The Beginning

Reina’s POV

The nightmare always began the same way.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway. The creak of a door opening. A shadow stretching across the floor, swallowing me whole.

I curled into myself, pressing my little fingers against my ears, trying to block out the hushed voices outside my bedroom. But nothing could stop the sickly sweetness of alcohol and cologne from seeping under the door, wrapping around my throat like a noose.

“Be a good girl, Reina.”

The words slithered into my mind, the same way they had that night. The sheets tangled around my legs, my body frozen as the dark figure loomed over me, a hand brushing over my cheek.

Then the pressure.

The searing pain.

The muffled scream.

I jerked awake with a sharp gasp, my chest rising and falling in panicked, shallow breaths. Sweat dampened my forehead, my nightshirt clinging to my skin. I pressed the heel of my palms against my eyes, willing the images away.

It wasn’t real. Not anymore.

But my body still remembered.

With a shaky breath, I pushed the blankets off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The air in my tiny apartment was stifling, pressing in on me like a second skin. I needed to shake this off. To forget.

Dragging myself into the bathroom, I flipped the faucet and let cold water pool in my hands before splashing it over my face. I gripped the edges of the sink, staring at my reflection. Wide blue eyes. Freckles dusting my nose. The same face that had stared back at me for years, but never quite felt like my own.

I glanced at the clock—almost morning.

Cursing under my breath, I rushed through a shower, scrubbing my skin until it was raw, as if I could scrape away the filth of memories long past.

Pulling on loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, I concealed my curves the way I always did. The way I had learned to after it happened.

My stepmother’s voice slithered through my mind, cold and venomous.

"You brought this on yourself. You made them do it."

Like hell I did.

How could a thirteen-year-old be responsible for her own nightmare? How could a child be blamed for the monsters that tore her innocence away?

I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought away as I grabbed my bag and locked the door behind me. The past was a shadow that always followed, but I wouldn’t let it define me.

I flagged down a cab, sliding into the backseat with a heavy sigh. But the moment I remembered who my patient was today, my exhaustion twisted into something sharper.

David Lance.

The old man was insufferable. Even at his age, he still had the perverted habits of someone who had never been told no. The last time I had cared for him, his hand had wandered too far, grabbing a handful of my butt while I adjusted his IV.

I had nearly given him an overdose just to shut him up.

The cab pulled up to the large estate, the wrought-iron gates creaking open as I stepped out. I’d been here too many times to be a stranger, but familiarity didn’t make me hate it any less.

Inside, the house smelled of stale money and disinfectant. I moved through the motions—checking his vitals, replacing his IV, preparing his medication.

“Ah, my favorite nurse,” David rasped, his lips curling into a smile that made my stomach churn. “Come to brighten my morning?”

“Good morning to you too, Mr David,” I said with an air of indifference.

“The morning could be better if you had slept next to me,” he continued with a sick smirk that made my insides burn.

“Take your medicine,” I muttered, my tone clipped.

He chuckled again, his bony fingers brushing against my wrist as I handed him the pills.

“You know,” he drawled, “if I were a younger man—”

“You’d still be a perverted old bastard.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest, thick with amusement.

I ignored the way my skin crawled and continued with my work, barely containing my urge to shove a pillow over his face. It would be so easy. Just a few minutes of pressure. One less predator in the world.

The thought made my stomach twist. I wasn’t a killer.

At least not yet.

Handing him the last dose of his medication, I turned on my heel and stepped onto the balcony, sucking in a breath of crisp morning air. My hands trembled as I pressed them against the railing.

It was just another day. Just another patient.

Just then, a loud shrill scream cut through the air.

I whirled, rushing back inside to find one of the maids frozen in the doorway, hands clutched to her head. A tray lay shattered on the floor, tea spilling across the marble.

My gaze darted to Mr David.

He was on the ground, eyes wide and glassy.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I dropped to my knees, pressing my fingers against his neck. No pulse. No breath.

What the hell?

My stomach clenched. The medicine. Had I—?

A chill crawled down my spine.

What have I done?

****

My pulse pounded in my ears as I pressed my fingers harder against David Lance’s throat, searching for any sign of life. Nothing. His skin was already cooling beneath my touch, his mouth frozen in a silent gasp.

No, no, no.

My gaze flickered to the nightstand, where the small paper cup of pills I had given him sat—empty.

I had given him the right dosage. I was sure of it. Wasn’t I?

The maid stood frozen near the door, her hands clutching her head, her eyes wild with panic.

“I—I just brought him his tea,” she stammered. “I walked in and—”

I barely heard her. I was too busy running through the last ten minutes in my head. I had handed him his medication. I had turned away.

Did I kill him?

My hands trembled as I grabbed his wrist again, pressing hard against the fragile skin, willing a pulse to beat against my fingertips.

Nothing.

The reality settled in like ice in my veins.

Mr David Lance was dead.

The man who reminded me of the nightmares I could never escape. The man who had groped me, humiliated me, laughed in my face when I recoiled. The man I had fantasized about smothering in his sleep.

And now he is gone.

A slow, terrible thought crept into my mind.

Would anyone believe I hadn’t done it?