Rose

Keisha isn't okay. She won't admit it, but I know her too well. The exhaustion in her eyes, the way she forces herself through each day—it's obvious. I hate that this is our reality. That we have to scrape by just to afford the one thing keeping her alive.

At least David is back. I was finally able to get her medication. The doctor says she's improving, but only if she stays consistent with her treatment. And that's the problem—consistency costs money. More than we can ever afford on our own.

I met David a year ago at a pharmacy. I was at the counter, pleading with the pharmacist, trying to negotiate a way to get Keisha's prescription. She was getting worse, and I was desperate. Then, out of nowhere, he appeared. Paid for a whole month's refill. Arranged for her to see a doctor. Covered her treatments without asking for anything in return.

We kept in touch after that. Talked. And then one day, he told me his story. How his wife took the kids and never looked back. How he was tired of being alone. And then he made his offer—he'd pay off my tuition debt, cover Keisha's medical bills, and make sure we never had to struggle again. All I had to do was marry him.

I told myself it wasn't a bad deal. He was wealthy, always traveling, barely around. I figured, what's the worst that could happen? And since I was in my final year, he promised to wait until I graduated.

I once suggested that Keisha ask the Harrolds for help, but she refused. Said they'd already done enough—letting me stay here when they didn't have to. David has a place for me now, but I still spend nights at Keisha's sometimes. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because I don't want her to feel alone in this.

I let out a breath and drop my bag and books by the door.

"I'll clean for you today," I say, rolling up my sleeves.

Keisha scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. What about your class?"

"I had the flu."

"Rose, you won't become a doctor if you keep skipping."

"It's just today. Keisha, I know you're not okay. Let me do this for once. No one's around, as always. We could pass for twins if not for our hair, and I'll wear the veil. Please."

She studies me for a moment, then exhales sharply.

"Fine. But you can't get caught."

"I won't."

Her gaze drops to my hand, and her face tightens.

"Where's the ring?"

"I took it off."

"Rose!" She rubs her temples before leaning against the table.

"You know how he gets when he sees you without it. And do you even realise how much it cost?"

"I know. That's why I only take it off when I'm not around him."

She sighs, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"I hate this! I hate that we have to live like this! And for what? My meds? Your tuition?" She throws the pill bottle onto the table.

"Keisha, I'm not complaining. He's a good man."

"But you don't love him. And he could be your father."

"If wishes were horses..." I try to laugh, but it falls flat. "Look, I'm fine. Sorry about the delay with your refill—he was out of town. I should get going."

"Not without the ring. You'll forget, and if he notices—"

"Fine. Happy?" I wave it in her face before sliding it onto my finger.

She doesn't answer, just grabs her pills and a bottle of water. I tie the veil around my head and step inside.

Dr. Mary had been kind enough to rotate Keisha between areas of the house so the workload wasn't unbearable. The rooms were easy to clean as there were barely lived in.

But as I approach the library, my chest tightens.

It's been two weeks.

He's probably forgotten I exist. Maybe he never even came back the next day.

But curiosity got the best of me. I looked him up.

And now I wish I hadn't.

He's everything they say he is. Cold. Ruthless. Unforgiving.

Especially to women.

I push the library door open, my eyes sweeping across the room. It looks the same as always—quiet, undisturbed—but my thoughts drift to the last time I was here. The way he appeared out of nowhere, catching me off guard. How did he get in? Was he already here when I arrived, hidden among the towering shelves? Or was there another way in? A secret passage, maybe?

I glance at the bookshelves, searching for anything unusual, but everything seems normal. Rows and rows of books, nothing more. Still, the thought lingers. What if he had come in earlier? What if—God forbid—he had run into Keisha the day after he asked to see me? No, she would have told me.

"You finally came, Rose."

The voice startles me, low and quiet, yet impossible to ignore.

Two weeks. That's how long it's been. More than enough time for someone to move on. Doesn't he have anything better to do?

"You didn't keep your promise."

I let out a laugh, shaking my head as I reach for a book, dusting off its already clean cover.

"Funny, coming from someone who knows nothing about keeping promises."

Why am I even here? The place is spotless.

Here's a refined version with a more natural progression:

A heavy silence lingers before he clears his throat. "I was here. You weren't."

His voice is calm, but there's something about the way he says it—something deliberate.

I exhale sharply, gripping the book in my hands. "Look, Mr Kendrick, I know everything I need to know about you. I don't know what you want from me, but I'm getting married." I flash the ring at him, hoping it drives the point home.

For a moment, he just stares. Then, a tremor flickers through his fingers. His jaw clenches, and his shoulders jerk slightly.

I frown. "Are you—" I stop. The shaking spreads, his movements turning rigid, uncontrolled. His breathing grows shallow, his gaze unfocused. Something's wrong.

"Mr Kendrick?"

His hand lifts—barely steady—as he motions toward a bookshelf. My pulse spikes. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I hurry over touching where he instructed. A second later, the shelf shifts, revealing a dimly lit corridor.

He gestures again, more urgently this time. I step inside, heart pounding, following the narrow passage until I hit a solid wall.

I glance back at him. He barely manages a whisper. "Touch it."

I press my palm against the smooth surface. A quiet click. The wall slides open.

The space beyond is nothing like the library. It's a vast bedroom, dim and perfectly arranged almost like something from another planet.

His shaking worsens. His hand twitches toward a table near the bed. Meds. I don't waste a second. I grab them and rush back, slipping one under his tongue, praying it's not too late.

An image of me in handcuffs, shoved behind cold steel bars, flashes through my mind. A sinking dread grips my chest, this is it. The end of everything. Keisha will have no one left.