Miranda's POV
"Aunt Carla! What are you saying? I said, these guys grabbed me from school, said it was an emergency. What's happening? Are you okay?"
Her eyes flicked over me, sharp and distant, like I was a stranger. "Oh, Miranda, stop the hysterics. You're fine. This is just… business."
The man beside her—Albert Mondragon, the name clicked from somewhere—watched silently, his chiseled face unreadable but his dark eyes glinting with something that made my skin prickle. I ignored him, focusing on her. "Business? What are you talking about? You sent those cars?"
She laughed, a brittle sound. "You're so naive. I didn't send them for an emergency. I sold you, sweetheart. Albert here pays well for… let's call it companionship." She patted the briefcase. "Enough to clear my gambling debts and then some."
My breath caught. "Sold me? You can't— I'm not some thing you can trade!" My voice cracked, panic rising. "You're my aunt! You're supposed to protect me!"
Albert shifted, his presence looming, but he stayed quiet, letting Carla talk. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Protect you? With what? Your parents left me nothing but you and their bills. Albert's a billionaire, used to be a porn star, knows how to treat a girl. You'll live better here than with me."
Tears burned my eyes. "No. This is crazy. You can't do this!"
She smirked, stepping closer. "Already done. Be grateful. Not every girl gets a mansion."
I shook my head, backing away. "Please, Aunt Carla, don't leave me here. I'll do anything—work, pay you back, anything!"
Her gaze hardened. "Enough whining." She turned to Albert, who finally spoke, his voice smooth as velvet. "We're settled, Carla?"
She nodded, opening the briefcase to reveal neat stacks of bills. "All here. She's yours, Mondragon. Do whatever you want with her."
My knees buckled. "No! Aunt Carla, please!" I lunged toward her, but she stepped back, clutching the money. Albert's hand grazed my arm, steady but firm, holding me in place.
Carla didn't look back. "Grow up, Miranda. You'll thank me one day." She strode toward the double doors, heels clicking.
I screamed after her. "You can't leave me! I'm your family!" But the doors swung shut behind her, the sound echoing like a gavel.
I spun, desperate to run, my sneakers slipping on the floor. Two suited guards appeared from nowhere, blocking the exit. "No way out, miss," one muttered, arms crossed.
Tears streamed down my face as I backed against a wall, chest heaving. Albert approached, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing me up. His tailored suit hugged his frame, and his eyes—God, those eyes—held a mix of amusement and something darker, hungrier. He reached out, cupping my chin gently, his thumb brushing my trembling lips.
"Don't cry, Miranda," he murmured, voice low and warm. "You'll see. This life… you'll come to love it. I'll make sure of it."
I jerked my face away, voice shaking. "Let me go. I don't belong here."
His lips curved, not quite a smile. "You're exactly where you're meant to be. Give it time." He stepped back, gesturing to the guards. "Take her to her room. She needs rest."
They grabbed my arms, guiding me up a sweeping staircase. I fought, but their grips were iron. "Don't touch me! Let me out!"
Albert followed at a distance, watching. "Struggling won't change anything. Get comfortable, Miranda. Your new life starts now."
They led me to a massive bedroom, all silk sheets and gold accents. The door clicked shut, locking me in. I collapsed onto the plush carpet, sobs wracking my body. My aunt had sold me. Sold me. To a man who looked at me like I was his next meal. My parents' faces flashed in my mind—Mom's laugh, Dad's hugs. Six months since the crash, and now this? I curled into a ball, tears soaking my sleeves.
The door creaked open. I scrambled to my feet, wiping my face. Albert stood there, holding a silver tray with food—steaming soup, fresh bread, a glass of wine. He set it on a table, his movements smooth, almost too calm.
"Dinner," he said, voice soft but commanding. "You must be starving."
I glared, backing toward the bed. "I don't want your food. I want to go home."
He chuckled, stepping closer. "Home? To that miserable apartment with Carla? This is better. Look around." His eyes roamed my body, lingering. "I'm not your enemy, Miranda. I can make tonight unforgettable, if you let me."
My heart raced, fear mixing with something I couldn't name—his voice, his confidence, it stirred something deep. "Stay away from me," I snapped, but my voice wavered.
He tilted his head, studying me. "You're scared. That's natural. But you'll learn to enjoy this. I'm very… persuasive." His tone dripped with promise, making my skin flush despite myself.
I opened my mouth to yell, but my eyes caught a glint in the corner—a tiny lens, barely visible, tucked into the ornate molding. A camera, watching. My stomach dropped, terror clawing at me. Was he recording this? Was this some sick game?
"What's that?" I pointed, voice shaking. "Why's there a camera?"
Albert followed my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Just security. Relax." But his smile didn't reach his eyes, and the air felt heavier, charged with secrets.
I backed onto the bed, hugging my knees. "Get out, please."
He lingered, then nodded. "Eat and rest, we'll talk tomorrow." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Sweet dreams, Miranda."
The door clicked shut, and I was alone again, the camera's red light blinking like a heartbeat in the dark.
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Albert's POV
I leaned back in my leather chair, the dim glow of my study's lamp casting shadows across the open file on my desk. Miranda Hayes, nineteen, college sophomore, orphaned six months ago, the photo clipped to the page made my cock twitched at the thought of her
Carla's deal had been straightforward: a million to clear her debts, and Miranda was mine. No strings, no limits. The girl's fear in the foyer earlier—those trembling lips, that desperate plea—had stirred something primal in me. Not just lust, though fuck, there was plenty of that.
It was the idea of molding her, teaching her to crave what I could give. I closed the file, adjusting my hardening dick through my slacks, time to check on my new guest.
I grabbed the dinner tray I'd prepared—simple, nothing to scare her off yet—and headed upstairs. The mansion was quiet, guards stationed discreetly. I paused outside her door, hearing muffled sobs. Perfect. Vulnerability was a good place to start.
Pushing the door open, I found Miranda curled on the bed, knees to her chest, tears streaking her face. Her eyes snapped to me, wide with fear, but there was a flicker of something else—curiosity, maybe. I set the tray on the nightstand, keeping my movements calm.
"Dinner," I said, voice low. "You didn't touch what I brought earlier. Eat something."
She sat up, wiping her cheeks. "I told you, I don't want your food, I want to go out."
I smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel her tension. "Out to where? Back to Carla's dump? Or the streets? You're smarter than that, Miranda."
Her jaw tightened. "You can't keep me here, this is illegal."