Page 1 of Bought By the Owner's Son
Chapter One
Elena
A muffled ringing fills my ears.
I try to swallow, but an unbearable ache pierces my skull. I try to move my hand to clutch my throbbing skull, but my body feels like lead.
Why can’t I move? Am I paralyzed or something?
I push hard at my uncooperative body, willing it to move. And after what feels like an eternity of mental struggle, my brain jolts fully awake. My eyelids are heavy but I force them open, blinking away the haze in my head.
Where am I?
The small room is nearly empty, except for a single metallic chair beside the bed and a wooden table wedged against the wall. There are a few medical supplies on the table, but not enough to consider it a hospital room. The hammering ache causes me to close my eyes, but my head continues to pound and my tongue grows heavy with pain.
What the heck is going on?
Despite the pain, I open my eyes again, hoping this is some kind of nightmare—but it’s not. I try to remember how I got into this situation, but my mind is blank.
Last I remember, I was at work, asking if I could introduce my new key lime pie recipe to the menu. But no—that was Monday…and then on Tuesday I remember that one angry customer. I managed to calm him down with a complimentary chocolate croissant. No one can stay angry while they’re eating delicious baked goods.
But I don’t remember how I got home that night…and that feels like it was at least a week ago.
All my memories of the past week are blurry, like they’re out of focus, or just out of reach. And I certainly don’t remember anything that could have led me to this place.
Tears of frustration well in my eyes as I push myself to remember. The effort causes my head to bang like a loud drum. A soft groan escapes my lips just as the door to the room opens with a creak.
“Good. You’re awake.”
I look up to see a tall, hard-faced man entering the room. My heart skips at the long, angry scar running across the left part of his face. He stops beside the bed, his dark eyes boring blankly into mine. “Get up.”
I swallow nervously, straightening my upper body despite the numbness in my limbs. “W-who are you?” I croak, forcing the words past the dryness in my throat. “Where am I?”
He doesn’t answer, but his hard stare is enough to push me out of bed. I gingerly touch my bare feet to the cold cement floor, holding the bed for support as my heart threatens to give out from fear.
He drops a satchel onto the bed. “Get dressed,” he commands. “Everything you need is in there. You have five minutes, and ifyou’re not fully dressed, I’ll drag you out—naked.” His voice is tinged with sinister promise, and he chuckles darkly as he leaves the room.
Dread mixed with crippling fear threatens to drown me. But I push it back and quickly pull off the hospital gown I was wearing. I wonder briefly who put me in the gown, and what happened to the rest of my clothes, but I quickly focus on the task at hand—it’s obvious that the scar-faced stranger is not one to cross. I dump the contents of the satchel on the bed and freeze at the sight of the obscene clothing and footwear. A green backless mini dress that leaves little to imagination, and heels that are so tall I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk.
With the guard’s threat looming over my head, I quickly put on the clothes, feeling uncomfortable at my exposed cleavage. The red heels are the hardest to wear under the force of my headache, and I only pull through by sheer grit.
The scar-faced guard barges in as I gingerly straighten and lean on the bed frame for support.
“Come with me,” he orders after a few seconds of quiet inspection.
“Please,” I say faintly, my head and limbs feeling lethargic, “I need a minute.”
“I don’t have the patience for your theatrics. Get the fuck up!” he snaps, sending another jolt of fear shooting down my spine.
I should do as he says, but protests and questions swarm my mind. “Where am I?” I ask again, despite the pain threatening to split my head. “What is this place? I don’t know how I got here—I don’t really remember much of anything.” My voice is trembling, but I try to keep a lid on my fear.
“I won’t ask again. Get up!” he snaps tersely.
But I can’t just go with him blindly. I need something.Anyinformation. As I open my mouth to ask more questions, he reaches into the waistband of his pants and pulls out a gun, aiming it directly at my temple.
“One more word and I’ll put a bullet in your skull. Don’t fuck around with me, girl.”
I freeze, blinking in shock, and then burst into motion, wobbling softly as his threat registers. A throbbing pain slams hard and repeatedly against my skull with every movement, and I stifle the loud cry threatening to burst out of my lips.
