Sold to be a Billionaire's Slave

Weeks passed. Days blurred into nights inside Brayden's mansion. He worked. He ruled. He fucked me. And I obeyed his commands. And then one Sunday afternoon, the storm broke. A black car pulled up the drive, I was polishing glasses in the kitchen when Brayden appeared, his jaw set. "They're here," he muttered. "Who sir?" I asked. He didn't answer, just fixed his cufflinks. I followed when he called me, though every step knotted my stomach. In the living room, His mother and brother waited. I stayed back in the corner, clutching the tray like a shield. "Brayden," his mother said smoothly, "You've ignored our calls long enough." "I've been busy," he replied flatly, pouring himself whiskey. His brother leaned forward. "Busy playing house with your... pet?" His eyes flicked toward me. I froze. Brayden didn't blink. "Say what you came to say." His mother's patience snapped. "You will marry Alessia. The mafia expects it. The deal was made before your father died. You owe them." Brayden smirked. "I owe no one." His brother slammed his hand on the table. "Without Alessia, we lose protection. We lose the empire." "You selfish boy!" his mother hissed. Brayden moved. He set down his glass, crossed the room, and stopped in front of me. Before I could breathe, his hand wrapped around my wrist. The tray slipped, shattering at my feet. "This," Brayden said, "is the woman I'm going to marry." The world tilted. His mother's face went pale. "You can't be serious. She's...she's nothing!" His brother's sneer was sharp. "You've lost your mind. She's a slave, Brayden. A toy you bought." Brayden's grip tightened around me. "She's mine. And that's all that matters." The doors banged open. Alessia swept in, fire in her eyes. Her gaze raked me head to toe with venom. "Pathetic. This is who you choose over me?" Brayden's jaw ticked. "Leave, Alessia." She laughed. "Leave? Oh no. I'll make sure my father knows. I'll make sure the mafia knows. They'll destroy her. They'll destroy you. And I'll enjoy watching." Before I could react, she snatched a glass of wine and threw it at me. Cold red liquid drenched my skin, dripping down my dress. "You'll regret this," she hissed. Brayden didn't move. "Get. Out." Alessia stormed away, the echo of her heels like gunshots. His mother stood abruptly. "You're killing us, Brayden. You just rejected the Mafialords daughter for a Slave!" His brother's eyes lingered on me. "She won't last mother. He'll ruin her like he ruined the rest." They left in silence, but the damage hung heavy in the air. Brayden was still holding me. His grip didn't soften. I whispered, shaky, "Why me? Why are you doing this? You can't be serious about... marrying me." For one breath, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. But then he shoved me back. My shoulder hit the wall. The slap came fast, sharp, ringing through the room. My cheek burned. "You should be grateful," he said, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. "I'm elevating you from slave to wife." My heart thrashed in my chest. His mouth curled into a cruel smile. "I'll have my lawyer draft a contract. You'll sign it. You'll be my wife and my property forever." Three mornings later, he entered my room without knocking, a folder in hand. "Read it," he said, tossing it onto the bed. My fingers trembled as I opened it. Contracts. Clauses. Stamped and signed by his lawyer. Clause one: I belonged to him. My body, my voice, my freedom. Clause two: my duties were obedience, silence, loyalty. Clause three: my life was bound until death. By the time I reached the end, the words blurred. Brayden sat in the chair opposite me, calm as ever, sipping coffee. "Sign it, Zoe." "I..." My throat closed. "This isn't marriage. It's prison." He rose, towering over me. "Call it what you like. Wife. Prisoner. Slave. The result is the same." The pen slid across the sheets, stopping before my hand. His eyes locked mine. "Sign." I signed. Brayden smiled. "Good girl. Now, you'll need a dress." The boutique was glass and gold, draped in silks and mannequins. I trailed behind him, still dazed, his hand on my back. A clerk appeared, all smiles. "Mr. Gatsby. A pleasure." His gaze flickered to me with curiosity. "For your... fiancée?" The word burned. Brayden's jaw flexed. "Yes." They ushered us to a private floor. Racks of ivory, satin, lace. I changed behind a screen, the fabric cold against my skin. When I stepped out, one of the male attendants froze, eyes sweeping over me. He was young, tall, his gaze lingering a beat too long. "Beautiful," he said softly. Heat rushed to my face. I whispered, "Thank you." The sound cracked the air like glass. Brayden's hand closed on my wrist, yanking me back. The attendant flinched under his stare, mumbling an excuse and vanishing. But Brayden's fury didn't vanish. "Car. Now." The moment the door slammed behind us, his hand was at my throat, shoving me against the leather seat. "You just thanked another man." His voice was poison silk. "He spoke to me first..." "Silence." He ripped the dress from my body, until I was naked. His palm seized my waist, throwing me across his lap. The first slap landed on my ass with a crack. Pain burst through me. "Count." "One!" I gasped. His hand struck again, harder. "Two!" Over and over until my voice broke, sobs mixing with the sharp sting. By the tenth, I was trembling, begging. "Please...please, no more..." But Brayden's fingers slipped between my thighs, plunging into my wet heat. "Never speak to another man," he growled, curling inside me until I arched helplessly. "Never look at another man. Ever. You belong to me. Is that understood, Zoe?" "Yes!" I cried, my body convulsing around his hand. "Yes, Mr Gatsby, I understand!" His thumb pressed hard against my clit, circling fast and hard. I was still shaking when he dragged me upright, my knees weak beneath me. "Down," Brayden ordered, his hand fisting in my hair. I slid to the floor of the car, the leather cool under my bare knees. He unzipped his pants, pulling his cock free, thick, hard, with veins around it. "Open your mouth," he said. I obeyed, heat flooding my face. His grip tightened in my hair as he pushed his length into my mouth. I gagged, tears springing to my eyes. "Take it," he growled. "All of it." My nails dug into his thigh, my cheeks hollowing as I sucked, gagging, choking, trying to keep up with the rhythm he set. He fucked my mouth without hesitation. I moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his cock. His breath hitched, his thrusts sharper. "Good girl," he groaned. "Look at you, crying on my cock, like you were made for this. My perfect slave. My future wife." His control snapped. He shoved deep one last time, holding me down as he spilled hot and thick into my throat. "Swallow," he commanded. I did, choking it down, trembling as his release coated me inside. When he finally let go of my hair, I collapsed against his thigh, gasping for air. Brayden's hand stroked lazily down my cheek, smearing my tears. His voice was low, satisfied. "Tomorrow," he said, his tone final, unyielding, "we'll get married in court." There was no question in his voice. No room for protest. Tomorrow, I would no longer be his slave. Tomorrow, I would be his wife. Tomorrow, I would belong to him forever. And as his fingers slid possessively down my jaw, forcing me to look at him, I knew there was no escape.