CHAPTER 1
AMANDA'S P.O.V
The ceiling was unfamiliar—pale, cracked, humming faintly with the buzz of cheap lighting.
The sheets clung to my skin, twisted as if they had fought through the night. My head throbbed, thick with cotton and static.
My cheeks felt dry and tight. A dress lay crumpled near the foot of the bed—inside out, one strap torn.
I sat up slowly. My thighs ached. Bruises bloomed on my wrists in the dim light, like ink swirling under water.
The room was heavy with silence, like it was holding its breath.
A plush white towel hung neatly on a chrome rack, its edges sharp, folded with almost deliberate care. The faint scent of citrus lingered in the air, mingling with the cool polish of the marble floor.
Yesterday was my birthday.
So how did I end up here?
How did I end up losing my virginity?
Was this my choice… or someone else's?
Correy.
My boyfriend.
His name surfaced, and with it came a flood of confusion. My thoughts spiraled. So many questions. No answers.
Then, the bathroom door creaked open. A warm cloud of steam spilled into the room. I froze.
A man stepped out, toweling off slowly. Dark curls clung to his forehead, the towel slung low on his hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Water glistened along the hard curve of his chest.
His eyes—calm, unreadable—met mine. He looked like he belonged here.
I didn't know him.
My breath hitched. My heart thudded against my ribs.
My eyes widened like a startled deer's.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? Where is Correy?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
He didn't answer.
He walked to the drawer, grabbed a wad of cash, and tossed it at me.
"Take this and get out," he snapped.
I stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned—my mind spinning. The air grew thick around me. My throat tightened with words I didn't even know how to form.
Was I… some kind of whore?
Then it hit me.
I had been drugged.
Linda.
My stepsister.
The memory came crashing back.
Last night, I'd been waiting for Correy when Linda showed up, smiling sweetly, asking for peace. I believed her—thought maybe she genuinely wanted to make amends.
But I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at the man again.
"I'm sorry… Please, just don't tell anyone about this," I whispered. "I swear I'll pretend it never happened. You can keep your money."
It was the only way I knew to survive that moment.
If Correy ever found out, he'd leave me.
And I'd lose everything.
His jaw clenched. His fists tightened. His eyes widened in shock.
"Why did you—"
But the rest of the sentence died in the air.
I didn't wait to hear more.
I scrambled for my clothes, threw them on, and ran.
After some minutes, the taxi dropped in front of our house. I tip toed into the compound, my leg moved in hurried.
Hands pressed flat to the sides, palms damp with sweat.
My fingers tremble on the door knob, slick with sweat. I held my breath, ear tilted to the wood, listening for anything--breathing, footsteps or a creak.
Nothing. Still, my chest rose on tight shallow gasp. The door groaned as I ease it open. An inch at a time, flinching every sound.
The front door clicked shut behind me, but the silence wasn't comforting.
My father stood stiff by the window, gripping his glass like he might crush it.
Conversation hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
Laughter echoed faintly from somewhere, too loud, too sharp.
Then I saw it---my stepsister's eyes wide. Face pale and guilty, lips parted like she might speak which she did.
"Here comes the slut of all time." Her brow quirked.
I froze. My bag slipped away from my shoulder and thudded to the floor. My legs woobled. My throat tightened. My breath caught. My limbs felt boneless.
Georgia my step mother who was sitting on the sofa