The Billionaires Who love The Forgotten Rose

Run. Just run. Before they lock you up again."

Sophia's lungs burned as she stumbled down the cracked sidewalk, her bare feet scraping against the rough concrete. Her thin summer dress stuck to her skin, damp with sweat and tears she refused to let fall. The taste of freedom was metallic fear, blood, and desperate hope all mixed on her tongue.

Behind her, the Stone mansion's iron gates loomed in her mind like prison bars. She could still hear Ava's fake sobs echoing in her ears "Daddy, she's trying to steal from us. She wants to take Grandma away. She doesn't love this family."

Lies.

Every word a lie.

But no one cared to see the truth.

Sophia clutched the small bag pressed to her chest - a single battered sketchbook, a half-empty wallet, her grandmother's silver hairpin. That was all she could take. Everything else her paintings, her name, her freedom was already theirs.

A shout carried through the warm California night. Car doors slammed shut somewhere up the street. John. He'd betrayed her too. He'd promised he loved her, promised they'd run away together. Instead, he told Ava everything.

"I thought it was just a misunderstanding, baby..." His excuse still replayed like poison.

Sophia ducked into a narrow alley between two old buildings. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as she pressed her back against the brick wall, praying the shadows would hide her. If they caught her now, they'd drag her back and this time they'd lock the door for good or worse. She'd heard Ava whisper about a rich old man. About selling her off like she was a painting to be signed and framed.

No. I'd rather die than go back.

She sank to the ground, knees drawn to her chest. Her fingers traced the butterfly birthmark on her collarbone the only piece of herself no one could steal.

Somewhere deep inside, a little girl's voice echoed: "Someone will come for you. Someone will find you."

She almost laughed at how childish that sounded now. She was alone. She had always been alone.

A muffled sound snapped her head up heavy footsteps, boots crunching glass underfoot. Sophia's pulse skittered. She pressed herself deeper into the shadows, hugging her bag tight. A tall figure emerged at the end of the alley, his silhouette backlit by the red glow of taillights. His steps were unhurried, predatory, like he owned the darkness.

Not John, her brain supplied. John slouched. This man moved like a panther all coiled power and lethal grace.

He stopped a few feet away. A single street lamp caught the edge of his face. Sharp jawline. Dark brown hair. And eyes ocean blue, glacial, scanning her like she was an inconvenient stain.

Sophia's breath caught. She could feel the danger radiating off him in waves. He wasn't one of her stepfather's goons. He was something worse.

"Get up," he said, voice low and deadly calm.

She flinched. "Please... I don't have anything. I'll leave. I"

"I said," he stepped closer, boots crunching glass, "get up."

She stayed frozen, wide eyed. She could almost see the gun holstered under his tailored black coat, the faint bulge near his ribs. Mafia. The word slid through her mind like a blade.

Before she could run, his gloved hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The touch was ice against her feverish skin.

"Who... who are you?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

His eyes narrowed, lingering on her flushed face, the thin dress, the bruises she'd tried to hide. Something flickered there recognition? No. Just annoyance. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"Consider me your new problem, sweetheart."

Sophia's heart slammed in her chest. She tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened.

"Please... let me go. I'm not worth"

"Wrong answer." His lips curled in a cruel half smile. "From now on, you belong to me."

When Sophia opened her eyes, the world felt different quieter, heavy like the silence before a storm. She blinked against the faint glow of a chandelier above her. Soft, golden light spilled across the room's high ceilings, glinting off polished marble floors. It smelled faintly of roses and expensive cologne a scent that didn't belong to the world she'd run from.

She tried to sit up, but something tugged at her wrist. Her heart slammed painfully when she realized her arm was cuffed a thin leather strap fastened to the ornate headboard behind her. Panic flared hot in her chest.

No. Not again. Not another prison.

She yanked at the strap, ignoring the burn on her skin. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as she scanned the room: tall French windows draped in dark velvet, a fireplace crackling gently, a massive king-size bed that felt more like a throne than somewhere to sleep. The walls were painted deep navy, decorated with oil paintings a forest in winter, a woman's red hair tangled in the wind, a lone wolf standing on a cliff.

How fitting, she thought bitterly. A wolf's den for a girl everyone wants to devour.

The door creaked open. Sophia froze, her fingers curling into fists as heavy footsteps approached. The man from the alley stepped into the light - his ocean blue eyes colder than the marble beneath her bare feet.

He wore a crisp white shirt now, sleeves rolled to his forearms, black slacks that clung to long, powerful legs. A single ring glinted on his right hand an insignia she didn't recognize but felt dangerous anyway.

