Sold, Framed, Now She's Free

nd my adoptive sister Brenda drugged me a

nd I spent the next three years

the money to buy back my family's brownstone. But Chandler fou

renda for the crimes she committed. When I refu

ed to the "Brenda Richardso

ul. He took the last tangible piece of my p

orld shattered, I fumbled for my phone. T

ce broken. "Please. I need yo

pte

e you

b. It was a low, dangerous rumble that would have once sent shivers of excitement down my sp

t knocked me off my feet, still unsteady from my last fight. I met his eyes, a hard

" he snarled, his grip tightening. His fingers dug int

ery I hadn't known I possessed three years ago.

e. He' d hurt me, then his conscience would prick him, just a lit

ounded almost genuine. "This... this isn't you. We ca

what, exactly? Existing?" My laugh was harsh, brittle.

you." His gaze swept over my ripped clothes, my bruised face, the grimy, blood-stained arena around us. His words were a whip, lashing at my already raw

y father. My brownstone. My legacy. I clenched my fists, the urge to lash out almost over

ith a fury I fought to keep caged. I tried

on. "Remember how good it was? Before all this mess. Before you threw everything away."

iamond ring onto my finger. Three years ago, he was my fiancé, my guardian,

, the world dissolving into a haze. Then the auction block. My body, displayed like a prize. The leering faces. The sickening realization that Chandler, my Chandler, was the

one who had

ding rage that had led me to set fire to that cursed place. The police sirens, the handcuffs, the headlines branding me a "

n by the commotion. Their eyes raked over me, hungry and dismissive. Shame, hot a

ng, easily bruised. "You're making a scene, Charlotte," he hissed, his voice barely audible above

The only reason I was still here, fighting in these godforsaken pits.

match. A hulking figure, twice my size, was flexing his muscles, his face a

iffed hair and designer clothes a stark contrast to the grime and sweat of

kered to me, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips before she twisted her face into a pitying frow

ld still hear her. "I told you, Chandler. She's addicted to the

ce flat, "Brenda is willing to forgive you. To let bygones be bygones. All you have to do i

he reputation she ruined, the years in hell she condemned me to

us anger. "Don't be a fool, Charlotte.

Beast. He was a monster, but I was a survivor. My parent

t she, Chandler? So ungrateful. Well, if she wants to fight, let her fight. I've already placed my bet." He

jaw. He looked from Brenda to me, then back to The

ce dangerously low, "y

or for the hell you put me through," I said, my voice r

d, his voice echoing through the arena. "Let her fig

his knuckles. My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs. Thi

g past my ear. My training kicked in, years of prison brawls and underground fights. I moved, a shadow, weaving through his powerfu

n blurring. He followed up with a vicious kick to my stomach, doubling me over. Pain exploded in m

fixed on my bleeding form, held a flicker of something I couldn't decip

God's sake, just give up!

ad. "Never." My family's brownstone. My paren

h the air. The fight was over. Chandler, his face ashen, had thrown in the towel. He strode into

ieked from the sidelines. "She co

trembling. I flinched away, my body screaming in protest. The last fragile thread of hope, of a

d, my voice barely audible.

ading look I' d never seen before. "Charlotte, please,

sound. "Help me? You? You'

ng. My body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, but I had to get

after me, but I kept walkin

the swinging doors, a voice, amplified by

proud to announce the sale of the historic Graves family brownstone! All

sion blurred, the world tilting on its axis. He didn't just take my money; h

g beneath me. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my bruised face.

d left. A faded business card, tucked away for years. Brien Ross.

eat, finally dialed the number. The

raw and broken, "Please. I nee