Chapter one

Ivory's pov

The clock ticked relentlessly, pulling me from the depths of a restless slumber. I fumbled to silence the alarm, "Just a few more minutes," I mumbled to myself. I can't help it. Last night had been a nightmare, the shadows of my past still clung to me like a heavy fog.

Memories crept into my dreams, vivid terrorizing and haunting me. I woke up gasping, heart racing, drenched in sweat. I fought to escape the nightmare. Crying, begging. It felt so real. Each moment was a reminder of what I couldn't shake off.

        FLASHBACK

My childhood was a nightmare. My father found joy in hurting me. Anything within reach became a weapon in his hands. I'd hear him laugh as if my pain amused him. Every strike was a reminder of his disgust for my very existence. My mother watched from a distance, trapped in fear, knowing that if she stepped in, she'd be next. The fear of his wrath kept her silent.

After each brutal beating, she would come to me, her hands trembling, as she gently dabbed my wounds with hot water and applied ointment, to soothe my wounds.

Each time, I often begged her, "Let's run away. Anywhere but here." Her eyes would flash with anger. "Shut up," she'd snap, Anger flaring in her eyes.

One evening, the familiar dread washed over me as my father, drunk as ever, stormed inside. He burst into my room and yanked me to the living room. I braced for the usual punches, my scream echoing a silent plea for help, but deep down, I knew no one would come.

Then, out of nowhere, my mother yelled, "Kai Anderson, stop! You'll kill her!" I couldn't believe my ears. Even my father paused, shocked by her defiance. But that moment of hope shattered quickly as he resumed his assault.

My mother lunged to pull him away from me, but rage blurred his vision. He turned on her, slamming her head against the wall. Terror seized me, Was he going to kill her?

Then I saw it. A broken bottle on the floor. I grabbed it, ready to defend my mother. Just as I was about to strike, she pushed my father away. The bottle pierced her stomach instead.

Silence fell over the chaos. I froze, heart racing, as my father fled the scene. I rushed to my mom's limp body, panic consuming me. "Please wake up!" I screamed, but the room offered no comfort. No one came to my aid.

   End of flashback

That day changed everything. Since then, I haven't heard anything or seen my dad. Now, at 20, I navigate this tough world alone. No family, no friends. Just me. I faced each day with determination, Juggling jobs to survive.

Today felt different. When I remember I had an interview very early at Le Clair de Lune, a fancy restaurant known for its affluent clientele. This could be my big break. I jumped out of bed and rushed to shower. Time was ticking.

After a quick wash, I rifled through my closet for the perfect outfit. What should I wear? I picked an outfit that screamed professionalism. I styled my long, shiny brown hair into a sleek ponytail, applied a hint of lip gloss, and checked myself in the mirror. I looked ready—until my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten breakfast.

I glanced at the clock. Panic set in as i realized I was late. I slipped into my heels, grabbed my bag and shot one final look at my reflection. No time for breakfast. I bolted out of my room. This opportunity was worth the rush.

I arrived at the restaurant, adrenaline pumping. I jumped out of the cab and rushed to the entrance as I was already running late, only to collide with a solid figure. A man. His face twisted in anger, was on the phone arguing loudly, not noticing me as well.

His phone slipped and hit the ground. I quickly picked it up, scanning for any damage. Just a small scratch, thankfully. I turned to hand it back, "Sorry," I mumbled, extending the phone toward him, but then I noticed his face. His face was grim, with no hint of humor, almost menacing. Cold eyes, tense jaw—he radiated intimidation. I felt a chill run down my spine. This guy looked scarier even than my dad.

Fear gripped me, I fumbled out apologies, my hand outstretched, hoping he'd take the phone, so desperate to escape his intensity . But he just glared at me, still fuming, anger etched on his features.

There was no time to linger. My interview awaited. In a rush, I dropped the phone in his hand, stuttered out another apology, and bolted toward the restaurant. Time was ticking, and I couldn't afford to be more late than I already was.

After the scan, I stepped inside the restaurant and was instantly taken aback. Wow! It was stunning. The decor sparkled; it was the kind of place you dream of working in.

I spotted a female attendant passing by and rushed over. "Excuse me, I'm here for an interview," I said eager yet nervous. She smiled and directed me to the fourth floor. I returned her smile, murmured a thank you, and headed to the elevator.

Once I arrived on the fourth floor, confusion hit me. Which office was it? Just then, a lady left one of the rooms. She seemed like another candidate.  I approached her. "Hi, is this the right office for the interview?" She nodded and walked away. I took a deep breath, reminding myself I could do this.

Seconds later, I pushed open the door. A man, probably in his forties sat at a cluttered desk, surrounded by files. I greeted him, trying to catch his attention. He looked up. "How may I help you?"

"I'm Ivory Anderson, here for an interview," I replied confidently.

He raised an eyebrow, "Did you check your watch? You're a bit late." I quickly apologized. He gestured for me to take a seat.

As the interview unfolded, I focused. I answered every question, pushing past my nerves. I wanted this job badly.

When he finished, he leaned back, impressed. "You're quite outspoken! I appreciate your courage."

"Thank you, sir !" I beamed, hope igniting within me.

He assured me they'd be in touch. "Thank you, Miss Ivory," he said as I exited the office, heart racing, but happily optimistic about the outcome.