Sold to the Possessive Billionaire in a Suit

Sophia Rose's POV

"Sophia, you're getting married," my dad's resolute voice replays in my head, like a gnawing, splitting headache. It's been over twenty-four hours since I found out; over twenty-four hours since I last slept.

My breath deep and shaky, I sit in my bright closet, quickly rolling a slip dress with trembling hands. My blurred gaze flicks to the white sleeping pills littering the closet floor. They've been there since midnight, and I've been staring at them for hours. In the end, I chose the suitcase instead.

I dump the rolled dress in it and grab the next cloth, folding faster than I can take two breaths.

After spending five and a half years in London earning two degrees, I returned last month and have been trying to map out a one-year plan for my life, only to find out that I'm just a bargaining chip for my father's failing company.

"I've been the perfect daughter..." I choke, hurriedly stuffing my suitcase as tears leak out of my eyes. "Always saying yes to all their demands... always doing as I'm told... they won't see this coming."

They chose my school, chose my degrees, chose where I lived in London, chose when I came home, chose what I should do. Monitor my movements. Now, they're choosing who and when I marry.

I've always wondered how much worse it could get – my parents' control over me. My greatest mistake is that I waited to find out. Now 23, and the worst has happened. No usual set-up dates, no permission from me, just a decision. I should have known it would come to this.

All I've ever wanted is freedom to live a life, to live for myself, to find out what I like and want to do. But we're in debt up to our eyeballs; it's swallowing everything; we've got a 'reputation' to maintain as the dignified Rose family, and somehow, selling me off – their only daughter – to a business mogul whose name they've withheld from me and who's going to wipe clean our debts is the perfect solution to this family crisis.

He'll be here in an hour, and I'm supposed to be getting dressed up for him while my parents prepare for his arrival downstairs. But I won't be here. I can't.

"Dad? Dad! DADDY?! Please... I don't want to get married." The memory of me pleading, stumbling on the floor of my bedroom as I went after my dad last night, flashes in my head. Crying desperately, I'd sunk to my knees, but he pulled me right up, stroked my hair, and said with remorse in his eyes, "I'm doing this for you, my love. I'm so sorry."

No. I'm sorry for not choosing myself all this time. Not anymore.

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

Done packing, I force my suitcase shut and rise with it.

My phone buzzes on a shelf. I snatch it up, my thumb flying across the screen. It's my best friend, who lives in London.

Layla: {Sure about this?}

Me: {Yes.}

Since I have no close friends in New York, Layla connected me to a friend of hers, who's supposed to pick me up in twenty minutes. His text comes in.

Layla's Friend: {Almost at your place}

Me: {Great.}

I step into my shoes and drag my suitcase out of my closet. Then I rush to my vanity, where my purse full of cash waits, and I wear it across my shoulder. I pick up my passport, throw it into my purse, throw my phone in, too, and without looking back, march toward my door.

Knock. Knock.

I freeze, tightening my grip around my suitcase's handle.

"My love?" My dad's voice echoes behind the door. "Can I come in for a bit? I want to talk with you..."

A ball solidifies in my throat. Fighting back tears, I stare at the doorknob, knowing I'm trapped for life the minute he walks in.

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

"Dad?" I croak.

"My love,"

With a trembling breath, I lie, "I'll... I'll come to your study in twenty minutes. I have to get dressed for my fiancé's arrival."

He's quiet for a moment, then he says, "I'll be waiting."

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

As soon as I hear him leave, my body crumbles. I palm my eyes. The tears spill out uncontrollably.

He promised.

After the last one, he promised never to set me up with any man again, yet he's done this. I'll always love my dad. But I have to pick myself. I have to.

Three minutes later, I wipe my tears, pull my suitcase, 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.

Everyone is distracted and busy downstairs, so no one sees me.

Now outside, I take my phone out.

There's a text from Layla's Friend: {I'm at the back wall by the woods.}

Me: {Look for the tall beech tree tipping over the high walls. That's where I'm jumping.}

Layla's Friend: {All right. Can see the tree from here. Stay safe}

I zip my phone in my purse and move.

Quickly, I step out of my shoes and throw them over the wall. Then I pick up my suitcase and stagger, yet I manage to drag it up two sturdy branches, my muscles straining against the awkward weight.

Now, it sits precariously on my shoulder as I gasp for air, trying to figure out how to send it over the ledge without losing my footing. I tremble, pushing with all my might.

My foot slips on a wet patch of bark.

My breath catches. I lunge forward, gripping the tree trunk as the suitcase plummets backward. It hits the ground on my side of the wall with a splintering crack. The zippers burst, and I watch my dresses, shoes, and jewelry pour out onto the dirt.

I'm going to be sick.

"I'm here." A deep voice cuts through the mess, coming from the other side of the wall.

I shut my eyes tight for a second. Sweat drips down my skin as if I've been in an oven. I have to leave with nothing.

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

My phone starts to vibrate violently in my purse, buzzing against my ribs. It has to be my mom calling. I know it. They're looking for me already.

