Page 4 of Bought By Santa

I close my eyes, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability. My breath hitches, the fear and panic clawing at my insides. How much longer can I keep this up? How much longer before everything crumbles?

The room is suffocating, walls closing in, filled with the ghosts of our parents and the relentless pressure to provide for Willow. To give her the life she deserves—one that doesn’t end within the confines of a care home room.

Letting out a shaky breath, I try to piece together a plan, any plan, that doesn’t involve selling pieces of my soul or poking holes in prophylactics in vain attempts at securing an anchor in this storm. But as always, I come up with nothing. I’m a highschool dropout without qualifications for anything. I only have one thing to offer; my body.

I stand in the middle of my cramped studio, eyes shut as I paint the fantasy once more; grand ballrooms, silken gowns, a life where Willow laughs free of worry. It’s a dream spun from desperation, woven with threads of hope and longing. My fingertips graze the cold windowpane, imagining it’s the smooth marble of some opulent mansion. The frosty touch sends a shiver down my spine, but it’s not from the chill.

“Carolina Sterling, you will be the belle of every ball,” I mutter, the words a vow to the night. “You’ll find that golden ticket.”

I snap my eyes open, the reality of peeling wallpaper and looming shadows crashing back. The fantasy fades, but it leaves behind a fierce resolve. No more tears, I decide. They solve nothing. Action—deceptive, sly, desperate action—is what’s called for now.

Moving to my closet, I rummage through hangers until I findthedress. Red, daring, a whisper of fabric that promises sin and salvation all at once. A tool, nothing more, despite its allure. As I inspect the tags, still firmly attached, a smirk pulls at my lips. “One night only,” I remind myself. “Wear it, charm them, return it.”

It’s a calculated risk, an investment in a future I’m clawing toward with everything I have. Each time I play this game, the stakes mount higher, the fall closer. But there’s no room for doubt.

“Tomorrow, they’ll see only what you want them to see,” I say, practicing the tone of a woman who’s never known the suffocating embrace of poverty—a woman who doesn’t exist.

I lay the dress out, then turn to the mirror, studying my reflection. The blonde hair, the curves—they’re my weapons in this masquerade. I practice smiles, tilts of the head, soft laughter. A mask of allure over the steel of determination.

I can’t let myself slip, can’t let the sparkle in my eyes dim to reveal the dread beneath. I must be all charm, all grace. Because somewhere in that crowd is a man with pockets deep enough to lift us from this mire. And I will find him.

After hanging the dress back in my closet, I reach for my laptop and power it on. It’s time to make some money.

Chapter 3

The Santa

Iwatch from the kitchen window as Ruby and her husband pull into the drive. The December chill bites at the glass, but it’s nothing compared to the icy grip tightening around my heart. I see him shove her—not rough enough to draw attention, but enough for me to notice.

My fists clench, knuckles white, a familiar surge of protectiveness rising within me like bile. I stride out the front door, the cold air slapping against my face, sharpening mysenses. Asphalt crunches under my polished shoes as I close the distance between us. Ruby looks up, our eyes meet—a fleeting moment of silent understanding.

“Ruby,” I greet her with a nod, then turn to her husband. His smug smile grates on my nerves. With a swift motion, I grab him by the collar and slam him against the car, metal groaning under his weight.

“Listen carefully,” I snarl, my voice low, lethal. “You will treat my sister with the respect she deserves.”

He sneers, unaffected by my show of strength. “She’s mine, Nicklas. Bought and paid for. I can do what I want with my property.”

The words hit me like bullets, fueling the fire in my veins. But I hold back, maintaining an ironclad façade. I can’t afford to lose control, not here, not now. “Property?” I repeat, words laced with venom. “She is a Knight, and if you ever—” I cut myself off, releasing him with a shove. No need for empty threats; he knows what I’m capable of.

“You okay?” I ask Ruby, ensuring my tone is even, controlled.

“Fine, Nick,” she replies, her voice doesn’t tremble, but her eyes betray her, reflecting a storm of emotions. They’re glassy with unshed tears, and she sniffles softly. But then, right in front of me, she transforms; rolling her shoulders back and raising her chin. “Never better.” The smile on her lips is fake.

“Good,” I say, ignoring that we both know it’s a lie. “Let’s not keep Dad waiting.”

As we walk inside, I feel the weight of my father’s expectations bearing down on me. The need for an heir, for continuing the family legacy—it all rests on my shoulders. And yet, here I am, caught up in my sister’s plight, unable to extricate her from a life she never chose.

I’m still simmering with fury when Dad joins us, his presence like a chill draft. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, eyes flickering between Ruby’s practiced smile and my taut jawline.

Ruby’s husband steps forward, smoothing his suit jacket. “No issue at all,” he lies smoothly.

“Ruby?” Dad turns to her, eyebrows raised in expectation.

She shakes her head, her voice just a whisper. “No, Dad. Everything’s fine.” Her eyes dart to me, pleading silently for support I can’t openly give.

I notice the tremble in her hands, the way she avoids meeting our father’s gaze. The rage inside me burns hotter, but I keep it caged behind a cool exterior. This isn’t the time or place. My sister needs me to be strong, not reckless.

“Let’s eat,” Dad commands, dismissing the tension as if it’s nothing more than a wisp of smoke.

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