Sold To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 20: Words That Hurt

He owns me...

Aveline lowered her head until her chin nearly touched her chest.

Theron’s hand still rested on her shoulder, heavy and unmovable, while her own fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table. Her nails scraped softly against the wood as she tried to contain the surge of indignation rising inside her.

She used to be a lady.

A real lady.

Her parents had raised her in this very mansion, teaching her grace, dignity, and pride. Servants used to bow when she walked past them. Guests used to greet her with warm smiles.

Then her parents died.

And everything had been stripped away from her.

She didn’t even know who had killed them.

She had been reduced to this... someone who had to lower her voice, hide her thoughts, and carefully measure every word she spoke just to survive another day.

A slave.

The word echoed painfully in her mind.

Her throat tightened, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of Theron. And definitely not in front of Theodore.

She was too afraid of what Theron might do if he saw how much Theodore meant to her. Theodore had already suffered enough for trying to help her. He deserved to leave this place and live a peaceful life somewhere far away.

So Aveline did what she had learned to do best over the past ten years.

She buried her feelings deep inside her heart.

She had endured beatings, humiliation, and years of quiet suffering. Words should not have been able to hurt her anymore.

And yet... they did.

They hurt more than she wanted to admit...Perhaps, because they had come from Theron.

He was no longer the boy who used to steal apples with her in the orchard or argue with her over the last sweet bun in the kitchen.

He wasn’t her friend anymore.

He had made it very clear.

He was her owner now.

Theron’s fingers moved slowly against her back, his touch gentler than his earlier words. A moment later, his hand slid upward, his fingers brushing lightly through her hair as if trying to soothe her.

But he didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know how to make her stay.

Fury simmered quietly in his chest. He couldn’t understand why she wanted to leave him when he had done everything he could for her. He had risked his reputation, his position, even his safety to bring her out of that slave market.

Everything he had done since returning to Aurelmont had been for her. He even thought about leaving the estate to her.

He had avenged her suffering in this wretched place, and yet the first thing she had tried to do after everything was run away.

And worse... There was this man.

When Theron had returned to the dining hall earlier, the sight had struck him like a blade.

Aveline was sitting beside him, leaning close, whispering, and even laughing. He didn’t like it. Not even a little.

The thought twisted unpleasantly inside his chest.

While he had been away all those years, this man had been beside her. This man had heard her laughter, seen her tears, and witnessed everything she had endured... All the moments Theron had not been there to see.

His jaw tightened.

She was his. His alone.

Without realizing it, his fingers had tangled themselves in her hair. Aveline still kept her head lowered, quiet and withdrawn. He could almost see the thoughts racing through her mind.

She was probably planning another escape.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

"You’re—"

Theodore’s voice suddenly cut through the tense silence.

Theron’s head snapped up. His eyes flashed dangerously toward the man across the table.

This man... He was the source of the problem.

Before Theron had appeared, Aveline was relaxed beside him, almost cheerful. But the moment Theron stepped into the room, everything about her had changed.

Still...

As Theron looked at Theodore more closely, something about his face stirred a vague sense of familiarity.

"The... Theron?"

Theodore suddenly stood up, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. The guards along the walls immediately shifted forward, sensing the tension rising in the room. Theron shot them a sharp glare. They froze and stepped back instantly.

His attention returned to the man standing before him.

He knows me?

Theron frowned and studied his face more carefully.

Then slowly... Recognition sparked.

"Theo?" Theron said, his voice filled with surprise. "Is that you... Theodore?"

Theodore Willowgrave.

Aveline’s cousin.

The boy who used to visit Aurelmont every summer and stay for weeks, sometimes months. Theron remembered him clearly now—awkward, quiet, always trailing behind Aveline like a loyal shadow while she dragged both of them into trouble.

But then...

Theron’s brows slowly furrowed.

Why had Aveline called him fiancé?

The answer surfaced in his memory moments later.

In Aurelmont, women could not inherit estates. The Willowgrave title would never pass directly to Aveline, even though she was the viscount’s only child. Because of that, the viscount had often joked, sometimes not joking at all, that Aveline would eventually marry Theodore.

He was her second cousin, and the closest male relative with a legitimate claim to inherit the Willowgrave estate.

If they married, the estate would technically pass to him... but in reality, it would still remain with Aveline.

It had always been presented as the obvious solution.

Ah...

Understanding dawned on Theron. His shoulders loosened slightly, the tension draining from him in a slow breath.

So... that was the reason.

"How did you..." Theodore began, still staring at him with disbelief. His gaze flickered around the room as if trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the boy he remembered.

Back then, Theron had been the orphan. Other noble children mocked him openly, whispering about his unknown parents and his lack of proper lineage. They called him a curse. He had never truly been accepted among their circle.

Only Aveline had treated him differently.

To her, he had simply been Theron.

She teased him relentlessly, dragged him into her schemes, and treated him like an equal without a second thought.

So how had that same boy become... this?

A man whose presence alone made the guards step back in silence.

Theodore clenched his fists.

"Aveline has suffered enough," he said suddenly. "If you let us go, we’ll disappear from your sight. We won’t trouble you again."

His voice wavered slightly, but he forced himself to continue.

"So please, Theron... let her—"

Aveline’s hands tightened.

She cut him off before he could finish.

"But Theodore," she said calmly, lifting her head just enough to look at him, "do you happen to have a thousand ducats lying around?"

Her voice carried a strange, almost mocking lightness. But she wasn’t mocking Theodore. She was mocking herself.

She was mocking the absurdity of her own life.

Theodore blinked in confusion. "Aveline...?"

"He bought me," she said quietly. "A thousand ducats. At the slave market."

Her lips curved into a faint, bitter smile.

"So you should stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself instead."

Her heart ached as the words left her mouth.

Part of her wanted to break down right there—to scream, to cry, to wail about everything that had happened to her.

But she held herself together.

Earlier, her pride had stopped her from admitting the truth.

Now...

Strangely enough, saying it out loud felt different. It felt grounding. Liberating, even. There was no point pretending anymore.

She was no longer a lady; officially, she was a slave.

Theron watched her carefully.

Something about her tone felt wrong.

He couldn’t quite explain it, but something tightened painfully in his chest when he heard her speak like that. Yet when he studied her face, she appeared calm, almost indifferent.

As if the words meant nothing to her.

Across the table, Theodore’s eyes filled with tears. Aveline was the proudest woman he had ever known. How could Theron reduce her to something like this?

"Come with me," Theron said suddenly, his voice firm as he looked at Theodore. "I need to talk to you."

Theodore hesitated for a moment.

His eyes flickered toward Aveline.