I was seventeen when my father sold me to Damien Lancaster—the ruthless billionaire who didn't believe in mercy.
I didn't cry the night I found out. Maybe because I was too numb to feel anything. Or maybe because deep down, I had already known that love had long died in our house. That family wasn't about protection anymore, but survival. My mother wept in the kitchen, shaking as she begged him not to do it, her voice barely rising above a whisper. My father didn't flinch. He just sat there with his cigarette and silence, staring at the stack of debt notices on the table as though they were worth more than his daughter's life.
"He gave me no choice," he said flatly, not even meeting my eyes. "It's either this, or we all lose everything."
Everything. As if I was nothing.
I stood there in the hallway, fingers trembling at my sides, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the rest of their argument. My mind went blank. Words failed me. Because what was there to say when the people who were supposed to protect you handed you over like a cheque they couldn't cash?
The next morning, they gave me a dress. Not white. Not silk. No veil. Just a lifeless grey gown, tailored to fit like a funeral shroud. I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. A doll. A girl stripped of dreams.
"You don't have to be afraid," my mother whispered as she fastened the back. "He won't hurt you if you obey."
But her hands were shaking too hard to believe her.
We drove in silence. The world outside the window blurred, but time didn't stop. It never does when you want it to.
When we arrived at the courthouse, he was already there.
Damien Lancaster.
He looked like the devil dressed in Armani—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features carved from stone and eyes that cut colder than ice. He didn't move when I stepped out of the car. He didn't offer a greeting or a smile. Just one calculating glance from behind his sunglasses as he tapped his fingers against the hood of a black car like he had somewhere better to be.
I was nothing to him. Just another move in a game I didn't understand.
"Diana Marshall," he said without emotion. "You're late."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I didn't ask to be here."
His lips curled—not in amusement, not in cruelty. Something worse. Indifference.
"Neither did I."
The civil officer asked us to come inside. The ceremony wasn't a celebration. It was a transaction. No flowers. No vows. No ring of gold. He slid a silver band onto my finger with such brutal force that it pinched my skin.
"Sign here," the official said.
I looked at the pen, hesitated. For a moment, I wondered if I refused, would they drag me away? Would someone help me?
But there was no one left.
No one coming.
So I signed.
My name. My fate.
The officer stamped the document and handed it to Damien. He didn't even look at it. He just folded the papers and turned away.
"Let's go," he said flatly.
I followed him out the building, my legs heavy. Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured questions behind barricades. "Mr. Lancaster, is this your secret wedding?" "Who is she?" "Is this the girl from the Marshall family rumors?"
He didn't answer any of them.
He didn't even look at me when he opened the door and got into the car. I sat beside him in silence, the cold leather against my bare arms making me flinch. My hands trembled in my lap, still clutching the small bouquet someone had shoved at me outside the courthouse. I stared down at it—white lilies. So delicate. So wrong for a moment like this.
Minutes passed before he finally spoke.
"You'll be staying in my house," he said, his voice low and dismissive. "You'll follow my rules. You'll speak only when spoken to. You'll smile when needed. And most importantly…" His gaze finally slid toward me, sharp and unblinking. "You will not embarrass me."
I forced myself to nod, afraid that if I spoke, my voice would crack.
He leaned in suddenly, his face inches from mine, his words laced with quiet venom. "You are not my wife, Diana. Don't mistake the ring for love. You are mine—but only because I paid for you."
I held my breath. He pulled away.
Outside the window, the city blurred past like a dream fading into nightmare. And I realized something in that moment—not just that my freedom was gone, but that my silence would kill me faster than his cruelty ever could.
So I made myself a promise.
If he was going to destroy me, I'd learn how to destroy him first.