PROLOGUE

Prologue

Rafael

The low moans coming from my laptop had me scrambling to turn the volume down, my heart hammering as I glanced at the bedroom door. The men on the screen were kissing, their hands tangled in each other's hair, and I had barely managed to pull my blanket over my lap when I heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

Shit.

I slammed the laptop shut.

The door flew open before I could do anything else.

My foster father stood in the doorway, his expression twisting as his gaze moved from my face to the laptop on my bed. Behind him, my foster mother peered into the room, her mouth falling open when she noticed the blanket tangled around my waist.

For one horrible second, nobody spoke.

Then my foster father stepped inside and snatched the laptop from the bed.

“What the hell is this?”

“Give it back!” I scrambled to my feet, reaching for it, but he lifted it out of my grasp. “Please, it's mine!”

He opened it again. The video resumed for a brief moment before he slammed the screen shut so hard I flinched.

“You disgusting little pervert!”

“I'm sorry.” The words came out before I could stop them. “I'm sorry, I wasn't—”

“Were you watching this filth in my house?” He jabbed a finger toward the laptop. “Under my roof? After everything I've done for you?”

My stomach twisted.

I knew that tone. I knew the way his face changed when he was angry, the way his voice could turn a room into a place where I couldn't breathe. But this was different. His anger wasn't just about what he'd found on my laptop. I saw something else beneath it, something sharp and frightened that made the blood drain from my face.

He was afraid.

Not of me. Never of me.

He was afraid of what I might say.

For years, he'd made sure I understood that nobody would believe me if I told them what happened when we were alone. He'd reminded me that I had no real family, that they had taken me in when nobody else wanted me, that I owed them for every meal and every night beneath their roof. Whenever he'd crossed a line, he'd made the shame mine to carry.

And now he was looking at me as if I had finally given him the excuse he'd been waiting for.

“Get out,” he ordered.

I stared at him. “What?”

“Get out of my house!”

“Please, Dad—”

“Don't you dare call me that!” He seized my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. “You think I don't know what kind of person you are? I'll take you straight to the police. Let's see how you explain this to them.”

Panic flooded my chest. “No, please! I didn't do anything to anybody!”

“You're sick.”

“I'm sorry!” Tears were already burning my eyes. “Please, I'm sorry. I'll delete everything. I promise. Just give me my laptop back!”

He shoved me away, and I stumbled against the edge of my bed.

My foster mother remained in the doorway, watching us with a frightened expression. I looked at her, desperate for the smallest sign that she would intervene, that she would tell him to calm down or remind him that I was still young enough to be scared of the police.

“Please,” I whispered to her. “Mum, please say something.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

My foster father pulled out his phone.

“I know exactly what to do with you,” he muttered. “I'll make sure you never embarrass this family again.”

The door behind him opened wider, and our neighbour stepped into view.

My blood turned to ice.

He was an older man who had lived next door for years, someone who always found an excuse to touch my shoulder, linger too close, or make comments that left my skin crawling. I'd avoided being alone with him whenever I could. When I complained about his behaviour, my foster father told me I was being dramatic and that I should learn to respect my elders.

Now the neighbour looked me over with an expression that made my stomach lurch.

“What happened?” he asked, though his eyes had already settled on the laptop.

My foster father gave a bitter laugh. “Caught him watching men do God knows what. I'm done with him. Maybe a night in a police station will teach him some manners.”

The neighbour's gaze returned to me.

“Before you do that,” he said slowly, “let me teach him a lesson he'll never forget.”

I stopped breathing.

“No.”

The word escaped before I could think.

My foster father looked at him for a moment, then shrugged as though they were discussing a broken appliance rather than my life.

“Fine. Do what you have to do.”

Something inside me snapped.

“NO!”

I lunged toward my foster father, grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands. “You can't do this! Please! Dad, please, I won't do it again! I'll do anything you want, just don't let him take me!”

He ripped my hands away.

I stumbled backward, shaking so badly my knees threatened to give out. “Mum! Mum, please!”

My foster mother finally moved, but only enough to step aside as the neighbour approached.

“No, no, no!” I backed away until my shoulders hit the wall. “Please don't let him touch me! I don't want to go with him! Mum, please, I'm begging you!”

The neighbour reached for my wrist.

I screamed.

It wasn't a dignified sound. It tore out of me, raw and loud, and I fought him with everything I had, kicking at his legs and clawing at his hand. He cursed when my nails caught his skin, but instead of letting go, he tightened his grip.

“Get off me!” I shrieked. “LET ME GO!”

“Stop making a scene,” my foster father snapped.

I stared at him through my tears, unable to understand how he could stand there and watch. “You're supposed to protect me!”

His face hardened.

“After everything you've done, you have no right to tell me what I'm supposed to do.”

“Please!” I cried. “Please, I'll leave! I'll go anywhere! Just don't let him take me!”

The neighbour seized my other arm and dragged me away from the wall. I fought harder, my shoes scraping against the floor as I tried to brace myself against the doorframe. My fingers slipped. I grabbed the edge again, desperate enough to hurt myself rather than let go.

“Mum!” My voice cracked. “MUM, PLEASE!”

She covered her mouth, tears shining in her eyes, but she still didn't move.

That hurt more than I could have imagined. I had spent years telling myself that if the worst ever happened, someone would notice. Someone would hear me. Someone would finally decide that what was happening to me mattered more than keeping the peace in this house.

But my foster mother only stood there while I was dragged past her.

I reached for her as we passed, my fingers brushing her sleeve.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please help me.”

She looked at me.

For a moment, I thought she might take my hand.

Then she pulled away.

The neighbour dragged me into the hallway, and I screamed until my throat burned. I kicked at him, twisted my body, and tried to wrench my wrists free, but he was stronger than me. My foster father followed us with the laptop tucked beneath his arm, muttering about the disgrace I'd brought upon his family.

“Please!” I begged again, though I could barely get the words out. “Please don't do this to me! I haven't done anything wrong!”

Nobody answered.

The front door swung open. Cold air hit my face, and the sight of the neighbour's house beyond the path sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I knew what he wanted. I had known for years, even when I couldn't find the courage to say it aloud.

“No!” I screamed, digging my heels into the ground. “PLEASE! DON'T LET HIM TAKE ME!”

The neighbour hauled me forward.

My foster father stood in the doorway, watching with the same hard expression he'd worn in my bedroom. I searched his face one last time, hoping to find even a trace of the man who was supposed to have given me a home.

There was nothing.

The neighbour yanked me off balance, and I crashed against him. I tried to push away, but his arm locked around me as he dragged me toward the gate.

My screams followed us into the night.

Then the front door slammed behind us.

I heard something crash inside the house. A sharp, unfamiliar sound followed, and the world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

I kept fighting. I kept begging.

But the darkness came before anyone answered.