I stumble back instinctively, Lucien's coat slipping from my shoulders and falling to the pavement with a soft whisper. 

A warm flush runs down my spine. 

I draw in a slow breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Adrian closes the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. When he reaches the streetlight along the curb, the glow catches his face.

I see the faint frown tugging at his lips as his gaze drops briefly to the coat on the pavement. He looks back at me. "You dropped something."

His voice is low and even, as if nothing bothers him. But I still can recall the look on his face when he stared at my father. He looked like he wanted to strangle him. 

I swallow, glancing down at Lucien's coat lying between us.

"I-" The words die in my throat when he suddenly leans in. I hold my breath instinctively, shaking on the inside. 

But he merely bends, picking it up with one smooth motion. He holds it in his hand for a moment, studying the dark fabric with mild curiosity. His gaze shifts back to me. "You're trembling."

Heat crawls up my neck. I wrap my arms around my waist. "It's cold," I bite, harder than intended. Something about this man who hasn't said more than a couple words to me makes me want to defend myself at every turn. 

Maybe it's the fact that he bought me?  For a freaking dollar and a single cent?  

Adrian's gaze roams idly over my body, lingering at my sneakers. I press my legs together and push my right foot away, as if to hide them from him. "It's the only good pair I have," I say, tilting my chin slightly. 

I push my arms around my chest. "I didn't think I had to wear my best dress to be auctioned off."

He stares at me for a long minute, his gaze unblinking. I last mere seconds before my cheeks grow hot. I glance away, staring elsewhere. "I'm supposed to go with you," I mumble.  

"Put it on." He stretches the coat towards me. The command in his voice is quiet and unmistakable. I take the coat slowly, my fingers brushing the sleeve as I pull it around my shoulders again.

Adrian watches me. When I finish, he nods once toward the car across the curb. "Let's go."

He turns, walking away without another word.  I take a first step, my pulse roaring through my ears. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what they want me for. 

What do you do when you buy a person? 

I stare at Adrian's departing figure-his broad shoulders, muscled arms twice my size and his...back. "I bet he works out all the time," I mutter under my breath without thinking. Or has good genes. 

He's handsome too. The sophisticated kind of handsome that women fall for. 

I bet he has his fair pick of partners too. Tall, perfect woman with little fat and curves in all the right places. The 1%. 

Me? 

I glance down at my baggy tee with a dejected sigh. I unfortunately carried my dead-beat father's genes. The one I never met. 

Unfortunately, my mother didn't have good instincts when it came to picking her lovers. 

I'm neither curvy nor slim. I'm somewhere between needing to lose weight and pretending I don't care.

My stomach is soft, my hips a little too wide for the kind of dresses the women around Adrian Hawthorne probably wear. I tug Lucien's coat tighter around myself.

Adrian is already halfway to the car. 

With a quiet sigh, I hurry after him.

His eyes narrow slightly when I appear beside him. He spares me a glance before opening the back door. 

I peer into it, into the semi-darkness.  

And then it hits me, fully. I don't know where I'm going. Two days ago, I was a senior college student trying to make ends meet. 

Now, I'm...

"What do you want with me?" I ask. "I don't see how useful I can be to you. I don't have a degree yet, I can barely cook. I-"

I trail off, a loud gasp slipping past my lips as a terrible thought slip into my head. I stare at Adrian in horror. "A sex slave?!" I shriek. "Is that what I am?"

"You-" I point an accusing finger at him. "Your brothers. You bought me to be your sex slave?" 

A crease appears between his brows. "What are you talking about?"

Why didn't I think about it? An underground hall. A human auction, with filthy wealthy people bored out of their minds. "No," I shake my head vehemently. "If this is some kind of reverse harem, I'm not interested."

"Get in the car, Alina," Adrian cuts me off. 

"Unless," he says calmly, "you'd prefer to go back inside and ask your stepfather to buy you back. I'm sure he must've gotten the dollar already."

"That is," he adds coldly, "if he hasn't gambled it yet." 

The words hit like a slap.

"Get in," he repeats, before walking away to the other side. 

I drag myself into the car as a limo gathers into my throat. I curl up in a corner, staring through the window as my eyes turn watery. 

Not here. 

The last thing I want is for Adrian Hawthorne to see my tears. 

He'll probably tell me to get rid of my tear glands.   After all, I'm merely a tax write-off. 

