SOLD
The rain had stopped, but the air still carried its scent — damp, cold, and heavy.
Aria stood in the corner of her parents' living room, fingers curled tightly into the hem of her sweater. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She had noticed the signs for weeks — her father pacing late at night, her mother whispering into the phone with a voice that trembled. But no one had told her what was wrong.
Until tonight.
Her father's voice was low and sharp as he stood by the window. "You're going with him. It's the only way."
Aria's brow furrowed. "Going with who? What are you talking about?"
The front door opened before he could answer.
A tall man in a black overcoat stepped in, his polished shoes damp from the rain. He removed his gloves slowly, each movement precise. His presence filled the room instantly — Roman Castellani.
She had heard of him. Everyone had. The man people whispered about in the market. The man whose wealth and influence were matched only by the danger that clung to his name.
The Collector.
Behind him stood another man, younger, broader, dressed in a dark suit. He didn't speak. He didn't even blink. His eyes passed over her once, briefly, before settling on the floor. Aria didn't know him, but the way he carried himself told her enough — Roman's bodyguard.
Roman's gaze locked on hers, assessing, measuring. "So this is her?"
Her mother stood quickly. "Mr. Castellani, please—"
He raised a hand, silencing her. "The debt is due. I've been patient."
Aria stepped forward, anger slicing through her fear. "You're here for money. Not me."
Roman's lips curved in a way that wasn't quite a smile. "Your parents have nothing else to offer. You… are payment enough."
Her father didn't look at her. "Aria, you will go with Mr. Castellani."
She stared at him, the word burning on her tongue. "You're selling me."
Her mother flinched. "It's marriage. You'll be taken care of."
"Marriage?" Aria's laugh was hollow. "This isn't marriage. It's a transaction."
Roman's dark eyes held hers. "Call it whatever makes it easier to swallow. Either way, you belong to me now."
Her chest tightened. "I don't belong to anyone."
For the first time, something like amusement flickered across his face. "You'll learn."
The bodyguard shifted slightly in the doorway, but his expression stayed unreadable. Aria barely noticed him; her world had just cracked in two.
The wedding was small. Too small.
No friends, no music, no flowers. Just signatures on cold paper, vows spoken without meaning, and Roman's unyielding hand closing over hers. The ring was heavy, as if it came with chains she couldn't see.
By the time night fell, she was standing in a bedroom larger than her parents' entire house. The air smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne. Heavy curtains blocked the city lights. She felt trapped.
Roman stood by the window, removing his cufflinks. "Take off your dress."
Her heart stopped. "What?"
He turned, his gaze cutting into her. "It's our wedding night. I don't repeat myself."
Her hands tightened at her sides. "I'm not ready—"
Three long strides, and he was in front of her, his hand gripping her jaw, tilting her face up. "You think I married you for your readiness?"
She tried to pull back, but his hold was firm. "Please—"
"Aria," he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a warning, "you are mine. That means your body, your time, your obedience. Don't make me teach you the hard way."
When he kissed her, there was no tenderness. Only possession. The kind that bruises.
And when he took her that night, it was rough, unyielding. Not love. Not even lust. A claim.
She cried silently, her tears soaking into the pillow. Her body ached, her mind screamed. But she didn't fight — not because she didn't want to, but because she knew there was no winning against a man like Roman Castellani.
The days that followed blurred together.
Roman was unpredictable. Some mornings, he ignored her completely, vanishing into meetings and phone calls. Other times, he would call for her without warning, his tone sharp enough to leave her trembling before she even entered the room.
She learned to watch his eyes, to sense the storm before it hit. She learned that his silence was often more dangerous than his words.
The bodyguard was always there — somewhere in the background. In the hallway. By the car. Standing just outside the door during dinners. Their eyes met once or twice, and there was something in his gaze she couldn't place. Not pity. Not curiosity. Something else.
But she looked away quickly each time. In Roman's world, even glances could be dangerous.
On the third week, she woke in the middle of the night to find Roman standing by the window again, a glass of whiskey in hand. His silhouette was sharp against the faint city glow.
She sat up slowly. "Can I… go home? Just to see my parents."
His laugh was soft, humorless. "Your parents? The ones who traded you like currency? You still think of them?"
Her throat tightened. "They're still my family."
"No, Aria. I am your family now." His voice was final, cutting through the dark. "And you will learn to keep your eyes where they belong."
He set his glass down, turned to her, and in that moment, she knew — this was not a man who would ever let her go.