Sophia's mouth was dry, but she forced her voice to work. "What is this? Where am I? Why am I tied up"

He ignored her questions, walking to the small table near the bed. He poured water into a crystal glass, then carried it to her. He didn't sit, didn't offer a comforting smile. He simply held it out, his jaw tight.

Sophia stared at it like it might be poisoned.

"Drink," he said.

"I'm not thirsty."

His eyes narrowed, a flash of annoyance breaking through his icy mask. "You haven't had water for hours. Your lips are dry. Drink."

When she didn't move, he leaned in, so close she could see the tiny flecks of silver in his blue eyes. "I didn't go through the trouble of saving you just to let you starve yourself."

"Saving me?" She let out a bitter laugh, her voice cracking. "You call this saving me? I woke up chained to a bed"

He cut her off with a look so sharp she forgot how to breathe.

"You were about to be sold to an old man with a taste for girls half his age," he said flatly. "I intercepted the deal. You're mine now."

She flinched at the word mine like it branded her skin. "And what does that make me? Your pet?"

His gaze dipped to the strap around her wrist, then back to her eyes. Something unreadable flickered there regret? Pity? She doubted it. Men like him didn't feel pity.

"You're not my pet, Sophia," he said quietly. "You're an asset. And you're safer here than anywhere else."

"How do you know my name?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and, without asking, lifted the glass to her lips. When she tried to turn away, he cupped her chin surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

"Drink," he ordered again.

Her pride screamed at her to resist, but her body betrayed her. The water was cool, soothing her parched throat as she took small, careful sips. He watched her the entire time unblinking, as if memorizing every swallow.

When the glass was empty, he set it aside and finally released her chin. He leaned back, studying her the way a hunter might watch wounded prey.

"Who are you?" she asked again, her voice softer now, threaded with exhaustion.

He tilted his head. "You don't need to know my name yet."

"But you know mine. That's not fair."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips humorless, cold. "Fair? Little butterfly, the world stopped being fair the moment you ran from that house."

Her breath caught. Butterfly. The word cut deeper than it should have. Did he see her birthmark when he grabbed her? Did it mean anything to him, or was it just another detail he used to make her feel small?

"You can't keep me here," she said, trying to muster the steel she'd learned to fake so well. "I'll leave. I'll find a way."

He let out a low, humorless laugh a sound that made her stomach twist. "You're welcome to try."

He rose from the bed, moving with that same panther like grace that made her shiver. As he walked to the door, she found herself blurting out, "What do you want from me?"

He paused, hand on the doorknob. He didn't look back.

"Nothing you can't give."

And then he was gone.

The hours bled together after that. Sophia tugged at the strap until her wrist throbbed, screamed into the empty room, kicked the pillows onto the floor. No one came. When exhaustion finally claimed her, she fell into a restless sleep, haunted by dreams of cold blue eyes and the taste of freedom just out of reach.

She woke up to the sound of a soft knock - a polite, hesitant tap that was the complete opposite of the cold man's presence.

Before she could answer, the door swung open. A head of light brown hair popped in messy, windswept, like he'd just run through a storm. Hazel green eyes lit up when they found her sitting upright, arms crossed defensively.

"Well, hello, Red."

Sophia blinked. The man leaned against the doorframe, wearing a half buttoned white shirt and ripped jeans. He looked like a boy who'd stumbled into a mansion he didn't belong in except the expensive watch on his wrist said otherwise.

She glared. "Who are you?"

He put a hand dramatically over his chest. "I'm hurt. Ethan didn't introduce us? Rude. I'm Lucas."

Sophia's brow furrowed. "Ethan?"

Lucas's grin widened. "Tall, scary, blue eyes like a winter storm? That's my brother. He likes to pretend he doesn't have a heart, but don't worry he does. It's just buried under several layers of ice and mafia drama."

"Mafia?" she repeated, her voice so small it made him pause.

He walked in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Don't worry, sweetheart. No one's gonna chop you up. Ethan's just territorial."

Sophia tugged her knees to her chest, wishing the blanket could swallow her whole. "Why am I here? Why won't he let me leave?"

Lucas's playful smile faltered for the briefest moment. He sat on the edge of the bed not too close, giving her space.

"Look," he said, voice gentler now. "You were about to be sold, right? Ethan found out, and he hates human trafficking scum more than he hates spinach. So he intercepted the deal. Now you're under his... protection."

"Protection?" she scoffed. "Is that what you call this?" She held up her wrist, the red mark glaring against her pale skin.

Lucas winced. "Yeah, that's not great PR. But you did try to run last night. And if you run again, the guys who wanted you before will find you. They don't just give up."