***

A hand shakes my shoulder repeatedly, ignoring my mumbled protests as I try to bury myself deeper into the warm leather chair. 

"Miss? Miss?"

Miss? 

I peek out of one eye, fully ready to tell them off-only to see an unfamiliar face staring back at me. I jump back in fright, knocking myself off the backseat and to the floor. 

My back takes the brunt of it, pain shooting up my spine. 

"F-" I bite my tongue. 

"Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside." I rub my eyes, blinking twice to focus. A man. He's leaning over the door with a thin frown on his face.  

I stare at him, tucking my tongue into my cheek. Who is he? What am I doing here? Who's Mr. Haw-

Everything comes flooding back again, like a terrible nightmare. The auction. The humiliation bid. Adrian's mean comment. 

Right. 

"Do you need some help?" The man asks. 

I shake my head, mumbling quietly. "I'm fine."

He nods, stepping aside. I gingerly get down, clearing my throat as my face turns red in embarrassment. How did I manage to fall asleep in the back of a stranger's car?

"Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside."

I notice the tag on his jacket, but he's already walking away before I can ask questions. I take a deep breath as I turn. 

It's huge. 

No. Massive. 

The Hawthorne's mansion looks like something from the front page of the Exclusive magazines my step-father piled up in his office. He always bragged about owning one of the fancy houses one day. 

I had no idea where he expected the money to come from. 

It's a fortress with so many windows I go dizzy trying to count them.  

"Miss?"

The man turns, waving his hand impatiently. Crap. I break into a jog, heading to him. 

"He's in his office. Follow me," he says, without preamble. 

I try to keep up, walking through the grand foyer...into a living room ten times the size of the shoebox I rented in college and down a hallway. 

He stops outside a door. 

"He's expecting you."

Just like that, I'm left all alone. I take a deep breath and knock once.   

"Come in."

I walk in.

Adrian's seated behind his desk. He's ditched his suit jacket, but his shirt is still on. I try to not stare too hard at the sleeves rolled to his upper arms-at the firm biceps that budge as he taps his fingers on his desk. 

Or his chest either, with the three top buttons gaping open. 

Heavens. 

"You'll live here. With me," he says. "My brothers will come over from time to time, and might sleep over occasionally."

I nod. 

"As for your sleeping arrangement..." I find myself holding my breath. "We will be sharing the same bedroom."

I'm sure I heard him wrong. I blink several times. "What?"

His expression doesn't change. "You heard me."

My brain struggles to process the words. "You bought me," I say slowly, "not a roommate."

Adrian leans back in his chair. "No," he says. "I bought you. And tonight," His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. 

"You're sleeping in my bed."

"You can do this. You can-"

My courage vanishes the second I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"I can't," I whisper.

My hair is twisted into a messy bun, damp strands clinging to my neck. I spent the last thirty minutes in the bathtub, scrubbing my skin raw like I could wash tonight away if I tried hard enough.

The silk pajamas I'm wearing feel impossibly soft against my skin. I've slept in stretched-out tees for the past five years. This is the kind of luxury I've only seen in magazines.

And yet I'm hiding in the bathroom.

A bathroom with marble floors and more shower heads than I can count.

Because the moment I step outside that door...

My stomach knots.

Adrian Hawthorne's voice echoes in my head. "You're sleeping in my bed."

I didn't think he meant it,  even when he handed me a folded pajama set and bluntly said I needed a shower. For some reason, it didn't occur to me to ask if it was his bedroom. 

Until I heard the door open and his voice, drifting towards the door. I ducked down in the bath tub as fast I could, almost drowning myself. 

He was on a call, then. I haven't heard a sound since, but I don't want to test my luck. 

I can't. 

The only person I've ever shared a bed with, was my mom. I've never kissed anyone either, much less sleeping in the same bed. 

And I still don't know what he wants with me.  

I slap my hands to my cheeks, groaning. "You need to figure something out, Alina." I glance around the bathroom, but there's nothing but tiles. 

The bath-tub. 

It's cold, but it's big enough to stretch out. "It's just one night," I mumble, psyching myself up. "You're not going to get hypothermia-

A knock sounds on the door. I freeze instantly, stopping with one foot forward.

"Alina."

My heart slams against my ribs. Adrian. "I-just a second," I manage, my voice thinner than I'd like.

There's a pause on the other side of the door. "If you need help with the toilet-"

"No!" I cut in as my face flames. "I-I'm okay." Somehow, the thought of him knowing that I use the toilet is more humiliating than sleeping in the same bed with him. 

