Rosaline's POV
The slap came so hard that my ears rang.
Tears immediately blurred my vision as I stumbled backward, one hand flying to my burning cheek.
My father stood in front of me, breathing heavily, his face twisted with anger.
"You little whore!"
I bit my lip to stop myself from crying.
My mother sat on the couch behind him, watching everything happen with the same cold expression she always wore whenever my father hurt me.
"You think you're a hotshot now because you got an interview at Woods Enterprises?" my father spat. "You suddenly have the guts to speak while I'm talking?"
"No, Father. I would never…"
Another slap landed on the same cheek.
My head snapped to the side.
I stumbled again, barely catching myself against the wall.
"What did I say about talking while I'm still talking, you piece of shit?"
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He grabbed my arm so tightly that his fingers dug into my skin.
"You're not going to that interview. Do you understand me?"
I nodded quickly.
"You're going to your room, and you're going to forget about that stupid dream of yours. You will never amount to anything, Rosaline. So don't waste money pretending you can become something you're not."
My throat tightened.
"Yes, Father."
"Say it properly."
"Yes, Father. I won't go to the interview."
He stared at me for another few seconds before finally releasing my arm.
"Good."
Then, as if he hadn't just slapped me twice, he patted my head and walked away.
Like I was a child.
Like I was nothing.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the floor.
Then I ran.
I rushed into my bedroom and quietly shut the door behind me.
I didn't lock it.
I never locked my door.
Privacy was a privilege I had learned very early that I wasn't allowed to have.
The moment I was alone, I collapsed onto my bed.
The tears came harder.
I buried my face in my pillow, trying desperately to muffle my sobs.
How long was I supposed to live like this?
How long was I supposed to keep pretending that this was a home?
My entire body was covered in bruises in various stages of healing. Some were hidden beneath my clothes. Others were impossible to conceal.
I hated the way people looked at me whenever they noticed them.
That pity.
That sympathy.
I didn't want anyone's pity.
I just wanted out.
My parents weren't the only ones who made my life miserable.
My older sister enjoyed watching me suffer almost as much as they did. Whenever my father beat me, she never tried to help.
Sometimes, she even made things worse.
I wiped my tears and stared at the ceiling.
Then my eyes fell on the small bag sitting beside my wardrobe.
The interview.
Woods Enterprises.
New York.
Freedom.
The thought alone made my heart race.
Getting an interview at one of the biggest companies in New York was almost impossible for someone like me.
I had no experience.
No impressive qualifications.
No connections.
Honestly, applying had been nothing more than a desperate attempt.
Like putting a letter inside a bottle, throwing it into the ocean and hoping someone found it.
But somehow, someone had.
They had invited me for an interview.
Next week.
That tiny email had given me something I hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
I sat up slowly.
My father could tell me I was worthless a thousand times.
He could beat me.
He could humiliate me.
He could tell me that I would never become anything.
But he couldn't make me believe it.
Not anymore.
I was leaving.
That night.
I wasn't going to wait for permission.
I wasn't going to wait until I was old enough, rich enough, brave enough or ready enough.
If I stayed here, there was a chance I'd never leave.
So I started packing.
I moved quietly, taking only what I could carry.
A few clothes.
Some shoes.
Important documents.
Anything I thought I might need.
Most of the decent corporate clothes I had belonged to my sister.
I hesitated before taking them.
Then I remembered every time she'd watched me get beaten without lifting a finger.
She owed me.
By the time I finished packing, the house had become unusually quiet.
It was almost 10:45 p.m.
I carefully opened my bedroom door.
Nothing.
I stepped into the hallway.
My heart pounded so loudly I was convinced someone would hear it.
I slowly approached the living room and peeked around the doorway.
My father and mother were sprawled across the couch.
There were empty bottles and drugs scattered around them.
They were completely out of it.
My sister still wasn't home.
This was my chance.
I slipped toward my father's room.
I knew exactly where he kept his money.
I took as much cash as I could find and grabbed the spare phone he kept tucked away.
My eyes landed on a gold chain.
I hesitated.
Then I took it too.
If I ran out of money, I could sell it.
I wasn't proud of what I was doing.
But survival had never given me the luxury of being proud.
I hurried back to my room.
Before leaving, I took a pen and a piece of paper.
I stared at it for several seconds.
What was I supposed to say?
I'm sorry?
Thank you?
Neither felt right.
So I wrote the only thing I could.
I'm leaving.
I folded the paper and placed it on my bed.
Then I picked up my suitcase.
My hands were shaking.
My heart was racing.
But for the first time in my life, I felt something stronger than fear.
Freedom.
I quietly slipped out of the house.
I didn't look back.
Not once.
I reached the bus stop just in time.
The bus to the train station was already preparing to leave.
I hurried inside, clutching my suitcase tightly as I found a seat by the window.
As the bus pulled away, I stared at the house that had been my prison for most of my life.
I expected to feel guilty.
Instead, I felt relieved.
I pulled out the spare phone and turned it on.
A picture of my sister appeared on the screen.
I rolled my eyes.
Of course.
I quickly opened the email application and sent a message to Woods Enterprises, confirming that I would be present for my scheduled interview.
Then I stared at my contacts.
There was only one person I could call.
One person who had known me before I learned how to hide my pain.
Rivera.
My best friend.
I hadn't spoken to her properly in years.
When she moved away with her parents, a part of me had felt like it went with her.
I dialed her number.
Three rings.
Then she answered.
"Rivera here. Who's this, please?"
The moment I heard her voice, my eyes filled with tears.
"River…"
There was silence.
Then a sharp gasp.
"Rose?"
I covered my mouth as another sob escaped.
"Oh my God, Rose! What happened to you? Where are you? Whose phone is this? Why are you calling me this late? Are you okay? Did something happen?"
Despite everything, I smiled.
Typical Rivera.
A million questions before allowing me to answer even one.
"I ran away from home," I whispered.
Silence.
"I didn't know who else to call."
"Rose…"
"Do you think I can stay with you for a few days?" I sniffled. "I promise I won't be a burden to you or your family. I'll find somewhere else as soon as I can."
"Jesus Christ, Rose."
Her voice broke.
"Of course you can stay with me. As long as you want."
I closed my eyes.
A tear rolled down my cheek.
"What happened?"
"It was too much, River."
I swallowed hard.
"I got tired."
She exhaled.
"It's about time you got tired. Took you long enough, you potato."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
A real laugh.
I hadn't heard myself laugh like that in years.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt something other than fear.
I felt safe.
"I'm about five minutes from the train station," I told her. "How do I get to you?"
"I'll text you my address. Just call me when you get there."
"Okay."
"Rose?"
"Yeah?"
"You're safe now."
My eyes filled with tears again.
I looked out the window as the city lights slowly disappeared behind us.
"Yeah," I whispered.
Maybe I was.
Maybe this was the beginning.
Maybe my life wasn't going to end in that little town after all.
I didn't know what waited for me in New York.
I didn't know if Woods Enterprises would hire me.
I didn't know if I was qualified enough.
I didn't even know where this journey would take me.
But for the first time in my life…
I was choosing it for myself.
And I wasn't going back.