Vivie Sinclair sat in the back of her brother’s car, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. The luxurious leather interior did nothing to ease the dread settling in her stomach. She could still hear his words, the ones that had shattered the last remnants of her once-perfect world.

"Vivie, I didn’t have a choice. You have to understand." Liam’s voice trembled, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t. How could her own brother do this to her?

“How much, Liam?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “How much was I worth to you?”

He flinched, but he didn’t answer.

She already knew the answer anyway. She wasn’t just being sold into marriage; she was being traded like a commodity to one of the most dangerous men in the country.

Ashton Varela.

A name spoken in hushed tones, a man feared by even the most hardened criminals. He ruled with an iron fist, his empire built on blood and power. And now, he would own her.

The car pulled up to the grand estate, a sprawling mansion hidden behind high walls and guarded by men with guns. The gates opened slowly, and with every passing second, Vivie felt her heart pound harder against her ribs. Liam turned to her, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I swear, Vivie, I’ll fix this. Just... do what he says. Please."

Her nails dug into her palm. "Go to hell, Liam."

Before he could respond, the door was yanked open. A man stood there, tall and imposing, dressed in black.

Not Ashton, but one of his men.

Without a word, he motioned for her to get out. Vivie lifted her chin, refusing to show fear. If she was going to be thrown to the wolves, she wouldn’t cower. She stepped out, and that’s when she saw him.

Ashton Varela.

He leaned against the marble staircase, watching her with cold, unreadable eyes. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his presence alone was suffocating. His dark hair was neatly styled, his sharp jawline set in an expression of indifference. But his eyes—those piercing, stormy gray eyes—pinned her in place, stripping her bare.

She expected him to say something, to acknowledge the situation, but he didn’t. He simply turned on his heel and walked inside, leaving her standing there like she was nothing more than an afterthought. Rage bubbled beneath her skin. If he thought she would bow to him, he was sorely mistaken. She squared her shoulders and followed him inside.

The grand foyer was cold, pristine, and impersonal—just like the man who owned it. The heavy doors closed behind her with a finality that made her stomach drop. Ashton stopped at the bottom of the grand staircase and finally turned to face her.

"Rules are simple," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. "You belong to me now. You do as I say, when I say it. There will be no arguments, no defiance."

Vivie’s hands curled into fists. "I am not a possession."

A smirk ghosted over his lips, but there was no amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart, you became mine the moment your brother signed your life away." Her breath hitched, but she refused to let him see her break. Ashton stepped closer, towering over her, his presence suffocating. He reached out, running the back of his fingers along her jaw, a touch that sent unwanted shivers down her spine.

"You can hate me all you want, Vivie," he murmured. "But make no mistake—you are mine. In every way that matters."

And just like that, her fate was sealed.