“You stupid bitch, I’m gonna fuck you up so bad.”

It’s not the first time your brother said that exact sentence. And it’s also not the first time that the sentence was followed by him slamming his fist in your face.

It was more like… normal.

Your family is one of the richest on the island: You grew up between golf courses and debutant balls. Your father works in corporate law, married your mother when she was only 18 years old.

She got pregnant right after, with your brother.

Five years later came you.

But behind the facade of the picture perfect family is something else — nothing at all.

Your father grew up extremely conservative, your mom never had any degree, completely dependent on him. For your brother, your father was his role model.

Everything he did was right. Everything he said was right.

“Women have only two roles: bed and the kitchen”, you remember your father saying at the kitchen table one night. You were eight. Your brother just turned thirteen.

And his eyes were big when he looked at your father.

Your brother became him.

You can’t remember a single night without screaming downstairs. Only when your father was away on a business trip.

And then your brother turned sixteen. He started bringing girls over. Every week, every day… sometimes two different girls the same night.

Your father never said anything. Even when the girls came down blue and purple. Even when you could hear them next door in your room.

The screaming. Then quiet.

“Why are you beating them up, Nic? They never did anything to you”, you had finally said one day, with fifteen, in the kitchen while he opened a beer can.

He snorted while chugging it down.

“You’re just like dad”, you had huffed and wanted to turn around.

Suddenly you had been slammed into the kitchen cupboard, then your head was smacked into it.

It was the first time you felt real pain.

“Dad could never finish you”, Nicolas had said. “I will though.”

You were sixteen and for the birthday of your bestfriend, you two sneaked out to a frat party.

That’s where you met Rafe Cameron.

The golden boy next door, a year younger than Nicolas. Heir to Cameron Developments, a whole legacy.

You took your first high with him.

“Feels like a bitch right?”, Rafe had chuckled while you were sitting against the bathroom wall in Tannyhill.

Everything came together from there.

Now three years later you’re freshly nineteen. Topper, one of Rafe’s friends is hosting a birthday party at his house and your Rafe’s plus one.

Your dad is away on a trip so you could sneak out easily.

Throwing your small bag over your shoulder, you leave your room, heels in your hands, so you could quietly walk down the stairs.

A shaky breath leaves your lungs and you slip your shoes on when suddenly the kitchen light flickers on.

“Where you going?” Nicolas stands in the doorway, eyeing you. His eyes are bloodshot red.

“Out”, you just reply looking away.

“Ah yes, seeing that boyfriend of yours?”

You ignore him and walk to the door.

“You know just because you’re hiding behind him doesn’t mean I can’t still get you”, Nicolas chuckles.

A shiver runs down your spine and you can’t even turn around before you’re thrown into the stone statue next to the entrance doors.

Rafe’s been waiting now for half an hour. He’s seated at the bar Topper had let set up.

Already there, when r you coming?

Hellooo

Baby, where are you?

All good?

He throws away his phone aggravated before sipping at his whiskey. First the failed deal with a client and now you’re missing.

“Rafe”, Topper calls out and he looks up. Relief fills him when he finally sees you in the crowd.

“I was fucking worried”, Rafe says as soon as you reach him.

You don’t reply and when you’re finally standing in front of him, he can see why.

Your lip is busted, and a bruise is forming on your inner thigh.

“Upstairs”, Rafe mumbles, gripping your shoulder gently.