Bought by the Billionaire: The Debt's Price
I was the "fallen princess" of New York, living in a charcoal silk cage while paying off my father’s millions in debt with my own body. My owner was Braxton Kensington, a man who looked at me with the same cold interest he gave a fluctuating stock graph.
One morning, a New York Times alert shattered the silence: Braxton was getting engaged to a billionaire socialite in the merger of the decade. When I demanded my freedom and the five-million-dollar severance promised in our contract, he just smirked and pointed to the fine print.
"In a court of law, an engagement is just an intention," he whispered, gripping my chin until it bruised. "Until I sign that marriage license, you belong to me."
He flicked a black AmEx at my feet like I was a tragic charity case, ordering me to buy a dress for his engagement gala. To save my dying mother from eviction, I took a secret translation job, only to realize my client was his new fiancée, Caroline. She dragged me to Braxton’s office to humiliate me, and after he hid me in a secret room to avoid a scandal, he branded me a "security risk" and froze every cent I had.
I stood in a CVS with my last sixty dollars, swallowing a Plan B pill dry while watching a news report about Braxton demolishing my family’s last legacy. He didn't just want my body; he wanted to erase my entire existence and leave me with nothing.
The cruelty was breathtaking, but Braxton forgot that a woman with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous player in the game. I reached out to the only man he truly feared—his billionaire half-brother and the boy whose heart I broke years ago, Ansel Neal.
"Coffee isn't enough," Ansel replied to my message in seconds. "Dinner. Our old spot. 8 PM."
As I walked into the club to meet Braxton's greatest rival, I knew the game wasn't over. I was just changing the rules.
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Chapter 6
The lobby of Kensington Tower was a cathedral of capitalism. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and the hush of serious money. Elodie's heels clicked sharply on the stone as Caroline dragged her toward the private elevator.
The receptionist saw Caroline and immediately buzzed them through. She didn't even look at Elodie. To them, she was just a shadow.
The elevator ride was silent. Elodie watched the floor numbers climb. 20... 30... 50...
The doors opened onto the executive floor. Geoff was standing at the reception desk. He looked up, his professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second when he saw Elodie. His eyes darted from her to Caroline, then down to his tablet.
"Ladies," Geoff said. "They are waiting in Conference Room A."
"Thank you, Geoff." Caroline breezed past him.
Elodie followed, keeping her head down. Geoff didn't say a word, but she felt his gaze burning into her back. He knew. He knew everything.
They entered the conference room. It was a glass box suspended over the city. A long mahogany table dominated the space. Three men in grey suits sat on one side-the Spanish delegation.
Braxton wasn't there yet.
Elodie took her seat next to Caroline. She opened her notebook, her hands trembling slightly.
One of the Spaniards, a younger man with dark eyes named Mateo, leaned forward. "Hola," he said, smiling at Elodie. "You are the translator?"
"Sí," Elodie replied in flawless Spanish. "I am here to assist with the contract details."
Mateo's smile widened. "An unexpected beauty in a room of sharks."
Caroline let out a sharp, fake laugh. "Careful, Mateo. She's paid to talk, not to flirt."
Before Mateo could respond, the heavy double doors swung open.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Braxton walked in. He was wearing a navy suit, cut to perfection. He looked powerful, dangerous, and utterly in control. He walked to the head of the table, shaking hands with the investors.
Then he turned.
His eyes landed on Caroline. He gave a curt nod. Then his gaze slid to the person beside her.
Elodie felt the impact of his stare like a physical shove.
Braxton stopped. His hand, reaching for a file, froze in mid-air for a microsecond. His eyes narrowed. The pupils contracted.
He looked at her suit. The suit she was supposed to be wearing while sick in bed. He looked at Caroline, who was beaming with malicious delight.
He didn't say a word. He pulled out his chair and sat down.
"Let's begin," Braxton said. His voice was gravel.
The meeting was a blur of legalese and numbers. Elodie went into autopilot. She translated complex clauses about equity splits and liability caps. Her voice was steady, professional. She was good at this. For a moment, she forgot the fear. She was just Elodie Sinclair, the brilliant linguist.
Mateo noticed. "She is excellent," he said in Spanish to his colleague, looking at Elodie with admiration. "And she has a fire in her eyes."
Elodie translated the business part, ignoring the compliment.
