I was sold to a millionaire by my family.

I was sold to a millionaire by my family.

In the midst of pressing the final wrinkled shirt, the iron let out a low rumble. A protest echoed from within me, mirroring the emptiness of my wallet. It was another month looming, another month where Mom conveniently "forgot" to mention the rent. With a sigh, I released a familiar sound, escaping my lips into the cluttered air of our tiny apartment.

Suddenly, the door flung open, revealing a flustered Mom and a man adorned in a suit that screamed "exorbitant lawyer fees." Mom's hand quickly covered her mouth before gesturing wildly towards the lawyer. "Lily, this is Mr. Kensington. He has...a proposition."

Mr. Kensington, all polished charm and gleaming shoes, launched into a spiel that spun my head. It seemed my family, thanks to a series of "unfortunate investments," as he delicately put it, found themselves in a financial quagmire. A quagmire so vast, it involved me.

"Matrimony," he declared, his smile strained. "A highly advantageous union."

My jaw plummeted. "Marriage? To whom?"

"Mr. Alistair Thorncroft," he stated, his voice lowering an octave. "A man of considerable means."

The name sent chills down my spine. Mr. Thorncroft was a local enigma, a recluse dwelling in a mansion on the town's fringe. Whispers surrounded him like a shroud - eccentric, solitary, wealthy.

Marriage? To him? The sheer absurdity threatened to evoke laughter, laced with a bitter undertone. They were auctioning me off like an unwanted relic.

Tears welled in Mom's eyes as she grasped my hand. "Lily, darling, please. This is our only hope."

My heart ached for her. I understood the perpetual worry etched on her face, the sleepless nights consumed by financial juggling. But this? Solution was not that it was a night dream.

In the days that ensued, a whirlwind swept me away. Lawyers drafted contracts, stylists adorned me in garments so extravagant they felt like a facade, and lessons in etiquette were forcibly instilled. I felt hollow, a mere pawn in a game beyond my comprehension.

Finally, the fateful day arrived. A sleek car delivered me to the gates of Thorncroft Manor. It loomed like a monolith atop the hill, a titan in repose. A fountain bubbled at the entrance, guarded by statues that regarded me with indifferent gazes.

Within, the air hung heavy with neglect and antiquity. Guided by a young woman, scarcely older than myself, I traversed echoing corridors. Her name was Anna, a resident maid whose eyes harbored a glimmer of the same solitude that haunted me.

Mr. Thorncroft awaited in a grand library, shelves lined with volumes whispering forgotten tales. He appeared older than anticipated, his countenance weathered like a map. Yet, his eyes, a piercing blue, harbored an unexpected vitality.

An awkward silence pervaded the space. He gestured towards an opulent armchair. "Please, Miss Evans, take a seat."

Conversation ensued, stilted on my part, a blend of practiced smiles and polite exchanges. He, in turn, oscillated between gruffness and a semblance of shyness. He spoke of his fervor for astronomy, his voice animated as he unveiled his cherished telescope.

In the ensuing weeks, a peculiar routine settled upon me. Days were spent exploring the vast manor, its forgotten nooks whispering tales of bygone opulence. Surprisingly, Mr. Thorncroft tolerated my presence, even seeming to relish it. He shared constellations through his telescope, his tone tender as he recounted the lore behind each twinkling star.

One afternoon, amidst planting flowers in the neglected garden, a question escaped my lips. "Mr. Thorncroft, were you...seeking a wife?"

He emitted a snort, devoid of malice. "My dear girl," he chuckled, "the last thing I desire is a spouse."

The revelation, when it came, was as startling as a meteor shower. Apparently, Mr. Kensington, ever the opportunist, had distorted the truth. Mr. Thorncroft sought not a wife, but a companion, someone to share his passion for the cosmos.

Relief flooded me, mingled with an unexpected twinge of disappointment. I had grown accustomed to Mr. Thorncroft's gruff exterior and surprising intellect. We were not kindred spirits, but a comfortable camaraderie had blossomed between us.

Upon informing Mom of the misunderstanding, she dissolved into tears, a blend of relief and remorse. A frantic call later, Mr. Kensington was practically groveling through the phone. Evidently, the threat of legal action was sufficient to ensure his "business ventures" remained strictly financial in nature.

Life at Thorncroft Manor settled into a new equilibrium. Mr. Thorncroft, unburdened by the machinations of an opportunist, sought only companionship, and in that pursuit, we found an unexpected harmony.