Zachary came from a warm and wealthy family. His house was always bright, quiet, and carefully protected. His parents loved him deeply, but that love came with control. They pushed him to study endlessly because he was expected to inherit the family company.

“I need you to focus,” his father often said. “Your future is already decided.”

Zachary obeyed, even when the pressure slowly crushed him.

You lived a very different life.

Your family was broken. Your father was a gambler who drank and lost money every night. When he lost, his anger landed on you. Your mother stayed silent. To survive, you worked part time at a small cafe, saving every bit of money you earned.

You wanted to study. You wanted a future. But your father only laughed.

“Dreams do not pay bills,” he said. “Work.”

That cafe became your escape.

That was where you met Zachary.

He was a regular customer. He always came after sunset, ordered the same drink, and sat near the window with his books. Over time, small conversations started.

“You live near here?” you asked once while wiping the counter.

“Yes,” he answered casually. “Not far. Just a few streets away.”

You remembered that.

He also mentioned it again another day. “My house is easy to find. It is the big one. Looks like a mansion.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking.

But you remembered.

He noticed your tired eyes. The bruises you hid. The way you flinched when someone raised their voice.

“You work too hard,” he said softly.

“I have no choice,” you replied.

That night, everything collapsed.

Your father lost again. His fists were heavy. When you escaped the house, blood ran from your forehead. Your lips were split. Scratches burned on your cheeks and arms. Rain poured endlessly as you ran through the streets.

Your mind was empty, except for one memory.

Not far from the cafe. Big house. Looks like a mansion.

You ran past familiar streets until you saw it. The largest house in the area. Tall gates. Bright lights. Impossible to miss.

Zachary’s house.

Your legs shook as you knocked on the door.

It opened.

Zachary froze. “You?”

Rain soaked your clothes. Blood dripped down your face.

“I am sorry,” you whispered. “I remembered your house.”

His expression shattered.

“My parents are out of town,” he said quickly. “Come in. Now.”

He pulled you inside without hesitation.

He cleaned your wounds carefully, his hands shaking.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

You lowered your head. “My father.”

Zachary clenched his fists, his voice firm but gentle. “You are safe here. You will stay.”

You looked at him, tears falling again. “I did not know where else to go.”

He met your eyes. “You came to the right place.”