Desperate, I abandon my ruined suitcase, haul myself up the remaining branches, and scramble onto the top of the brick wall. Pain radiates from my core. Rough stones scrape against my bare thighs and arms. I breathe shakily. But there's no going back. Carefully, I peer down at him in the dark, kneeling and gripping the ledge.

"Y-you have to catch me." My voice cracks as a painful lump forms in my throat-a clear realization that I want to live.

"Trust me."

Do I have a choice?

I swing my legs over the brick ledge. My heart hammers against my ribs. I shut my eyes tight, let go of the stonewall, and release myself into the empty air, onto him.

My insides suspend.

The wind engulfs me for one terrifying second.

The impact is heavy.

He catches me, absorbing my weight with effortless strength. He doesn't stumble or move a foot. I'm squashed flush against his chest, my hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his clothes.

I'm panting, shaking uncontrollably in his grip. My hair is in my face. Yet my eyes flick open to thank Layla's friend.

The words dissolve in my throat.

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

My pulse slams. Fear paralyzes every muscle in my body as I stare into sharp, familiar dark eyes.

This is not Layla's friend. I can tell instantly because I know this man.

"A-Alexander?" I gasp.

"Hello, Sophia."

My breath seizes.

"Escaping, I see..." he murmurs, brushing my tangled 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 unreadable, like an almost predatory amusement. It's all the answer I need.

The man I'm to marry is Alexander Thorne? This lethally beautiful, seducing billionaire, who's spent the past months haunting my quietest thoughts?

An engine roars a short distance away. My eyes snap over his shoulder, catching the taillights of a black jeep reversing. Layla's friend.

My escape vehicle!

Alexander pokes my rib.

My body jerks in reaction, sending my hands flat on his broad shoulders. He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off of, then returns them to mine. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Put me down."

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

The jeep speeds off in this moment, leaving me on the quiet street with a man far too 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..."

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

His hold suddenly tightens around my frame. My body locks, my chest pressing too close for comfort.

Dark eyes hold my gaze. And instantly, my skin remembers the first and last time we were this close – New Year's Eve. The celebratory music. The gorgeous snow. The sly weight of his palm sliding against my bare skin. It was the second time I met him.

"Breathe, Sophia," he says in my face and resumes walking.

My face hardens. I release a shaky breath, and it hits me hard – there's no more escaping.

I turn my head to see a man in a crisp dark suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class. When we get to the car, Alexander carefully slides me onto the leather seat, my legs hanging out. He doesn't step back. He turns to the other man, who hands him something from the pavement. My shoes.

"Running away in heels? How brilliant." He mocks, tossing my shoes onto the floorboards of the car. I glance at them, then turn to see Alexander staring down at my bare feet. They're messy, white manicured nails stained brown with backyard dirt.

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, moving closer to occupy the entire doorway, eyeing my exposed thighs 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.

Before I can pull down my torn skirt, his thumb brushes a fresh, bleeding scratch on my thigh. Wincing, I move a hand toward him.

"You hurt yourself." His jaw clenches as he looks at me.

Something vibrates between us. He withdraws his hand and steps back, pulling his phone out of his breast pocket.

"It's your father calling me."

I stare at his screen when he turns it to me. At the same time, my phone starts to vibrate behind me. I reach for my purse, pull it around, and take my phone out.

My mom is calling, too.

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 guiding my legs inside.

I blink in confusion.

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

Oh, great.

His chauffeur tracks toward the car.

Alexander reaches for my seat belt. I fall back on the seat as he buckles me in, then he shuts the door.

I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds it. In four seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his expensive scent, overpowering.

The door shuts, and the driver takes the wheel. The powerful engine roars to life.

Alexander turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID: Love Of My Life

"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."

***

We've been driving in suffocating silence 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 of all the men in New York, the man my parents found to sell me off to is none other than the CEO of Thorne Electronics – a multibillion-dollar company. He's the first man ever to seduce me. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I'd expected.

The dome lights come on, casting a warm glow over the luxurious leather interior. He turns fully toward me, closing the distance between us.

I draw back slightly.

When he drops his gaze to my exposed thighs, I can only clench 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, his dark hair sleeked back and glossy.

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

I pinch the hem of my dirty skirt, pulling at it and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants, but my head was all over the place instead of thinking through my outfit.

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

Monkey?

"Why did you let me jump?" I retort in defense. "You could have stopped me and 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 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 breath catches.

His phone vibrates, 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.

"I'm afraid there's been a collision," Alexander lies smoothly to my dad, staring directly into my eyes. "I might not make it for dinner."

Sophia's POV

"Your daughter's run away?" Alexander utters as if it's news to him. He takes the phone off his ear, taps the screen, and switches to loudspeaker.

"Sophia's never acted out like this," my dad's frantic voice echoes. "She's just... she's a little sensitive..."

My heart shatters.

"The news must have left her shocked," Alexander says calmly, dark eyes locked onto mine. "I'll have my security team look for her, and personally bring her home to you... With the merger underway, we wouldn't want the media to get a wind of this."

"You're right, Son."

Unwelcome, hot 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 between us. "Why would you want to get off here?"

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

"Just let me out of the car. I don't want to-"

"Sophia?"

