Sold To The Billionaire In A Coma

Chloe POV:

I didn't listen to another word. I turned and walked numbly up the stairs, each step feeling like I was wading through thick, suffocating mud.

"Don't forget to take down those cheap posters in your room!" Freya's harsh voice called after me from the bottom of the stairs. "Don't give the Carlisles a bad impression tomorrow! You need to look presentable for the buyers!"

I didn't look back. I just hurried my steps, escaping back to my small, cramped room in the attic.

Lucas and Emma were gone, but the sickly sweet smell of her expensive vanilla perfume and the unmistakable, disgusting stench of their sex still hung heavy in the air of my room. The crumpled, stained bedsheets mocked me, a physical proof of their ultimate betrayal.

A violent wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bed, ripped the dirty sheets off the mattress with shaking hands, and shoved them aggressively into a black trash bag. I wouldn't let their filth contaminate my space for another second.

I shut the wooden door, my back sliding down the panel until I was sitting on the cold floor. I buried my face in my knees, and the raw, agonizing sobs I had been holding back finally broke free, tearing at my throat.

My room was pitifully tiny, with a single, dusty skylight. It was cluttered with old furniture and boxes this family no longer wanted. It was a completely different world from my younger sister Emma's room downstairs, which was decorated like a spoiled princess's castle, overflowing with designer clothes and expensive jewelry.

A few band posters from college were taped to my peeling wall. They were one of the few splashes of color and joy in my miserable life, and now my own mother had deemed them "cheap."

I looked around the space I had occupied for more than a decade. It felt more like a storage closet than a bedroom for the eldest daughter.

My mind drifted back to the past, desperately searching for a time when things were different. I was five years old when Freya gave birth to Emma. Before that, I had vague, blurry memories of a normal childhood. But the exact moment they brought Emma home from the hospital, everything in my life changed permanently.

Emma instantly became the golden child, the undeniable center of their universe. I was pushed aside, becoming her invisible shadow, a built-in babysitter and an unpaid maid.

All the pretty dresses, the expensive toys, the warm hugs, and the proud praise, they were all exclusively reserved for Emma.

I got her faded hand-me-downs and a never-ending, exhausting list of daily chores.

I remembered one specific time when I was twelve. I had a severe high fever and couldn't make Emma's breakfast on time. Freya had marched into my room, pointed a manicured finger in my burning face, and called me a "useless, lazy burden."

Fred, my father, had just stood in the doorway. He handed me a cheap fever reducer and walked away in absolute silence, refusing to meet my eyes. His pathetic cowardice was always as sharp a blade as Freya's active cruelty.

I used to stupidly think that if I worked hard enough, if I was obedient and perfect enough, I could eventually earn a tiny sliver of their parental affection. I thought they were just strict.

I studied relentlessly and got a full scholarship to college so I wouldn't cost them a single dime. I did all the housework, keeping the house spotless.

They took it all for granted. They even demanded I give them the meager money I earned from my late-night part-time job for the so-called "family fund."

That hard-earned money miraculously turned into the newest iPhone in Emma's hand the very next week.

And then, they systematically destroyed my love life. Lucas was my college classmate. We were deeply in love, recently engaged. It was the happiest, most hopeful time of my life. I finally had someone who chose me.

But after he visited my home a few times, things shifted. Emma would flirt with him openly, wearing tiny shorts and laughing too loudly at his jokes. Freya would constantly hint at how "plain," "boring," and "poor" I was in front of him, constantly elevating Emma's status.

And now, I had witnessed firsthand how completely they had ruined me. My own flesh and blood had stolen my fiancé, letting them defile my bed. And tomorrow, they were going to sell my freedom, my very life, to a billionaire in a coma, just so they could live a more luxurious life.

I wanted to scream, to break things, to completely sever ties with these monsters. But the crushing reality of my powerlessness choked me. I had no money, no degree yet, and absolutely no one to rely on. The suffocating feeling of wanting to escape but being trapped in this cage was a physical, throbbing ache in my chest.

I aggressively wiped my tears. A deep, freezing chill settled into my bones. I had no more illusions about this family, about this twisted thing they called love. This would be the absolute last time I shed a tear for Freya, Fred, or Emma.

I stood up and walked to my tiny desk, opening my old, battered laptop.

The screen's glow illuminated my pale, fiercely determined face. I started searching for "Blake Carlisle hockey accident hidden details" and "Carlisle family legal loopholes."

The results brought a fresh wave of despair. Blake's medical records and the true nature of his brutal on-ice collision were sealed tight by his billionaire family's ruthless PR team.

More importantly, I was completely broke. Freya had siphoned away all my savings under the guise of paying for the wedding preparations.

Without money, without support, I couldn't even afford to rent the cheapest basement apartment in this freezing city.

The idea of running away into the night seemed pathetic and impossible in the face of reality.

The sky outside the skylight darkened, the clouds heavy and oppressive, just like my bleak future.

My phone vibrated sharply on the desk. It was a text message from Emma. A picture of her and Lucas lying naked in my bed, his hand resting intimately on her bare thigh. The caption read: "Some people just don't know how to satisfy a real man. Have fun wiping your vegetable husband's ass tomorrow, sis!"

That disgusting picture was the final straw. It shattered every last bit of my lingering weakness and familial loyalty. I slammed the phone face-down on the desk, my eyes blazing with a new, hateful, unbreakable resolve.

I wouldn't let my own family sell me like a piece of livestock without a fight. Tomorrow, when the powerful Carlisles arrived, I would seize the narrative. Freya thought she had me cornered and helpless, but she had absolutely no idea what a girl with nothing left to lose was capable of doing.