PROLOGUE: THE PRICE TAG
SOFIA'S POV-
The silver platter in my hands felt like it weighed fifty pounds. My wrists were shaking, not because the roasted chicken was heavy, but because I'd spent the last three hours scrubbing the floors until my knees were raw.
My parents had given the maid and the cook the night off. They said it was for family intimacy, but I knew the truth. They just didn't want the staff to see how they actually treated me when the front door was locked.
"Sofia! The wine is low. Move your ass" my father barked.
I set the platter down in the center of the mahogany table. My little brother, Leo, didn't even look up from his phone. He was wearing his grass-stained soccer jersey, the one he'd worn to win a participation trophy earlier that afternoon. To my parents, you'd think he'd just won the World Cup.
"Sorry, Dad" I whispered.
I reached over to refill my mother's glass. As my hand got close to her sleeve, she flinched, pulling her arm back with a look of pure disgust.
"Watch it" she snapped, brushing her silk sleeve as if I'd just wiped dirt on her. "This dress costs more than your entire tuition for next semester. Don't get your oily skin near it."
I pulled back, my face burning. I wasn't oily. I was sweaty from doing the housework she refused to do. I stood there, the wine bottle clutched in my hand, feeling like a ghost in my own home.
"To Leo!" my father announced, raising his glass. "The only child in this house with a real future. A winner. A boy who actually understands the value of the family name."
They clinked glasses. I wasn't invited to join the toast. I wasn't even offered a chair.
"I have my midterms coming up next week" I said, my voice small. I don't know why I said it. Maybe I just wanted them to remember I existed. "If I ace them, I might get that internship at the architecture firm. The one I told you about?"
The table went dead silent.
My father slowly put his glass down. He looked at me, then he looked at my mother. They both started laughing. It wasn't a nice laugh. It was that sharp, jagged sound that always preceded a slap or a scream.
"Internship?" my father wheezed, wiping a tear of fake laughter from his eye. "Architecture? Sofia, honey, why waste your brain on books? You were never going to be an architect. You don't have the drive. You're just... decoration."
"I have a 3.8 GPA, Dad" I argued, my voice cracking. "I work hard. I can make my own money, I can help..."
"You can help by shutting up and listening" he snapped. The laughter vanished. His face went cold, that terrifying business mask sliding into place. "We've already found a much better use for you. One that actually pays the bills."
My stomach dropped. The air in the dining room felt thin, like I was drowning in the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
My mother didn't look at me. She just kept cutting her chicken, her movements precise and robotic. My father reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a heavy, gold-embossed leather folder. He didn't hand it to me. He slid it across the table like he was discarding a piece of trash.
It landed right in front of my plate-the plate that didn't have any food on it.
"Open it" he commanded.
My fingers were numb as I flipped the cover. The paper inside was thick, expensive, and smelled like old money and tobacco. At the top, in bold, black letters, it read: SURROGACY AND MATRIMONIAL TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
My eyes skipped down the lines. Party A: The Moretti Estate. Party B: The Sanchez Family. Consideration: Full debt forgiveness and a quarterly stipend.
I stopped breathing. My eyes landed on a word highlighted in the middle of the third page.
Breeding.
"You sold me?" The words felt like lead in my mouth. "You... you sold me to a stranger?"
"We saved the family, Sofia" my mother said, finally looking up. Her eyes were as hard as marbles. "Your father's investments... they didn't go well. We were going to lose the house. We were going to lose Leo's private coaching. Do you want your brother to grow up in the slums because you're selfish?"
"I'm twenty!" I yelled, the wine bottle slipping from my hand and thudding onto the carpet. "You can't do this! This isn't the middle ages!"
"Check the last page" my father said calmly. "You signed the power of attorney over to me when you turned eighteen so I could manage your college fund. Everything in that folder is legal. You belong to him now."
I flipped to the back of the folder. There was a photo clipped to the final page.
I expected a monster. I expected some eighty-year-old man with rotting teeth.
But the man in the photo was worse.
He was sitting behind a desk of dark wood, his hands folded. He looked about forty-seven. He had thick, dark hair graying slightly at the temples and eyes that looked like they were made of amber glass. He was beautiful in a way that made my skin crawl-cold, sharp, and utterly heartless. He looked like a man who had never smiled a day in his life. He looked like a predator that had just finished a kill.
Under the photo, his name was printed in elegant script: Lorenzo Moretti.
"He's a billionaire, Sofia" my father said, standing up to finish his wine. "He needs an heir. He doesn't care about your personality. He doesn't care about your dreams. He just wants a healthy baby to carry his bloodline. You should be grateful. You're finally worth something."
I looked at the photo of Lorenzo. His eyes seemed to stare right through the paper, right into my soul.
"When?" I whispered.
"The car is coming on Sunday" my father said, walking toward the door without a backward glance. "Pack your things. But don't take much. I doubt a man like that wants you wearing the cheap rags we bought you."
They left the room. My brother, my mother, my father. They left me standing in the dark, clutching the contract that had turned me into a piece of livestock.
I looked back at the paper. Sunday.
I didn't know then that Sunday was the day, the sun went down and the monster came out. I only knew that my life was over, and I had been bought by a man who didn't want my heart.
He just wanted my womb.
And as I stared at Lorenzo's cold face, I saw a shadow in the background of the photo-a painting of a wolf with its jaws wide open.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
I wasn't just going to a new home. I was going to a cage. And the man who held the key didn't look like he knew how to be human at all.
Sounds interesting ❤️❤️