds pass as I remain in the same spot, eyes welling up, and waiting for him to leave.

I hear him leave finally, and my heart crumbles. The tears spill out now; I don't hold them back.

He said he was truly sorry. He said he was doing it for me. But he also promised the fourth was the last one, yet he betrayed me.

His company has gone bankrupt, and they're giving me away to a stranger to save it. I'm no savior; I'm just a girl who wants a life of her own.

Buzzing with determination, I flick my tears and resume my escape. I turn the doorknob, opening the door slightly to peek.

Noise from downstairs floats to my ears. I inhale the feast my mom and the cooks are preparing for the heartless fool coming to propose.

The coast is clear.

Quietly, I pull my suitcase with me and slip out of my room.

My dad's study is downstairs.

But I wheel my suitcase across the hallway to his bedroom. There's a secret exit out of this mansion. Or cage. It leads to our backyard.

I push the wall in my father's closet; it opens to a dark passage. I move in, and the wall closes in on me.

My phone vibrates. I reach for it, about to turn on the flashlight, but my dad has texted.

LOML: {Your mom and I love you so dearly.}

My heart drops.

I halt, hesitating for a moment.

Tears slip down my cheeks. My chest caves painfully. But I'm picking myself. I have to.

I may not know what I want yet, but I know it's not this.

Shunning every voice in my head, I descend the murky stairs. I push the door and step outside, feeling the cool night air caress my face.

I keep walking, dragging my suitcase swiftly. It trails a path. I'll be gone before anyone discovers it.

When I get to the large beech tree in our backyard, I pause and unlock my phone. The tree is tall enough to be seen from outside the walls.

There's already a text from Layla's friend: {I just have to wait where the beech tree is, right?}

Me: {Yes. I'm gonna climb over the wall now. Are you here already?}

Layla's friend: {Okay. I can see the tree}

I turn off my flashlight, return my phone to my purse, then zip it shut.

Quickly, I step out of my shoes and throw them over the wall.

I pick up my suitcase. It almost sends me crashing to the floor, yet I manage to drag it up two sturdy branches.

Now, it sits on my shoulder, unsteady. I gasp for air as I think of how to send it over without falling off the tree.

A whimper slips out of my trembling lips. I push the suitcase with all my might, plastering myself against branches while clinging on for dear life.

The suitcase slips suddenly.

My breath catches. I grip the tree.

And in a second, it hits the ground hard. The edges splinter. It bursts open, pouring out clothes and jewelry.

A rush of nausea hits me.

I'm going to be sick.

My pulse rings in my head. I tremble on the tree, losing my mind.

I have to leave my suitcase behind.

"I'm here," A deep voice reaches my ears.

I shut my eyes tight, fighting a retch. My legs shake. Sweat drips down my skin as if I've been in an oven.

"Are you there?" Layla's friend speaks again.

My phone starts vibrating nonstop. My heart skips, goosebumps forming all over me. It has to be my mom calling. I know it.

I decide immediately, pulling my weight up the tree and onto the wall, climbing with desperation.

Pain radiates from my core. Something sharp scrapes against my thighs and arms. I breathe shakily. But there's no going back.

"Y-you have to catch me," I voice my fear as a painful lump forms in my throat. I guess I don't want to die after all.

"Trust me."

Do I have a choice?

I throw my legs over first.

My breath stutters. My chest pounds. I shut my eyes.

And in a minute, I let go of the wall, releasing myself onto Layla's friend.

The wind engulfs me as I drop.

And thud!

He catches me. With effortless strength. Squashed against him. And still standing firm without moving a foot.

I'm panting, shaking uncontrollably in his grip. My hair is in my face. Yet my eyes flick open to see who's caught me.

"Were you trying to run away from me?" He utters in my face, lips shifting into a smirk-a charming yet terrifying one.

My pulse slams. Fear paralyzes me as I stare into dark, familiar eyes.

He's not Layla's friend. I can tell instantly because I know this person.

"A-Alexander?" I gasp.

