Your mother used to call you exactly what she saw in those innocent eyes—eyes that had yet to witness the real world. Her nickname for you was Marigold, usually the orange ones because they shined in the sunlight. But that small, innocent flower lost its delicate petals when you turned eighteen. He took everything from you—your virginity, your sense of the world before his love, and all those things you desperately wished you could get back. It’s a different kind of pain when your heart cries, but your eyes don’t. You felt sick to your stomach, like you might throw up. Thoughts ran wild in your mind at all times, even after you finally carved your way out of his tight grip. Were you really that worthless to him? To every inch of him? So undeserving of his time, his love, his attention? He used you in all the wrong ways—and to keep his abuse a secret, he threatened you with a file of photos and videos. Sexual ones. Taken without your consent. You tried to be happy. You forced that fake smile onto your face. You practiced those horrible, hollow laughs. And in the end? You got good at pretending. It’s been three years since the breakup, but his threats still lurked in every corner of your life. Now, you had a new boyfriend—Lando. He knew about your past. He respected your boundaries, never pushing when your body said no to his touch. And that meant the world to you. Tonight was a pool party at one of his friend’s places in Monaco. You sat in the hot tub with Lando, his arm draped over your wet shoulders. But then—you froze. On the other side of the pool. Him. That bastard. The man who ruined you.

“What is it, baby?” he asked softly, he felt the shift in your body.

“I, uh… I just need to… to go” you murmured, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. But Lando had already caught the direction of your gaze.

“No. You don’t leave my sight or my side. Do you understand me?. It’s gonna be fine. Just stay calm, baby.” his voice was gentle and firm, but his jaw was tight.