CEO, Not Fiancé

Previously

…The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven. From downstairs came the sound of a car engine cutting off, a car door closing. Footsteps on the front porch. Her father’s voice, warm and welcoming. “Marcus! Come in, come in. Layla’s just upstairs. She’ll be down in a moment.” Layla pressed her palm against the door. She could stay up here. She could refuse. But her father’s words echoed: You will no longer be a daughter of this house. She had nowhere else to go. Slowly, she turned the knob and stepped into the hallway, each step carrying her down the stairs toward the man waiting in the living room—the man who had bought her for the price of a church debt.