I blink.

A crisp metallic flick slices cleanly through the car, followed by the sharp hiss of flames rising from a glossy, silver Cartier lighter. The flames illuminate the sharp angles of his jaw as he torches the bottom of a dark... cigar?!

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

With a click, the lid snaps shut. And the fire disappears.

He puts the cigar between his lips and takes a slow, deliberate drag, the cherry glowing a fierce amber, before placing it into a crystal ashtray in front. Smoke floats out of his mouth without warning, traveling to my nostrils.

My lungs threaten a cough, but I stay frozen.

"You never called," he says softly and meets my gaze, smoke still curling between us, rich and heavy with the scent of tobacco and cedar. "Why? Forgot about me?"

I can't find my voice. I watch him push the console back into the seat, lean close, and reach down. My eyes follow his hand.

And with another sharp click, he unbuckles my seat belt. It retracts.

Before I can recoil, his fingers wrap around my wrist.

"What are you-"

With one swift, unyielding tug, he pulls me across the seat until my body meets his.

My body stiffens with a gasp.

I lift my eyes to him, but he leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my left ear before sliding to my lobe. And he whispers, "I haven't stopped thinking about you since New Year's Eve..."

A shiver races down my spine, forcing a sluggish blink out of me.

He releases my wrist, and his cool fingers slowly slide over the hem of my torn skirt, resting against my bare knee.

I grip the seat, my eyes flickering to his chauffeur before dropping to his right hand on my thigh.

"Alexander...?" I choke, softly pushing his hand away – my attempt at resisting – only for his palm to return, the heavy weight sending a traitorous wave of warmth pooling in my stomach.

He smooths his palm over my knee, staring into my eyes with an unsettling calmness – a knowing that I will cave just like I did in that hall on New Year's Eve. He keeps brushing my knee, waiting.

My body betrays my resistance, turning toward him.

Slowly, his hand slips under to hold my thigh. His thumb starts to caress, fingers rubbing along my skin.

My eyes drift shut with a breathy sigh. And just like that, my forehead drops against his shoulder as I indulge. 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 find him watching me with a terrifying intensity.

"Not even a text?" He murmurs, his thumb still tracing a slow, wicked circle on my skin. "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 the last six months, I could only stare at his contact. How can I tell him his friend warned me to stay away?

My heart flutters as I stare into his eyes, mesmerized and watching him put the cigar between his lips again. He turns away to exhale a stream of smoke before shifting his eyes back to mine.

"Did Dimitri tell you to stay away from me?"

My sudden stiffness gives him his answer.

He stays quiet, softly caressing my thigh, moving his palm higher. Before control can bleed completely out of me, I take his hand and slide it off my skin.

If I let this continue, I know I won't be able to say no next time.

"And you listened to him?" he asks, closing his palm over my hands.

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

"He's going to be pretty upset when he hears the news." He mutters and rolls down the window.

Grateful for the fresh air, I sigh. "What news?"

"You and I are getting married in October... The press release goes out next week."

What?!

From running away to this? Trapped with no way out.

The silence continues as he keeps smoking.

Why did my parents hide his identity from me? Why me?

Before my head can process timelines and answers, the car comes to a smooth halt.

I run a shaky hand over my mouth, shifting away to look out my window. I stare at a sleek skyscraper and can barely see the top from inside the car.

Alexander slowly weaves his fingers through mine. "Let's go up. I live in the penthouse."

***

My reflection on the elevator panel makes my stomach drop – mud-stained clothes, torn skirt, feral hair. I look like something from the woods he shouldn't have brought home, yet his grip on my hand never loosens as we fly up several floors.

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 easily undoes me without trying hard.

The elevator chimes. And I take a deep breath.

Sixty-nine floors above the ground. Several miles away from all that's familiar and safe. It takes us 10 seconds to reach a large door that he unlocks with a finger scan. It clicks open, we enter, and the door slams shut.

I take a step into a massive, minimalist foyer.

"No shoes in the house." Alexander squeezes my hand to stop me and drops to a knee, 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 silk, oversized slippers. He tucks my shoes in. When he straightens up, his commanding 6'3 frame completely towers over my 5'4 stature; I have to take a step back. He steps out of his shoes into another pair of black slides, holds my hand again, and leads me into the main living space.

He flips a switch, and the penthouse is flooded with lights. All glass and steel. Polished concrete. So much space and perfection.

"I'll give you a house tour later." He leaves no room for admiration, pulling me down a long, dimly lit hallway. "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, and he pushes open a heavy oak door and turns on the light. It's a lavish bedroom.

My chest tightens on instinct.

He takes a step in. But I plant my feet solid, halting him at the threshold. He looks over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Is this... is this your bedroom?"

He turns fully, closing the distance between us until I'm forced to look up into his alluring eyes. "Is that where you wanna go? My bedroom?"

Where I wanna go?

"Don't worry," he murmurs, raising a hand, his knuckles gently grazing my cheekbone. "We'll spend the night there together."

What?

He pulls me into the room and, with a wicked smirk flashing on his face, he takes the strap of my purse from my shoulder. "I'll hold on to this."