Page 17 of Sold to the Titan

I sit behind my desk, a feeble attempt at maintaining some semblance of control. It won’t do any good to let her see how torn I am. “I was only looking out for you,” I say simply, keeping my voice level. “She’ll never hurt you again.”

Aria scoffs loudly, blinking at me in disbelief. “You were looking out for me? By putting Vivian in danger?”

I shrug in response. “She hurt you first.”

“Like that’s any defense,” Aria counters. “How are you different from her?”

“Aria, I—”

“You have no excuse, Cillian,” Aria cuts in, holding my gaze with a stubborn tilt of her jaw. “How are you any different from Vivian, or the monster who hurt your sister?”

“What?” My voice is quiet despite my blood roaring in my veins. “What did you say?”

Aria swallows hard, her gaze flicking away but not before I catch the guilt in her dazzling green eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t have come here. I…I shouldn’t be here.”

Without another word, she heads for the door, her movements stiff, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will. At the entrance, she turns around, her expression bland, emotionless. “I’ll pack my things and go back to my place. I’ll work and pay back the price you bought me for. Thank you…for everything.”

And with that, she walks out of the door, and out of my life.

Chapter 9

Aria

I storm out of Cillian’s home, the cool night air slapping me in the face as I walk down the long, lonely road. My heart feels like lead, weighing heavily on my emotions. I’m feeling a lot of things after that confrontation with Cillian, but mostly guilt…for the hurtful words I said to him.

I shouldn’t have compared him to that monster who killed his sister. It was not my place. What’s wrong with me?

A dark SUV with tinted windows glides past me. I frown slightly, wondering why it’s going so slowly when the road is obviously clear.

Something doesn’t feel right.

I quicken my pace, my skin prickling with unease, glancing over my shoulder every few steps. My heart starts to beat faster, my instincts screaming at me to get out of sight. I take the next corner, ready to bolt if the car follows me, but it doesn’t. I stop walking, letting out a breath of relief while mentally berating myself for being paranoid.

Someone clears their throat in front of me and I look up to see a tall, beady-eyed man with thinning brown hair and an unkeptbeard standing a few feet from me, lips stretched slightly in a humorless smirk.

“Hey, missy…lose your way?” he asks in a mocking tone.

My heartbeat picks up again, hard and fast against the walls of my chest. I glance back to see the SUV parked a close distance from us, waiting…

“E-excuse me,” I stutter, trying to sidestep. He moves with me, mirroring every step I take, his smirk growing wider, mocking me. I swerve in an attempt to run, but the man is faster. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pulls me against his sweaty, smelly body. I scream, struggling to get away, and suddenly I feel a sharp prick against my neck. My hand flies up to the spot as my vision blurs. I stumble, my legs giving way beneath me. The last thing I feel is the man lifting me into his arms.

When I open my eyes, I’m lying in an unfamiliar room, my wrists bound to a bed. Panic claws at me, every nerve screaming as I struggle against the restraints. My head is throbbing, and I blink away the fog, trying to take in my surroundings. The room is lavishly decorated, with polished wood and elegant drapes.

Then the door creaks open, and a man steps inside. He’s old, maybe mid to late sixties, tall and lean, agile-looking for his age, with sleek handsome features. He looks vaguely familiar, yet I can’t place where I’ve seen him before.

“Wh-who’re you?” I ask. My voice is hoarse, barely coming out above a whisper.

He chuckles like I’ve just said something hilarious. He walks further into the room, coming to sit beside me on the bed.

“Warren,” he says quietly. His voice is raspy and deep, the voice of a man used to getting his way. “Warren Osla. I’m sure you’ve heard about me.”

I stare at him in disbelief. I’ve glimpsed him quite a few times on the news, and of course at the party the other night. A wealthy businessman and philanthropist loved by all.

But that isn’t why he seemed familiar.

He was at the auction—I’d remember that voice anywhere. He bid against Cillian to try to buy me.What does he want with me?

“You poor little thing, you must be wondering why you’re here,” he says as if reading my mind. I nod and his lips tug up in a cynical smile.

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