There's more silence. "If you're thinking of sleeping in the bath tub, I suggest you don't. It would be a foolish thing to do."

Right. 

"I'm not," I say. "I'll be out in a minute."

I exhale audibly when I hear his footsteps retreating, reaching to the wall for support as my knees turn to jelly. I turn to the tub again, but Adrian's words echo cruelly in my head.  

Foolish. 

One of the many things my step-father called me when I demanded that he transfer some of the company shares to me. 

"You're a foolish, ungrateful child. I should've thrown you out after your mother died. Yet I'm still providing for you."

Tears sting my eyes. I brush them away angrily. 

I wanted to tell him that he hadn't given me a cent since I watched her get lowered into the ground. I was the one bailing him out of trouble. 

The only thing we shared was his house-and my mother paid off his mortgage after she married him. 

She gave everything to him. Until he took her life too. 

I drag my feet back to the mirror, staring hard at my reflection. The tiny scar on my forehead gleams in the overhead light. 

My shoulders straighten. I might've been sold, but won't let Adrian or anyone else bully me. Not the way my step-father did. 

***

Adrian's seated on a low sofa near the foot of the bed, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. A document is in his hand, the pages shifting quietly as he flips through them.

If he heard me walk in, he doesn't say anything. Which is good. I turn away, carefully walking towards the end of the bed-closest to the wall. Far away from him. 

"Alina."

I halt, my heart slamming in my chest. I slowly turn around, to find him watching me. His eyes are different under the warm lights-a shade of blue that darkens as his gaze pins me in place.  

He closes the document.

The soft thud echoes louder than it should in the quiet room.

Adrian sets it aside and rises to his feet. I gulp noisily, frantically searching my brain for something to say. Small talk, maybe. 

I don't get further than that, because my brain completely stops functioning.

He's shirtless. I didn't notice it when I walked in...but he's shirtless. 

My eyes betray me instantly as they trail over him. Broad shoulders. Lean, sculpted muscle across his chest. I knew he was fit even with his suit on, but I didn't think it was this- 

Phew. 

My gaze flickers downward before I can stop it, following the v line travelling from his stomach, down to  where his pants hang low on his waist. It drops a little more. 

Oh.

Oh wow. My mouth goes dry. 

Is that-

I snap my eyes back up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. Huge. I can see the imprint through his pants, pushing against the light cotton fabric. 

My gaze wanders again, my body humming traitorously. I've seen plenty. On TV and the occasional indecent creep, but nothing as big...

Focus, Alina! 

I pinch myself hard enough for it to sting, my attention snapping back to his face.  

There's an unreadable expression on his face. 

I clear my throat awkwardly, folding my arms like that might somehow hide the fact that my brain just had a full meltdown. "Thank you for the pajamas."

"The personal stylist will be here tomorrow morning. She'll get your closet fitted."

My head bobs. "Okay." I stand there, as if waiting for orders. 

"Is there something you need?" 

"N-no," I shake my head. "The bed," I mutter after a moment. "I'm not sure where I'm supposed to sleep."

Adrian's gaze flicks briefly toward the massive bed behind him, then back to me.

"The right side," he says simply. 

"Oh." My cheeks go hot. "Right."

I walk toward it slowly, the mattress looking big enough to swallow me whole. I hover beside it for a second, unsure what to do with myself, before sitting gingerly on the edge like I'm afraid it might reject me.

The mattress sinks softly beneath my weight. It's... ridiculously comfortable.

Of course it is.

I tuck my hands into my lap, staring at the floor while I try very hard to pretend the shirtless man in the room with me doesn't exist. Or that my thoughts aren't wandering back to his-

I shake my head, pushing the image out as I climb on the bed and under the covers. 

Sleep. I just need to close my eyes and pretend like I'm somewhere else. 

The other side of the mattress dips a moment later. 

My spine straightens instantly as a musk-rich cologne drifts toward me, sinking into my senses like honey on satin. I hear him sigh softly, the quiet rustle of fabric following as the covers shift.

A strange, unwelcome tension curls low in my stomach. My body betrays me with a soft, restless pulse between my thighs that I immediately try to ignore.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

This is ridiculous.

He's just a man.

A terrifying, powerful, shirtless man with a body that looks like it belongs on a Greek statue-but still.

Just a man. That I'm supposed to hate. "A dollar and one cent," I remind myself under my breath, grabbing my end of the covers and shrinking closer to the edge of the bed. "That's how much you were worth to him."

