Chapter 1

Valerie wasn’t sure how she made it home.

Her body felt hollow and borrowed, as if someone else had carried her through the streets while her mind floated somewhere far behind. The memory of the VIP room clung to her like static—Drugo Hawthorne’s shaky breath, the heat of his grip, the breath of his mouth lingering on her neck, the possessiveness, the way the night had twisted into something she still couldn’t name.

She told herself she wasn’t crying.

She didn’t have the time or freedom to cry.

‘What I have done?’ She murmers to herself as she was still haunting of what have happened.

The moment the door to their small house closed behind her, she exhaled shakily and pressed her back against it. The living room was dark, lit only by a faint streetlight slipping through the curtains. She waited—listened. Her father’s heavy snore thundered from the bedroom. Her mother’s softer breathing followed. Her older sister’s room door clicked as the air conditioner hummed.

Good.

Everyone was asleep.

She moved slowly, quietly, each step measured. Her body begged for rest, but her thoughts kept circling back—

“Help me… they drugged me.”

His hands trembling.

His voice unsteady.

His body losing control.

Was he dangerous?

Or just vulnerable?

And did it even matter, when she had been trapped beneath the weight of it?

She pressed a hand to her mouth, the ghost of his breath still lingering, and forced herself to breathe.

One inhale. One exhale.

She’d survived another night... But she lost her virginity.

Inside her room, she locked the door—her nightly ritual—and let herself fall onto the thin mattress. The springs creaked under her weight. She curled into herself, clutching the blanket to her chest. A dull ache throbbed in her limbs. Her lips felt swollen. Her heart felt bruised.

She didn’t know when sleep finally took her.

---

Morning

A loud, violent banging shook her door.

“VALERIE!” her mother screamed, each syllable slicing through the early morning quiet. “It’s seven o’clock! You didn’t cook breakfast?!”

Valerie shot upright, adrenaline slamming through her chest.

Seven.

She was supposed to wake up at five.

She scrambled off the bed, rushing toward the door, but before she could reach the knob—

SLAM.

The door flew open, nearly hitting her. Her older sister, Clarisse, pushed it hard, and it cracked against the wall.

“What the hell, Val?” Clarisse snapped, arms folded, hair immaculate, face full of irritation. “You’re still sleeping?! Are you serious?!”

Valerie tried to steady her breath. “I—I’m sorry. I came home late from work—”

She didn’t finish.

Her mother stepped forward and struck her across the cheek. The slap rang through the room—sharp, punishing, practiced.

“Don’t talk back!” her mother barked, eyes piercing, voice cruelly loud. “We’re starving out there while you’re lying here like you’re some princess? Are you out of your mind?!”

The sting spread across Valerie’s face, hot and humiliating.

She lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll cook now—”

“Sorry?!” Clarisse scoffed. “You can’t even do the one thing we ask! You’re so useless!”

Her mother shoved Valerie toward the hallway, not hard enough to injure her, but enough to make her stumble. “Move! Don’t make me hit you again this morning. I swear, Valerie, you’re lucky we even let you stay in this house.”

Her father’s voice roared from the dining table, “Just get out of my sight, woman! You ruin my day with your face. How hard is it to wake up early? Even lazy people can cook rice!”

Each word landed like another blow.

Valerie clasped her hands together, swallowing the thick knot clawing up her throat.

“Yes, Dad,” she whispered.

She hurried to the kitchen, her cheek throbbing, her eyes stinging from more than just the slap. Her hands shook as she cracked eggs into a pan. Clarisse hovered behind her, arms crossed.

“And wipe your tears,” Clarisse said sharply. “It’s annoying to look at.”

Valerie blinked rapidly, forcing herself back into emptiness. Numbness was safer. Feeling was dangerous. She cooked, plated the food, and stepped back as they sat and ate without a thank-you, without a glance.

Her mother didn’t even look at her.

“Go get ready. You’ll be late for university. And don’t come home late again, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Valerie bowed her head.

“Yes, Mom.”

---

The University

The jeepney ride was loud, crowded, and oddly comforting. No one yelled at her. No one hit her. No one sneered at her for being alive.

When she stepped into campus, the noise of students rushing to class felt like a different world—a world that didn’t revolve around her mistakes. Here, she could walk without shrinking. She could breathe without fear.

“VAL!”

A high-pitched voice broke through the crowd. Julia barreled toward her, hair bouncing, energy contagious as always. She wrapped an arm around Valerie immediately.

“Girl, where have you been? I texted you last night like five times—HEY.”

Julia stopped mid-sentence.

Her cheerful expression vanished.

“Your face…” she whispered. “Val, your cheek is red. Did someone hit you?”

Valerie turned away, untucking her hair behind her ear to hide it. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Julia stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “That is not nothing.”

“It’s fine, Juls.”

“No, it’s not fine.” Julia’s voice softened. “Was it your mom again? Or Clarisse? Or—”

“Julia, please.” Valerie’s voice cracked—not in pain, but in exhaustion. “I don’t want to talk about home.”

Julia went silent, her eyes softening with understanding.

She looped her arm through Valerie’s again.

“Then we won’t talk about home.”

They walked together toward the main building. Valerie breathed a little easier. With Julia beside her, the world didn’t feel so sharp-edged. Julia wasn’t perfect—she talked too loud, laughed too hard, and got into arguments over tiny things—but she was loyal. Fiercely loyal. The only softness in Valerie’s life.

“So,” Julia tried again, “how was work? Did you get off late? Was something weird? Did anything happen?”

The breath froze in Valerie’s chest.

Images flashed again—

Drugo’s hands gripping hers.

The tremble in his fingers.

His voice, raw and strained.

His weight pressing her down.

Her breath trapped in her throat.

Valerie’s step faltered.

Julia stopped immediately.

“Val?” she asked gently.

“I… don’t know how to explain it,” Valerie whispered.

“What happened?”

“It wasn’t a normal night,” Valerie forced out. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. “There was a man. A VIP. He was… different.”

Julia tilted her head. “Different how?”

Valerie opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

How could she explain that she had been trapped between danger and confusion? Between fear and something she didn’t understand? That she hadn’t known whether to fight or help him? That she still didn’t know whether he had been the threat, or if the drugs in his system had made him desperate and disoriented?

So she said the only thing she could.

“I just want to forget it,” Valerie whispered.

Julia squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to say. But you’re not alone, okay? Whatever happened… you’re not facing it by yourself.”

Valerie nodded, but a cold truth nestled deep in her chest:

She didn’t know if forgetting was still possible.

Not after a man like Drugo Hawthorne touched her life.

Not after last night.

Because men like him didn’t accidentally cross lives with girls like her.

Not without consequence.

And Valerie feared that the night she wished to bury was exactly the night he would not forget.