Braxton tapped his pen on the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. A slow, rhythmic sound that grated on Elodie's nerves.
"Ask him," Braxton said, staring directly at Elodie, "if he understands the penalty for breach of contract."
Elodie turned to Mateo. "Mr. Kensington asks if you are clear on the breach penalties."
Mateo laughed. "Tell him I never break a promise to a beautiful woman."
Elodie hesitated.
"Translate it," Braxton ordered.
"He says... he honors his commitments," Elodie said.
Braxton slammed the pen down. The crack echoed in the room. Silence fell.
"That's not what he said," Braxton growled. He stood up. "The meeting is adjourned. Geoff, take the gentlemen to lunch."
The Spaniards looked confused but stood up. Mateo winked at Elodie as he left.
Caroline stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Well, that went well. Lunch, darling?"
Braxton didn't look at her. He was staring at Elodie, who was frantically packing her bag.
"Caroline, go with them," Braxton said. "I need to clarify a few clauses with the translator."
Caroline paused. Her smile faltered. She looked from Braxton to Elodie. "She's just a temp, Brax. I can hire-"
"Go," Braxton said. Soft. menacing.
Caroline's jaw tightened. She shot a venomous look at Elodie, then turned on her heel and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Elodie was alone with him.
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7.7
Married off to him to pay a debt that was never mine, my only purpose was to give him an heir.
Year after year, my foolish heart fell harder while he shattered it without mercy.
When my service ended, my debt paid, and no child to bind us, I chose freedom through divorce.
But just when I thought I was free...
I was bound to him again.
Bound by his child.
8.9
For three years, Alana acted as the sole tactical brain for the Dawnbreaker squad, keeping them alive despite being labeled a useless "Dud" Conduit.
But right before the crucial Ascension Trials, squad leader Cash handed her a corporate sponsorship contract. The condition? She had to become the "private companion" to a greasy corporate heir just so the squad could get high-tier gear.
When she refused, the teammates she had bled for unanimously voted to kick her out.
"You're just window dressing, a liability."
They revoked her safehouse access, burned her belongings, and the academy advisor even tried to force her into a state-sanctioned breeding program. They left her to freeze in the slums, betting she would desperately crawl into the rich man's bed.
What they didn't know was that her inability to summon an Eidolon wasn't a lack of talent. Her teammate Dallin had been secretly sabotaging her rituals for years, crippling her potential just to keep her chained as their free tactician.
Stripped of everything and pushed to the absolute brink, Alana's despair morphed into a deadly resolve.
Using a million-credit black market loan and a forbidden blood matrix, she forcibly anchored an Apex-Tier cosmic wolf disguised as a harmless silver pup.
When her ex-squad tried to publicly humiliate her and burn her new "pet" alive in the cafeteria, a flash of silver light severed Dallin's hand instantly.
Looking at her screaming former teammates, Alana finally smiled.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
9.2
By a twist of fate, they got married.
Before marriage, she thought he was just an Ordinary man, only to realize after marriage that he is a decisive, cold-blooded Vampire gaming genius with billions of assets with hidden secrets.
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.
7.4
Frieda married Dewitt believing he was just a struggling middle-manager, living in a cramped apartment with only seventy-two dollars left to her name.
She had no idea her cold husband was actually a ruthless billionaire running a cruel psychological test on her. Convinced she might be a gold digger, Dewitt gave her a meager allowance, keeping the divorce papers ready the moment she showed any greed.
While Dewitt secretly judged her every move, Frieda suffered endlessly. At her toxic workplace, she was relentlessly bullied by her arrogant in-laws and mocked for her scuffed shoes. Even after she risked her life to protect his grandmother from an armed mugger and exposed her own hidden tech genius, her coworkers still treated her like trailer-park trash. They cornered her on the street, pointing fingers in her face.
"You are a shameless, gold-digging whore! A billionaire would never want you!"
She endured the humiliation, having just rejected a priceless no-limit black card from his family out of pure principle. She truly believed she and her husband were fighting through poverty together. She had no idea her "poor" husband was watching her every struggle from the tinted windows of a hidden Maybach across the street.
But when her bullies finally pushed too far and raised a hand to strike her, the icy wall around the billionaire's heart completely shattered. Dewitt tore up the divorce papers, his eyes turning pitch black with murderous rage.
"If anyone ever raises a hand to her again, break it."