Sleep doesn't come. 

I curl tighter until my knees touch my chest, fighting the urge to open my eyes and look over my shoulders. I can feel him behind me and hear the sound of soft, even breathing, but I don't dare turn. 

Sheep. 

I picture numbers in my head and begin counting down. One hundred... ninety-nine... ninety-eight...

Somewhere along the way, the numbers blur and slip through my fingers. My eyelids grow heavy, my limbs sinking into the mattress as the tension slowly drains out of me.

The sheets are soft. Too soft.

I burrow deeper into them with a quiet sigh, my body relaxing despite everything. "Mmm," I murmur under my breath, shifting slightly, chasing the comfort.

For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget who I'm lying next to.

My hand drifts absently across the bed as I turn, my fingers brushing against something warm. It's not the sheets.

It's warmer. Firmer. 

I frown faintly in my half-asleep haze, shifting closer without thinking, my fingers grazing over it again. "So warm..." I mumble drowsily as I reach further, trying to make out the strange object. 

It's soft in some places, hard in others and it's...wide. 

Very wide.  

My brows knit slightly, confusion flickering through the fog in my head. Still, my fingers wander lower, curious to find an answer. 

I touch something. 

I blink, my lashes fluttering and my eyes slowly opening. My gaze trails over to my hand. 

That's not the bed. That's not the-

I jerk back with a sharp gasp, yanking my hand to my chest like I've been burned.

"And here I thought you were fast asleep."

My head snaps up. Adrian is already looking at me.

His expression is tight as it sweeps over my face. "Were you looking for something?" he asks quietly.

"N-no," I stammer, shrinking away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-I sleep alone," I rush out, words tumbling over each other. "I forgot where I was. I'm sorry."

Silence stretches between us and my face burns hotter with every passing second.

I wait for a reaction-for irritation, anger, something.

"Perhaps we should reconsider the sleeping arrangement," he says flatly. I watch him get out of the bed. Still shirtless. 

My mind, shameless as it is, wanders far, tracing the firm lines of his abs and the stretch of his shoulders. My tongue darts out without thinking, wetting my bottom lip as I glimpse the veins along his fingers as he curls them against his thigh. 

"You'll sleep here tonight."

"W-" I snap back. "What about you?" 

His brows rise slightly. "I own the house. I'm sure I can find a room where I don't have to worry about being groped in my sleep."

Groped!?? My face turns so red I can feel it flaming. 

I open my mouth to argue, but Adrian's already striding to the door. It opens and shuts with a soft thud. 

Just like that, I'm dismissed.

The sun is directly shining in my face when I wake up the next morning. Not wake up, actually. I open my eyes, to the bright stinging light from the drapes drawn open, grab the pillow and slam it over my head like WWE. 

I used to watch it when I was younger, after my mother died. I thought if I became stronger, I could defend myself from the scumbags my stepdad brought around the house. 

Turns out they wanted nothing to do with his daughter. 

Somehow, the loan sharks and gangsters were more honest than the man my mother left me with. 

My head hurts. 

I groan as I crawl out of bed, finding my way with my hands while my eyes remain shut. Just there...a little bit more...I'm closer to the edge now. 

I miscalculate badly. 

One minute I'm reaching for the bed frame and the next I'm toppling to the ground in a tangle of sheets. My butt takes the brunt of it, hitting the cold flooring with a thud. 

I bite my tongue-on instinct-as I grab my backside, muffling my shriek of pain. It doesn't help, because the familiar metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. 

Great. 

I'm off to a good start this morning. 

I sit there, for a couple minutes, trying to ward off any more bad luck. Then I slowly untangle myself, standing to my feet. 

I glance around the room, my eyes widening at the dull wall colors and the large space. For a brief moment, my brain floods with panic. And then I'm reminded, as the memories come flooding back, that I'm not in my tiny bedroom in my shoebox apartment. 

No. 

I'm the property of the Hawthorne brothers, specifically Adrian Hawthorne. And he bought me for one dollar and a cent. 

The bed.  

I whirl around as my pulse skips. He was in bed with me last night. I remember holding my breath, pretending I couldn't feel the warmth from his body from my hiding spot. 

Like I couldn't smell him-all musk and masculine-invading my senses. 

And then he left. 

Because I slept off and ended up...

No. 