"Hello, Sophia,"

My breath seizes.

"Escaping, I see..." he murmurs, brushing hair from my face, "And here I was, looking forward to dinner with my bride."

Sophia's POV

"Y-your bride?" I stammer.

His eyes glint with something I can't name. It's all the answer I need.

My throat shuts.

The man I'm to marry is Alexander Thorne? This seducing, dark-haired billionaire?

An engine roars a short distance away.

My eyes flick over him to see a black jeep reversing. Layla's friend.

Oh my god!

Alexander pokes my rib.

My body jerks in reaction, sending my hands on his shoulders.

Dark eyes hold my gaze.

And instantly, memories from New Year's Eve flood my head-the second time I met him.

He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off from, then returns them to mine. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Put me down." I croak, surprisingly finding my voice.

"So, you can keep running?" He replies softly, as if I've hurt him. As if we mean anything to each other.

Layla's friend drives off in this moment, leaving me on the quiet street with a man far too beautiful and dangerous to be alone with.

Last year, on December 31st, I fell under his spell. The heat spreading through me now is proof that the spell hasn't worn off.

He starts to move. "Look at you, all sweaty and breathless-"

"Alexander, put me down." I grip his shoulder, wriggling.

His grip suddenly tightens around me.

My body locks, my chest pressing too close for comfort.

I stop breathing.

Cold eyes stare into my soul, unflinching. And it hits me hard-there's no more escaping.

"You can breathe..." he says in my face and resumes walking.

My face hardens. I release my breath, and dread solidifies in its place.

I turn my head to see a man in a suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

When we get to the car, Alexander carefully drops me on the rear seat, legs out.

My hands tremble.

The other man hands him something. My shoes.

"Running away in heels? How brilliant." He mocks, tossing my shoes into the car.

I glance at it and catch a glimpse of my bare feet. Dirty. White manicured nails stained brown.

This can't be my end.

Think, Sophia. But I draw a blank.

"Give us some privacy, Garvey," he instructs, taking the door from the man. He pushes it wide, then stands between my legs while dusting off his sleek dark suit.

I fold my lips, eyes locked onto him, head wondering when my parents will come out to catch me.

He touches my thigh all of a sudden. I wince and move a hand toward him.

"You hurt yourself." He says, jaw clenching, eyes on me.

Something vibrates between us.

He withdraws his hand and steps back, then slips his phone out of his breast pocket.

"It's your father calling."

I stare at his screen, and my pulse sprints into chaos.

At the same time, my phone begins vibrating behind me. I reach for my purse and pull it around. I take my phone out fast.

My mom is calling, too.

My throat tightens, a sickening twist of frustration and defeat pools in my stomach.

I'm doomed if I walk into the house looking like this, caught after attempting to flee.

I lift my head, looking to him for help, suggestions, anything. I'd rather deal with him than go back inside to face my parents' wrath.

Alexander turns off the screen of his phone. He snatches my phone in a flash and locks the screen.

"Get your legs in, Soph," he mutters, gently pushing my legs inside.

I blink in confusion.

"Garvey?" He snaps his fingers. "We're leaving."

Oh, great.

His chauffeur tracks toward the car.

Alexander reaches for my seat belt. My breath stops as I fall back on the seat. He buckles me in and shuts the door.

I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds it.

My chest is pounding.

In four seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his expensive scent, overpowering.

The door shuts, and Garvey takes the wheel.

The engine roars to life.

He turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID.

"The love of your life?" He scoffs. "Who's that? Your boyfriend?"

"What?"

"Turn it off," his voice dips as he drops my phone in my lap. "That's the first thing you do when running away: Be unreachable."

***

The car is quiet. We've been driving for more than twenty minutes. My phone is turned off, and Alexander has ignored my dad's call twice now.

I've been replaying all that has happened tonight.

From running away-a well-planned escape-burning with determination and fury, to sitting inside the car of the very situation I was running from, looking stupid and injured.