Sophia's throat tightened. She hated that he was right. Hated that she felt safer cuffed to a bed in a stranger's mansion than she ever did in the Stone house.

Lucas nudged her foot with his finger. "Hey. You're safe here. Okay? And for the record..." He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice like they were school kids sharing secrets. "Between you and me, I think the cuff's overkill. Ethan's a control freak."

She almost smiled. Almost. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged, his hazel eyes warm. "Because you look like you haven't had a reason to smile in a long time. And I hate that."

Sophia looked away, blinking hard. No one ever noticed that before. Not John. Not Ava. Not her so called family.

Lucas jumped up suddenly, clapping his hands. "Okay! Enough doom and gloom. Are you hungry? I make killer scrambled eggs. Or I can order sushi. Or we can sneak into the kitchen and steal Ethan's wine. He hates when I touch his wine."

Sophia's laugh startled her. It came out small and rusty, but real. Lucas's grin widened like a kid who just won a prize at the fair.

"There she is," he said softly. "There's that smile."

She hugged her knees tighter. "What happens to me now?"

Lucas sobered. He brushed a strand of her red hair behind her ear, his touch feather light.

"Now?" he said. "You get to rest. You get to eat real food. You get to be something other than someone's pawn."

Sophia swallowed the lump in her throat. "And then?"

Lucas's eyes darkened a storm brewing in that easygoing green. "And then, Red? We'll figure out how to burn the people who did this to you. One lie at a time."

Sophia could feel the weight of Ethan's gaze even before he spoke. It was heavy a storm trapped in ocean blue, cold enough to make her pull the blanket tighter around her body.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows, dawn was just breaking over the hills, painting the city skyline in shades of bruised lavender and gold. But here, in this room his room, she guessed now it felt like midnight. Still, suffocating, and far too intimate.

He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there with his arms folded over his broad chest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, veins visible under tanned skin. She noticed the gun holstered under his arm this time, the gleam of metal a harsh reminder that this was no fairy tale rescue.

Finally, when the silence grew too loud, Sophia found her voice.

"You don't have to chain me up," she whispered, her tone careful. "I'm not going to run."

Ethan's lips twitched not in a smile, but something colder. "Lie to someone else."

Her fingers tightened around the blanket. "You don't know me."

A bitter laugh slipped from his mouth a sound that made her stomach twist. "You think I don't know girls like you? You run at the first chance. You lie. You beg. And then you run again."

Sophia flinched. The words weren't loud, but they cracked something inside her anyway.

"I didn't lie"

"Didn't you?" He moved closer, each step deliberate, the scent of his cologne expensive, dark filling her lungs. He stopped just close enough for her to see the faint scar near his jawline. "You told that bastard you loved him, didn't you? John."

Her heart dropped. "How do you?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "I know everything about the people I protect. Or own." His voice softened on the last word, but it felt like a blade brushing her skin. "And that spineless snake sold you out for a cut of your soul. So tell me, Sophia what makes you think I should trust you?"

She wanted to scream that she didn't belong to him, that she'd never asked for his twisted version of protection. But the words caught in her throat when he reached for her wrist.

Slowly, he undid the strap binding her to the bed. His fingers brushed the raw, red mark on her skin, and for a second just a second she swore she saw regret flicker across his eyes. But it was gone before she could believe in it.

"You're free," he said, standing tall again. "But listen closely."

Sophia rubbed her wrist, trying to hide her trembling hands.

Ethan leaned down, bracing his palms on either side of her hips, caging her against the headboard. She could see the faint stubble on his chin, the hard line of his mouth, the storm in his eyes.

"You will not leave this estate," he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "You will not contact anyone. You will not step outside that door without one of my men at your side. You will eat when you're told, sleep when you're told, and keep that mouth of yours shut unless you're spoken to."

Her spine stiffened. "Or what?"

His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "Or I'll find new ways to keep you chained. And I won't be gentle about it."

Sophia sucked in a shaky breath. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling between them like live wire. She hated him. She hated the way her body reacted - the way her pulse betrayed her, pounding in places it shouldn't.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

Ethan pulled back just enough to look at her. The distance did nothing to soften the ferocity in his gaze.

"Because," he said, almost too quietly, "someone has to protect what's mine."

Sophia didn't see Ethan for the rest of that day. Instead, she met the house or more accurately, the fortress that was now her gilded prison.

Lucas became her shadow. He'd appeared at her door after Ethan left, a tray balanced in his arms with scrambled eggs, toast, and a mountain of strawberries.

