Chapter 1
Note:
English is not my first language but i have tried my best.
The countries and places i used in this book are made up all fictional and its not a typical love story if you are weak hearted this book is not for you as its a dark romance slow burn.
Now if you are still here lets begin!
**Love*
"I didnt die from being wounded, nor did i die from the immense pain. I died by the hands of the person I once called my life"
Love thirteen years old:
Standing outside my parents' bedroom door, my mother's screams echoed through the quiet corridor.
"Jack, you do this to me every time! I can't deal with her alone, and you know it. You were aware from the beginning that I never wanted her. She's a mistake," my mom shouted with frustration at my dad.
"Scarlet, please, no need to raise your voice. I get it; this is tough for you. But she's grown up now, a very responsible kid. She won't be a bother. I always leave her at my mom's, but she's unwell this time, can barely take care of herself," he spoke with calmness that starkly contrasted my mom's frustration.
"I don't care, your duty always comes first for you. Why not retire and take care of her? You know I can't handle her anymore. I... I hate her!" She screamed once more, her words carrying the weight of desperation.
"Honey, trust me, it's just temporary. I'll talk to Mom, and as soon as she feels better, she'll pick her up," he reassured her with a gentle promise.
"Fine, Jack! But this is the last time because I can't keep doing this," she said.
Tears streamed down my face as I rushed downstairs.
From the day I was born, my mother had hated my existence she never even tried to hid her resentment towards me.
She never desired children, especially one who mirrored her own existence. I had an uncanny resemblance to her – the same black hair, the same button nose, and the same pale complexion. Yet, my eyes held a stark difference; they were the only feature that resembled my father.
The only things she loved were parties and getting high until she blacked out.
On the flip side, my dad was the kind of parent I could admire. He taught me everything he could from horse riding to archery, even some basic medical training.
He was my hero, the person I looked up to.
He loved me a lot, but his love for my mom was visible too. At times, I found myself wishing he had never met her – a terrible thought, to wish your own parents had never crossed paths but they were polar opposites; he was filled with kindness and calmness, while she was consistently angry and toxic.
He came downstairs wearing his military uniform, acting like nothing had happened.
"I need you to promise me something, Little Bunny," he said, pulling me into a warm embrace.
"Anything, Daddy," I replied, attempting to stay strong.
"Take care of yourself, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can," he assured me.
"I will if you do the same, Daddy," I replied.
He smiled calling me his brave little bunny"Take care of Mom too, okay?"
I wanted to say no, but for him, I could do anything. "Okay, Daddy."
With a salute, our own little tradition, he left.
Who knew this would be the last time I'd see him before Duty claimed him, leaving me behind with a mother struggling with her demons of addiction.
When my father fell in service, I was just fourteen years old, left all alone in the storm.
I felt emptiness after his death.
Shortly after, my mother remarried. My stepfather, was a sinister figure masked behind a facade of normalcy.
His arrival changed everything in our lives. I can still recall my mother's exact words. "Be grateful to him. He's allowing a brat like you to live with him. If it weren't for him, we'd be on the streets."
I wished my dad was still alive so I wouldn't have to endure life with this woman. I wished Grandma hadn't gotten so sick, forcing her into an old-age home. I wished someone could have saved me from the abuse I was about to endure for the next four years.