The icing on top: I'm finding out that the man my parents set me up with is none other than Alexander Thorne. A tall, sharp-jawed, charismatic, and lethally beautiful man. The CEO of Thorne Electronics-a multibillion-dollar company.

He's also the first man ever to seduce me in the most unusual way. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I'd expected.

The dome lights come on.

He turns toward me, closing the distance.

I draw back.

When he drops his gaze to my exposed thighs, I can only curl my fingers.

"Let me see..." he says, gripping my left thigh gently.

A buzz of warmth trickles up my legs. My chest rises.

I watch him inspect my injured thighs with an attentiveness that shouldn't feel intimate, but does, dark hair sleeked back and glossy.

"You know you could have gotten yourself killed." He murmurs.

I pinch the ends of my dirty skirt, pulling and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants, but there was no time to think my outfit through.

"Jumping off walls and trees... you're a skilled monkey."

Monkey?

"Why'd you let me jump?" I reply in defense. "You could have said it was you at the wall. Instead, you-"

"You didn't recognize my voice." His eyes flick to mine.

I was too busy trying to stay alive. But I keep mute, staring at him.

My mind chooses this moment to replay how he touched me last year. Instant heat spreads to my cheeks.

"You've got some minor cuts and scratches..." he says casually.

Fighting the butterflies, I form a fist and ask, "Where are you taking me?"

He's silent for a moment, holding my gaze and breath captive as if deliberating his words.

Then he answers, "My home."

My brain fogs.

I hear his phone vibrate, and somehow I see the caller ID: Mr. Edward Rose-my dad.

He answers immediately.

"Good evening, Father-in-law."

Father–what?

My eyes pop, brain still buffering.

"There's been a collision. I might not make it for dinner."

Sophia's POV

"Your daughter's run away?" Alexander utters like it's news to him.

He takes the phone off his ear and switches to loudspeaker.

"Sophia's never acted out like this." I hear my dad's response. "She's just a little sensitive..."

My heart shatters.

"The news must have left her shocked," Alexander says calmly, looking into my eyes. "I'll have my people look for her. And personally bring her home to you... With the M&A underway, we wouldn't want the media to get a wind of this."

"You're right, Son."

Unwelcomed, tears sting my eyes.

My life is worth a business deal, but I'm just a little sensitive?

I turn to the window, tuning out the rest of the call.

I've had enough-enough of being tossed around like everyone's puppet.

As soon as the car becomes quiet, I turn to him, fist tightened. "Drop me off-"

The dome lights go off suddenly.

My eyes flick to it, then back to his still figure in the dark.

"Alexander, I want to get off."

"I don't live on the streets," he replies and moves, lowering the center console. "Why would you wanna get off here?"

It's dark, but my eyes follow his movement as he takes something out.

"Just drop me off. I don't want to-"

"Sophia?"

I blink.

Ping.

A sound slices cleanly through the car.

My pulse quickens.

And immediately, flames rise from a sleek, silver lighter.

"You never called." He says softly, torching the bottom of... a cigar!?

My lips part open, my eyes widening and moving from the flames to his face.

His jaw tightens, and he meets my gaze. "Why? Forgot about me?"

I'm speechless as I hold his gaze.

Slowly, he puts the cigar between his lips. Smoke floats out of his mouth without warning, traveling to my nostrils.

My lungs rebel, threatening a cough.

Click. The lid snaps shut. And the fire disappears.

He pushes the console back into the seat. My eyes follow his hand.

And-

My seat belt is unbuckled next.

Shoulders tensing, I watch it retract.

He grips my wrist.

I pull back. "Alexander, what are you-"

He pulls me close in one swift move.

A gasp leaves my lips. My heart staggers, my body stiffening as it meets his.

He leans close and touches my left ear with his lips.

I shrivel in fright.

"I didn't stop thinking of you..." He whispers, warm tobacco breath brushing my skin.

"Alexander...?"

Cold fingers suddenly crawl on my left thigh.

I hold the seat fast, my eyes flickering to his chauffeur before dropping to his left hand on my thigh.

