DINA'S POV

If someone had told me ten years ago that I’d end up sold to a billionaire like some pawnshop handbag, I’d have laughed out loud, maybe with a little wine in my throat. But here I am, in a house too damn clean for someone like me, sitting on silk sheets I didn’t pick, in clothes that aren’t mine, breathing air that feels...borrowed.

I hate it here, not even in the dramatic, I-don’t-like-your-couch kind of way but a visceral, soul-deep hatred.

The walls are white, the curtains gray, even the flowers—yes, the goddamn roses are dead, not dried, just dead.

It’s been three days since Darius dumped me here. "Just for a short time, Dina" he said, hands tight on the steering wheel, like the guilt would choke him.

But I didn’t believe him, of course I didn’t. I’ve known Darius since I was frigging fifteen...the same year my world got shredded.

One rainy night, a truck swerved too fast, and my parents swerved too late. That’s the official story... “Car accident” they all said, with that pitying tilt of the head that makes you want to punch them. But no one ever tells you what happens after the funeral, when the flowers wilt, and people stop calling, and you’re left with the silence.

That silence came in the form of Darius—Uncle Darius, the supposed knight in shining suit.

Everyone praised him...."He took her in like his own!" "Such a good man." Yeah, well, Darius didn’t take me in, he took me, period.

He and Vivian, his wife. The human equivalent of a sour lemon, made sure I remembered I wasn’t theirs. And their two lovely children, Liam and Sydney, made life a little extra spicy by treating me like the in-house maid. "Dina, clean the guest room."

"Dina, you forgot the laundry."

"Dina, stop being ungrateful."

The business—Sterling Innovations was mine, my parents built it with sweat, tears, and just enough caffeine to give someone a heart attack. They left it to me, written in ink, sealed and legal.

But there was a catch: I couldn’t claim it until I turned twenty.

Guess who ran it until then? Darius. Guess who decided not to give it back when I did?

Spoiler alert: it wasn't me

By the time I turned twenty-four, my signature didn’t mean a fucking thing. The documents had been changed, the boardroom was full of strangers and I was just "the girl who used to be a Sterling."

And now? Now I’m the girl who got traded.

"She’s smart" I heard Darius say, the night before he handed me over. "She's like really quiet, rest assured she won’t cause trouble."

I should’ve screamed, burned the house down. But all I did was stare.

I knew he wouldn’t come back, the way he avoided my eyes, the way he politely shoved me like a transaction. And then he left me at the front door of this place.

Marcus Miller’s home is beautiful, in the way museums are: big, cold, empty and too quiet to be real.

Marcus himself? I’ve seen ghosts with more warmth.

He didn’t greet me, didn’t ask my name. Just looked me up and down, nodded once, and vanished down the hallway like I was an Amazon delivery.

No phone, no internet, one maid who avoids eye contact...and silence, a deafening one at that.

Until today.

A knock rattles the door and I jolt like I’ve been shot.

"Mr. Miller requests your presence in the main dining room" the maid says. "Immediately."

Requests? More like commands. Marcus doesn’t request, he breathes orders and expects the world to obey.

I throw on a hoodie, one of the few pieces of clothing that feels like me and follow her through halls that could fit five of my childhood homes. Every footstep echoes, this place wasn’t built for comfort, it was obviously built for power.

He’s at the table already, coffee in hand, posture perfect. The kind of man whose shadow probably has its own bank account.

I sit opposite him. He even doesn’t look up.

"Your uncle’s debt has been held, till he can pay in full" he says smoothly, like he’s discussing stock. "You’re here as part of the agreement."

"Yeah" I mutter. "So I’ve gathered.

"My grandmother is visiting."

I blink. " Okay?"

"She believes I’m married..."

I blink again. "Right. So...what does this have to do with me?”

He finally looks at me. I don’t know what I expected, maybe some flash of guilt, regret? tch no. His eyes are literally made of winter. "You’ll pretend to be my wife, publicly, privately....for the duration of her stay."

A pause.

"I don’t even know you..." I whisper.

"You don’t need to" he says. "You just need to smile when she walks into the room. We’ll keep our distance otherwise."

He slides a contract across the table. It read: One year, bound by signature. Just enough time for his precious grandmother to die believing her precious grandson is in love.

"I’m not a prop" I say, though it comes out weaker than I want.

"No" he replies. "You’re property."

"Okay.." I say, my throat dry. "And what exactly am I gaining from this little performance?"

He doesn’t flinch, not even a blink. Just sips his coffee like he didn’t just slide a contract of insanity across the table.

"Nothing" he says.

I let out a laugh—dry and disbelieving. "You’re serious."

"Completely."

"So, let me get this straight" I lean forward "I was sold to you like a used phone, and now you want me to play housewife for free?"

His gaze sharpens. "Your uncle already made the trade, he named his price. You were part of the payment."

"I'm a person, not a fucking purse" I snap.

"You were a debt" he replies, flat and final. Now you’re collateral...It’s that simple."

I stare at him, my heart thudding. My stomach twists in ways that make me want to throw the silverware at his head.

"You can’t force me into this, this wasn’t part of your precious deal with Darius.”

He finally leans in "I can. And I already have."

I blink, the room tilting. "What?"

His mouth curls barely a smirk. "Your records? Frozen. Your ID? Flagged. You’re not legally allowed to leave the estate, you don't exist right now without my approval. So either you sign that paper... or we stop pretending you still have options."

Something inside me cracks wide open. I shoot to my feet, the chair screeching behind me. "You’re insane."

"You’re wasting time." He taps the contract like it’s nothing more than a dinner menu. "You have until dawn. Either you sign… or I’ll decide what happens next."

My mouth opens then snaps shut. He’s bluffing...he has to be....right?

But one look at him and I know he isn’t.

He stands, cool and composed, not sparing me a second glance. "Your room’s down the hall. I suggest you use it to think."

And then he walks out, like he didn’t just ruin whatever scraps I had left of my freedom.

I stare at the contract again, my hands trembling beside me.

"Property" I whisper to myself.

God help me... I actually believe him.