My Father Married Me Off for Profit

The remnants of the dress lay scattered on the gritty pavement. Nana shut her eyes, repeating to herself that there was no one to come to her aid. She knew the risks of venturing into such a tumultuous place, didn't she?

A black BMW glided to a stop beneath the streetlight. The driver turned his gaze toward the woman in distress among the crowd and, after a pause, turned back toward the rear seat and asked with quiet urgency, "Mr. Hamilton, what should we do?"

In the dimly lit back seat sat a man in his fifties, his neatly cut hair just beginning to turn gray. He opened his weary eyes briefly before shutting them again. "Bring her to me."

"Yes, sir," the driver replied, huffing in resignation as he made his way toward the rabble.

"Stop!" His voice sliced through the noise, leaving everyone startled. A blond man eyed him skeptically, believing his slender frame posed no threat. "Who do you think you are, butting into my business?" he snapped.

The driver remained calm, gesturing toward Nana in the crowd, and in a measured tone asked, "Could you let her go?"

The blond man paused, glancing back at Nana. He chuckled, assuming this was all a ridiculous joke. The driver, unwavering, stepped forward to guide Nana away, but the blond man stopped laughing and commanded his friends, "Bring that woman over here. Looks like she's in demand today."

Nana searched the driver's face for answers, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. She turned her focus to the car, nearly obscured in darkness. The figure inside made her heart burn with rage. Clenching her teeth, she shouted at the driver, "I don't need your help. Leave me alone!"

"Miss," he called, glancing back at the black car, "Mr. Hamilton wants to talk with you."

Talk? Nana scoffed, averting her gaze from the car. She draped her arm casually over the blond man's shoulder, leaning into him with a sweet, playful voice. "How about we go somewhere... quieter?"

"S-sure..." The blond man was captivated, his eyes roaming over her low-cut top, swallowing hard as he reached toward her neckline.

"How about ten thousand dollars?" The driver sighed, uncertain how else to manage the situation.

"What? Ten thousand..." The blond man echoed, pondering the offer, "Ten thousand dollars?"

"Yes, cash," the driver affirmed, believing there was nothing money couldn’t resolve.

"Ten thousand, huh?"

"Yes, ten thousand."

The blond man was stunned, his comrades huddling to estimate its worth. He tightened his grip on Nana's wrist and sneered, "You think ten grand fixes this? Do you even know who I am?"

Seems money had its boundaries. The driver hadn't anticipated such greed. "How much do you want, then?"

"Look at her. She's worth at least a hundred thousand. Out of respect, how about ninety-nine thousand nine hundred dollars? Then she's yours."

"Please, wait."

The driver felt a bit relieved, fearing the demand might be higher. He returned to the black car, relaying the situation to the man inside.

The blond man leaned in, watching the driver nod towards the car repeatedly, glancing occasionally his way. Worried the driver might backtrack, he threatened, "Not a dime less, or she's going to the club with me!"

Nana attempted to free herself from his grip, ready to escape while unnoticed. But he knew she was his golden goose and held firm. His piercing look made her retreat.

Once done reporting, the driver collected a dark bag from the car, took out bundles of hundred-dollar bills, counted them, and handed them over. "Can I take her now?" he asked.

The blond man was dazzled by the money. His interest in Nana evaporated as he eagerly gathered the cash, wrapping it in his worn shirt. "Alright, she's yours," he chuckled. "Let's party, guys—drinks on me!"

The crowd dispersed, leaving Nana relieved but silent as she turned to go. The driver blocked her path. "Miss, Mr. Hamilton is waiting."

"Whoever Mr. Hamilton is, that's your problem. Thanks for helping, but I’ll repay you."

No one noticed the deep sadness in her eyes, like a butterfly lost in the night.

"You don't need to repay. Just talk to him, okay?"

"I told you, I don't know him. Let me go, or I’ll call the police!" Nana was close to breaking down. Since his sudden arrival, her blood felt like it might burst from her veins, staining the street with bitter tears.

"Emmie, that’s enough!"

The commanding voice cut the tension. Nana and the driver turned to see the car door open. Mr. Hamilton emerged, with gray at his temples and years etched into his forehead. His expression was stern. Nana straightened, defiantly. "Who are you to lecture me?"

"I’m your father! Just look at yourself. Your mother would be devastated," Mr. Hamilton approached, seeing her disheveled state. He addressed the driver, "Find her something decent nearby."

The driver nodded, smiling at Nana. "I'll be back soon."

Nana met Mr. Hamilton’s gaze coldly. It was the first time he seemed concerned, and she didn’t buy it. "What's your true motive here?"

Mr. Hamilton eyed the nightclub sign disdainfully. "I want you to marry the eldest son of the Thomas family."

"The Thomas family?" Nana sneered. Thomas Corp was the city’s business titan, with firms clamoring for ties. She knew of Martin Thomas’s two sons. The elder, Hunter Thomas, returned from abroad two years ago, steering the company with global strategies, gaining the board's support. Hunter was evidently heir apparent.

The younger son, Nana only knew by name—Finley Thomas, nothing more.

No wonder Hamilton wanted the alliance. But why her? Why not his treasured daughter?

"If you marry him, you won’t end up in places like this. Plus, your mother's medical bills are covered," Hamilton pressed, convinced she wouldn’t turn it down.

"Why not have Kairi marry Hunter Thomas?"

The Hamilton daughter was far superior. Nana voiced her confusion—surely Hamilton would save the best for Kairi.

Hearing her name, Hamilton’s face softened. "Kairi isn’t interested in Hunter. Marrying Thomas Corp's heir is a good opportunity for you, Emmie. Think it over."