Cigar between fingers, he smooths his palm over my knee, staring into my eyes with an unsettling calmness-a knowing that I would cave just like I did in that hall on New Year's Eve.

He keeps brushing my knee, waiting.

My chest ripples with heat. My body begins turning toward him, burning with something I don't recognize.

He lets go of my wrist, and slowly, his right hand slips under to hold my thigh. His thumb starts caressing, fingers rubbing.

Sparks sizzle up my leg. And just like that, I melt onto him, face on his arm, eyes closing and indulging.

Last year's encounter is re-enacted. But this time, there are not a hundred guests around, waiting to catch him. Or us.

"Soph?"

"Mm," I murmur, opening my eyes to look at him.

"Not even a text? I thought we formed a connection."

We did. I want to say, but my lips feel heavy.

I left for London again in February, and for months, I've wanted to contact him. But how can I tell him his friend warned me to stay away?

My heart pounds as I stare into his eyes, mesmerized and watching him put the cigar between his lips.

"Did Dimitri tell you to stay away from me?" He exhales a stream of smoke in my face.

I choke on my cough, swallowing it back, and I know he has his answer.

He stays quiet, softly caressing my thigh, sending wicked sensations coursing through me. And I can't help thinking: If I let this continue, I won't be able to say no next time.

"And you listened to him?" He interrupts my thought, stopping his hand on my knee.

I keep my eyes on him, having no words to say, even if Dimitri is like an older brother I always listen to.

"He's going to be pretty upset when he finds out." He mutters and lowers the window.

Grateful for the fresh air, I sigh, "Finds out what?"

He puts his cigar down and says, "Sophia, you and I are getting married in October... The announcement goes out next week."

My breath pauses. My head instantly buzzes with fear, unable to object, unable to think. It's suffocating.

From running away to getting seduced and still trapped?

The car comes to a smooth halt.

I smooth shaky fingers over my mouth, shifting away.

I look out the window to see a high-rise building. I can barely see the top from inside the car.

Alexander slowly takes my hand in his. "Let's go inside. I live in the penthouse."

***

My reflection in the elevator panel makes my stomach drop-mud-stained clothes, torn skirt, feral hair. I look like something he shouldn't have brought home, yet he holds my hand firmly as we ride up.

Other than visiting a sick college mate with five others, I've never been to a man's house. But Alexander isn't just any man. He dangerously undoes me without trying hard.

The elevator dings. And my heart starts to pound.

Sixty-nine floors above the ground. Several miles away from all that's familiar and safe.

It takes us ten seconds to get to a large door. One he unlocks with a finger scan. It clicks open, we enter, and the door slams shut.

I take a step into the foyer.

"No shoes in the house." He squeezes my hand to stop me and drops to a knee in a breath, taking out a pair of black slippers from a console table.

My lips press together, my fists tightening around the strap of my purse as I stare at his dark brown hair. The warm light reflects on it.

I slowly step out of my heels and slip my aching feet into furry, oversized slippers.

He tucks my shoes in and rises.

I back away as I'm caught off guard by how much he towers over my small 5'4 self.

Next, he steps out of his shoes into another black slippers, holds my hand again, and leads me inside.

He flips a switch. My senses flare as everywhere lights up.

All glass and steel. So much space and perfection; I immediately feel overwhelmed.

He leaves no room for admiration, pulling me with him. "I'll give you a house tour later. We need to get you out of those clothes first."

I lift my eyes to him, wondering what's going to happen to me tonight.

We turn two corners before he stops in front of a door. He pushes it open and turns on the light. It's a bedroom.

My chest tightens on instinct.

He takes a step in. But I pause, halting him. He looks over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"I-is this your bedroom?"

He turns back, closing the space between us.

"Is that where you wanna go? My bedroom?"

A quiver races through me.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, lifting a hand to touch my face. "We'll spend the night there together."

What?

He pulls me inside the room, taking my purse from me. "I'll hold on to this."