Sold To The Billionaire In A Coma

Chloe POV:

"God, Emma, you are so much better than Chloe. That bitch is as boring as a dead log," Lucas groaned, his voice thick with lust as the bedframe creaked rhythmically.

"Then show me how much you love me, Lucas! Since she's marrying that vegetative cripple anyway, you're all mine now!" Emma giggled, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

This was the vile, grotesque scene that greeted me as I pushed open the door to my small attic bedroom, exhausted after a long day of cleaning.

On my own bed, my fiancé, Lucas Hayes, was desperately entangled with my younger stepsister, Emma. The sheets were a mess, and the room was heavy with the undeniable scent of their betrayal.

"Lucas..." I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and disgust.

They finally stopped. But there was no panic, no scrambling for covers. Lucas, the man who had promised to marry me just a month ago, casually turned his head. His chest heaved as he looked at me with a smirk, barely bothering to pull the blanket over his waist.

"Oh, Chloe. You're home early," Lucas drawled, his tone laced with cruel amusement. "Don't just stand there. You can watch if you want to learn something. But honestly, I don't think even watching can fix how boring you are in bed."

Emma leaned back against Lucas's chest, pulling the sheet up just enough to cover herself, though she made no effort to hide her smirk. She looked at me with pure, unadulterated disdain.

"Exactly," Emma chimed in, her voice dripping with arrogance. "Since you are going to marry someone else anyway, I might as well take Lucas off your hands. We wouldn't want your engagement to go to waste, would we?"

My mind went blank. "Marry someone else? What are you talking about?"

Emma feigned a dramatic gasp, her eyes wide with fake surprise. "Oh, you don't know? Mom and Dad didn't tell you? You are going to marry a vegetable!"

"A vegetable?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Blake Carlisle," Lucas supplied, his eyes trailing over Emma's body. "The captain of the Chicago Blackhawks. The great hockey superstar who got his skull crushed on the ice last month. He is in a coma, Chloe. You are going to be a nursemaid for a brain-dead hockey player."

Anger, hot and blinding, finally shattered my paralysis. "Get out!" I screamed, lunging forward to grab the bedsheets. "Get out of my room, you disgusting pigs!"

Before I could reach them, a harsh grip clamped down on my arm, yanking me backward with such force I stumbled and fell to the floor.

"Chloe, stop your screaming this instant!"

The voice, sharp and imperious, belonged to my adoptive mother, Freya. She stood over me, her face twisted in a vicious scowl. Her hand, nails painted a blood-red, pointed accusingly at my face, interrupting my confrontation.

"Mom, she's ruining our mood," Emma whined from the bed, wrapping her arms around Lucas's neck.

Freya's gaze snapped to me, filled with venom. "You ungrateful little slut. How dare you interrupt them? You can't even keep a man satisfied, and now you are throwing a tantrum? You are a worthless orphan. You should be down on your knees thanking us that a vegetative cripple is even willing to take you!"

She grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the room. I obediently rose, forced to follow her to the living room. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. Freya was smiling, a wide, predatory grin I'd never seen before. It was a terrifying mix of greed and ecstasy.

My adoptive father, Fred, shifted beside her on the sofa. His eyes, which usually held a permanent apology, refused to meet mine today. My heart sank.

Freya pulled a glossy, bound folder from her Hermès bag. She slapped it onto the glass coffee table. The sharp crack echoed in the silent room.

"The most wonderful news," she announced. "You are getting married."

I already knew the answer, but my breath caught.

As if reading my mind, Freya leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Carlisle family. The hockey dynasty from Chicago. Their son, the great Blake Carlisle!"

Blake Carlisle.

The name hit me like a physical blow. The captain of the Chicago Blackhawks. The league's superstar. The man who looked like a god on television.

But another memory surfaced, a news headline that had shaken the sports world a month ago. A brutal collision on the ice. A severe head injury. He was still in a coma.

My voice trembled as I looked at Freya. "He's... he's in the hospital. He's in a vegetative state!"

Freya's smile tightened for a fraction of a second before morphing into a cruel sneer. "So what if he is? His family has money. They need a wedding to bring good luck, and to improve his public image after all those scandals."

She pointed a red-tipped finger at the folder. "And you, Chloe, are the lucky girl they've chosen. This isn't a request. It's a notification."

"No," I shook my head, taking a step back. "I can't marry someone who isn't even conscious. That's insane."

Freya's face turned to ice. She stood, towering over me. "Insane? You eat our food, you live under our roof. It's time you paid us back."

I cast a desperate glance at Fred, pleading with my eyes for him to say something, anything.

He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing, but all that came out was a soft, defeated sigh before he looked away again.

Freya stepped closer, poking my shoulder with a sharp nail. "The Carlisles are paying us a fortune. Enough for Emma to get that Maserati she wants, and for us to finally move into that house in Lincoln Park."

Of course. For Emma. My sacrifices always ended up benefiting my spoiled younger sister.

I bit down on my lip, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. It was a subconscious habit, a response to helplessness and rage I'd had since childhood.

"Why me?" I finally managed to ask. "Emma is prettier, more social. She's the one who's always dreamed of marrying rich."

Freya let out a short, ugly laugh. "Emma? Why would I let my precious daughter be a widow-in-waiting? This kind of opportunity, of course, is reserved for you, the adopted daughter."

Her words were a knife, slicing me open and exposing my status as the outsider, the tool.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. I grabbed the back of the sofa to keep from falling.

"I won't do it," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but it was the last bit of defiance I had.

Freya's patience snapped. She grabbed the contract and shoved it in my face. "You have no choice. The Carlisles are coming tomorrow to discuss the wedding details."

Tomorrow? So soon? My mind was a buzzing hive of panic.

She savored the sight of my pale, horrified face and smiled. "You'd better be on your best behavior. Or you know the consequences."

She turned and sat back down on the sofa, as if she hadn't just threatened me.

I wiped the blood from my lip, a dangerous thought taking root in my mind. The Carlisles were coming tomorrow. If Freya and Emma wanted to play dirty, maybe it was time I learned their game. I just needed one perfect opportunity to tear their greedy masks off.