BEGINNING

Dominic!! What are you doing?" I asked in a whisper . Horror visibly on my face as I stood behind Dominic and the body of the man who tried to rape me a few hours ago, on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Nothing, princess. Just making sure he doesn't stay alive to see you again," Dominic replied in a husky tone, with a small smirk on his face, his bloodshot eyes gleaming in the almost dark room. He looked like he had been possessed by a bloodthirsty demon. I stared in horror, wondering if this was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

SAMANTHA POV

My name is Samantha Oliver. I'm a 24-year-old woman with caramel-toned skin. My curvaceous body, particularly my well-sculpted breasts, seems to captivate men whenever I pass by. It's both a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately, my life has been marked by trauma—I've narrowly escaped rape three times and abduction twice.

Coming from a middle-class background, I've always dreamed of financial success and finding love, even if it means marrying a man who isn't wealthy. My mother raised me single-handedly after my father's death when I was just six years old. His passing left us burdened with debts in his name. Despite the challenges, my mother worked tirelessly to pay off those debts and care for me.

My goal was clear: become wealthy, settle our financial obligations, and ensure my mother's well-being for the rest of her life. But life took a cruel turn. On my seventeenth birthday, tragedy struck—my mother died in a ghastly bus accident while returning from work. The memories flood back, and tears trace their path down my cheeks. It feels like yesterday when we spoke on the phone during that rainy day. I had just finished my part-time job as a storekeeper when I returned home to find a cake waiting on the table.

"Oh, Mom," I smiled as I stared at it; it was a red velvet cake, my favorite!

I quickly changed and cleaned the house, knowing she would be inviting some of our close friends over for the party. After about an hour, out of excitement, I decided to call her. Taking out my phone to dial her number, she called me spontaneously. I grinned as I saw her caller ID, "My heroine."

"Hey, Mum."

"Hey, baby, do you like the cake?"

"Of course, Mum, I love it. Are you on your way yet?"

"Yes, baby. Today's traffic is the worst, just holding us close to the railway, but we are moving slowly."

"Okay, Mum. Don't forget the milky doughnuts on your way back!" I shrieked excitedly.

That was when I heard her scream my name, and then the line went dead.

"Mummy!"

I heard nothing.

"Mummy, are you there?" I whispered into the phone, staring at the disconnected screen. Panic surged through me as I redialed, but still, no one answered. My mother had taken the bus to visit her sister, and now I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Outside, I paced in our neighbor Mrs. Smith's garden, clutching the cup of orange juice she'd given me. The TV blared in the background, the news reporting an accident at the very spot where my mother's bus would have passed. My heart raced as the reporter's voice filled the room.

"The bus lost control and collided with the railway, crushed by an oncoming train."

I prayed it wasn't her bus. But then, on the screen, they showed personal belongings of the victims. There it was: my green wallet, the one I'd designed for my mother when I was twelve, with my picture on the front. My knees buckled, and the glass of juice slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. Darkness enveloped me as I collapsed onto Mrs. Smith's sofa.

Nine years later:

I stood at the cemetery, the sun casting long shadows over the gravestones. It was my birthday—the day my mother had died. Tradition compelled me to visit her grave twice a year: on her birthday and mine. I knelt, wiping away tears as I cleaned the headstone. Her name and the date of her passing were etched into the cold stone. How could I forgive myself for losing her on my birthday?

My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. I fumbled for it, squinting at the caller ID through tear-blurred eyes. Alexa—my best friend since I was sixteen. She'd seen me through every breakdown, every anniversary.

"Hello?" My voice cracked.

"Are you crying again, Sammy?" Alexa's bright voice echoed through the line.

"No, just tired," I lied. "Been cleaning."

"Uh-huh. Well, get ready. I'm picking you up for your birthday party. No arguments."

"Alright," I whispered, the call ending abruptly.

Alexa had been there when we met at the bakery. I'd gone to buy olive bread and spring rolls, and there she was –a beautiful girl in a luxurious car. Her eyes lingered on me, making me feel self-conscious. But I brushed it off and continued my errand.

"hello?" Her voice startled me. She stood beside me, blonde hair catching the sunlight."please can you tell me where the samosas are?".

"Yeah," I stammered. "Samosas are on the other aisle."

"Thanks," she said, her freckled skin glowing. She hefted a basket filled with pastries, her petite frame struggling under the weight.

I gathered the items I wanted at the bakery and headed to the checkout. As the total appeared, I reached into my pocket to retrieve the money—only to be met with horror. It was gone. Panic surged through me as I frantically searched my pockets, nearly on the verge of tears.

And then, that sweet voice returned.

"It's okay; I'll cover it," she said, smiling once more. Despite my ingrained reluctance to accept help from strangers, I knew returning empty-handed would lead to trouble with my mother.

I hung my head in shame as she handed her card to the cashier. I bit my lip, wondering just how wealthy she must be to possess such a card.

"How can I repay you?" I asked, not wanting to appear shameless.

"Be my friend!" she replied instantly.

"Oh, okay, I guess," I replied, smiling at her as we giggled together.

And just like that, we became inseparable. Despite her coming from a well to do family, she never me she never made me feel inferior. After my mum's death, I had moved in with them until I was old enough to live alone.

I sighed, as I added finishing touches to my mom's grave while waiting for Alexa to pick me up.