Sold For $1 To The Hawthorne Brothers のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The laughter in the room slowly fades, but the sound of the auctioneer’s gavel still echoes in my ears. Sold. My hands curl into fists at my sides as the reality settles over me like a suffocating weight. One dollar. That’s what my life is worth. I glare at my stepfather, but he’s slumped over his chair. His glass is empty. Typical. I should’ve known he was going to get drunk. The only time I ever saw him sober was during his anniversary with my mom. And even then, he couldn’t be a good husband for one day. The sound of movement at the back of the room draws my attention. I flinch inwardly as the three men rise from their table. The shift in the room is immediate. Everyone turns, watching the Hawthorne brothers walk toward the stage. They move slowly and unhurried, like men who know the entire room belongs to them. Adrian Hawthorne leads the way. Up close, he’s even more intimidating than I expected. He’s taller than the other two, broad-shouldered, dressed in

“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, drifti

I’m tongue-tied. “I—” I stammer for the first second, unable to look at him. “It was a mistake.” A genuine one. And it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t said we should sleep in the same bed. “It won’t happen again,” I tell him, lifting my head to face him. “As long as I have my own room.” “You have your own room, Miss Alina,” he says, with a little frown between his brows, as if the question makes no sense to him. My shoulders slump in relief. “Tha–” “The sleeping arrangements remain the same, however.” My jaw drops. I stare at him blankly. “You just said I had my room. To myself. Now you’re saying I have to sleep with you?” For some reason, I’m vividly reminded of how firm it felt against my fingers… how big it looked with his pants hanging loose from his waist. A traitorous shiver sinks to my stomach. I force the image out, shaking my head firmly. “I can’t promise I’m not going to—" I swallow thickly, searching for a safer word, “get on your

The rest of my classes move slowly, and by the third one, I’m wishing I’d allowed Adrian’s men follow me into Finance. It might’ve gotten a few stares—maybe more than a few, but at least I’d have something to distract me. I don’t see them lurking around, either. The car was gone when I stepped out of the hall, and no burly-looking man appeared behind me as I moved around the campus building. I didn’t think Adrian suddenly decided I was right, though. A man like him would rather chew nails. I knew they were around—probably blending in with the trees and the sculptures littered across the campus environment. They’d fit right in with the sculptures. I drag my bag higher on my shoulder as I walk into my final class, sighing audibly. I make my way to the back, as usual, plopping in an empty row. The lecturer hasn’t shown up. “Hi.” I turn, my brows furrowing when I see a boy standing by my desk. Shaggy blond hair, the kind that women always fa

Julian stretches out a hand, standing outside the car. We’re parked with the line of cars just outside the red carpet, with bright flashes from paparazzi cameras going off. My palm is sweaty, and I’m starting to lose the tiny courage that brought me all the way. I hesitate, glancing over his shoulder at the people walking the carpet. Rich. Filthy wealthy. They look it. Not playing a part—like me in a dress I could never afford, even if I worked nonstop for a year and saved every last cent. “You’re not chickening out, are you?” Julian murmurs. I turn to him, my lashes fluttering quickly as I try to hide the truth. He looks back and sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Then he leans closer, his voice dropping. “If you think you don’t belong, then you’re wrong, Alina. I promise you, all these people care about is bragging about how much they have and how much they can get away with.” He dips his head, so much closer that I can smell his cologne. It’