"I told you," he said brightly, pushing into her room before she could protest. "I make killer scrambled eggs."

Sophia eyed the food suspiciously. "I'm not hungry."

Lucas raised a single brow, giving her the full effect of his puppy dog eyes. "Red, if you starve to death, Ethan will put me on dishwashing duty for the rest of my life. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Despite herself, a laugh slipped out dry, but real. Lucas beamed like he'd just won the lottery.

"See?" he said, setting the tray on her lap and plopping down beside her. "I'm good for you. You should keep me."

Sophia nibbled on a piece of toast, her eyes flicking to him. "Do you always joke this much?"

"Only when I'm trying to charm beautiful, stolen butterflies out of their cages," he teased. His grin faded a fraction when he saw the flicker of pain cross her face. "Hey. I'm sorry. That was... probably too soon."

Sophia shrugged. "I've been called worse."

Lucas's expression darkened. "Not anymore, you won't be."

They ate in silence for a while - or rather, Sophia ate and Lucas talked. He told her about his last film, the director who kept trying to get him to strip on screen ("Not that I mind but Ethan threatened to pull the funding. He's so uptight."). He told her about his dogs, two giant golden retrievers that apparently hated Ethan but loved to sneak into his study to pee on his custom rugs.

Sophia found herself smiling more than once. It felt alien on her face, but Lucas made it impossible not to.

When she finished eating, he took the tray, balancing it with one hand as he leaned down close enough for her to see the faint freckles dusting his nose.

"If you ever want to escape," he whispered conspiratorially, "just let me know. I'm a sucker for damsels in distress."

She snorted. "And then what? Ethan kills you?"

Lucas winked. "Probably. But it'd be worth it."

Hours later, Sophia wandered the halls of the estate under Lucas's watchful eye. The place was huge too huge. Endless corridors lined with expensive art, black marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, and windows so large they made her feel even smaller.

She found a sunroom overlooking a rose garden. Lucas plopped onto a chaise, tossing her a knowing look when she sat cross legged by the window, hugging her knees.

"You know," he said, his voice softer now, "he's not the monster you think he is."

Sophia didn't look at him. She traced the shape of a rose petal on the glass, watching it quiver in the wind. "And what is he, then?"

Lucas's sigh filled the silence. "Someone who's lost more than you know. Someone who'd burn the world to keep it from happening again."

Sophia turned, meeting his eyes. For the first time, she saw a shadow behind Lucas's usual sunny warmth something raw, protective, almost sad.

"He's keeping me prisoner," she said.

"He's keeping you alive."

Sophia wanted to scream that she didn't need saving. That she'd been saving herself for years, even when no one else would. But the words felt hollow now like a lie she'd told herself too many times.

Night fell slowly, the sky bleeding from lavender to indigo. Lucas finally left her alone, promising she could lock her door if it made her feel safer.

She didn't bother. The locks here didn't belong to her. They never would.

Hours later, a soft knock broke her restless thoughts. She looked up from the sketchbook Lucas had found for her a blank page already smudged with tentative pencil lines. She hadn't drawn in months. It felt like breathing for the first time in years.

The door creaked open. Ethan stood in the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled down now, dark hair damp like he'd just come from a shower. He looked... almost human. Almost.

"You're awake," he said.

Sophia closed the sketchbook, hugging it to her chest like a shield. "Is that not allowed either?"

He ignored her bite, stepping inside. He held a small box in his hand, polished wood with a silver clasp.

"What's that?" she asked warily.

Ethan crossed the room, sitting on the armchair across from her. He set the box on the table between them, flipping it open.

Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet simple, beautiful, but wrong somehow. Sophia's eyes narrowed when she saw the faint glint of embedded tech near the clasp.

"A tracker," she said flatly.

"A precaution," Ethan corrected. "You wear this. You don't run."

She flinched when he reached for her wrist. He paused, waiting for her to pull back but she didn't. She let him slip the cold metal over her skin, let him close the clasp with a soft click that sounded like the door to her freedom slamming shut.

When he was done, he didn't move away. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist lingering, almost tender. It made her throat tighten, rage and something far more dangerous mixing in her chest.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice shaking.

His eyes met hers, unflinching. "Good. Hate keeps you alive."

Sophia didn't look away. She let him see it the spark that hadn't died yet, no matter how many cages she'd been locked in.

"Then you should know something too," she said, her voice soft, deadly calm.

"What's that?"

She leaned closer, their faces inches apart, her breath brushing his lips. For a heartbeat, she saw something flicker in his eyes want, need, regret. Then she smiled, sweet as poison.

"One day, I'll run. And you'll never catch me again."