I race to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My chest heaves as I stare at the mirror, at my reddened face. I manhandled him. And I could've touched him anywhere, but it had to be down there.  

"Oh god," I moan, slapping my hands to my face. "You should've slept on the floor, Alina."

Now he thinks I'm a creep. I'm the creep he bought from an auction because her alcoholic, gambling stepfather put her up for sale and nobody could spare a dollar. 

I sink to the floor slowly, gloom and doom weighing heavy in my chest. "I'll just stay here," I mumble to myself. "I'll lock the door and live out the rest of my days in this bathroom."

My eyes dart straight for the bath tub. I'd thought about sleeping in it last night and he said it was a foolish idea. 

Well, I doubt he'd say the same thing now. Adrian Hawthorne probably wants nothing to do with me at this point. 

I make it only a minute in before my stomach grumbles loudly. 

"Please." I wrap my arms around my waist. "Go away." It grumbles again, and a sharp, stinging pain tears across my stomach. I double over as my vision goes white, gasping for air.    

I try to breathe, but the pain intensifies, digging deeper into my stomach, as if eating at my intestines. 

I forgot. I have an ulcer. Another gift I got from working three jobs, dealing with a student loan and still having to bail my deadbeat parent. 

I fainted during a class in my freshman year and woke up in a bed, in a room with white walls, wearing an oversized gown. That's when I found out I had an ulcer.  

If I die here, nobody will mourn me.  I'll be forgotten by all. 

I'm not sure what pushes me to my feet-pure spite of my weak self will, but I drag my feet out the bathroom and out of the bedroom, still dressed in pajamas. 

The house is incredibly big. 

I walk down the stairs into a large hallway, then into another one at the end of the first hallway. Paintings line the walls, most of them abstract, but breathtaking nonetheless. 

I forget about my hunger for a bit, before the smell of something warm and rich, with mouthwatering spices, hits me. My stomach makes the demanding noise again. 

"Hi."

I whirl around. 

A woman stands a couple feet away. She looks like she's in her forties, with jet black hair tied into a strict bun and her arms folded behind her back. "You're Miss Wilson?"

I nod. 

She cracks a small, polite smile, tilting her head. "Good morning. I'm Grace, the housekeeper. Mr. Hawthorne is in the dining room already. I'll take you there."

"Dining room?" My lips pull in a tight, confused line. "I'm having breakfast with Adrian?"

Her lips twitch. "Yes. Mr. Hawthorne has ordered that your breakfast be served with his. Although..." she trails off as her brows furrow. Her gaze roams over my body and she purses her lips lightly. "I'm not sure if that is appropriate."

I glance down at my pajamas. "It's-" it's silk,  is what I want to say. It's the most expensive thing I've ever owned. 

"I don't have anything else," I mutter instead.

"Oh." Her eyes soften. "Well, then, we should get you some clothes.  I'll have the fashion designer come around later today. She should be able to get you fitted."

"But," she adds before I can say anything, "you're late for breakfast. Mr. Hawthorne is a very punctual man."

I nod meekly, following behind her. 

She opens a door, then steps back. "You can go in."

"Thank you."

The dining room-unsurprisingly-is more spacious than...well, my apartment. Adrian is seated at the head, holding an open newspaper to his face. 

I clear my throat. "Hi."

He sets it down, slowly. He says nothing for a minute and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

My stomach growls. My knees weaken and I grab the closest chair to keep from crumbling. 

Adrian's brows crease sharply. He stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face. "You should sit," he says flatly. "Before your legs give out, Miss Wilson."

I feel my face heating up and quickly sink down on a chair, dropping my gaze to the table. Cinnamon scent wafts past my nostrils, from the covered plate two chairs in front of me. 

I avoid eye contact as I reach for it, taking the top off. Warm, fluffy pancakes greet me and a happy sigh slips past my lips. 

I grab one with a fork, then another, serving myself. I whisk the fancy syrup bottle next to it, spreading a generous amount on the small pile.  

My fork sinks in. 

I lift the first bite to my lips, already tasting it. 

"How did you sleep last night?" His tone is mild, almost polite-but there's a sharp edge beneath it. I glance at him, by mistake but he's already staring at me. 

I choke on air. 

"I find it interesting," he continues, setting it down with deliberate care, "how accurate your hands are... even in your sleep."

He pauses as my chest suddenly feels smaller. Then, quieter, Adrian adds, "Tell me, do you always reach for things like that unconsciously, or was last night different?"