Chapter 1: SHAILEE
The copper taste of blood was the first thing I woke up to.
I spat into the white sink and watched the red swirl down the drain. Then, I looked up. The reflection staring back at me had a bruised eye and a hollow expression.
I can’t let Ruh see this.
I moved fast. I grabbed the concealer from the cabinet, layering it on until the purple skin was buried under a mask of beige. I pulled on my uniform, my movements mechanical.
On my way out, my eyes snagged on my lighter and my stepmother’s cigarette box. My hands curled into fists. I tried to resist—I really did—but the urge was a physical ache.
I shoved them into my pocket and walked out.
The living room felt like a graveyard.
My dad was sipping his chai, silent and cold. My stepmother hovered over him, whispering poison into his ear like it was a love song. In the middle of it all was Ruh, quietly eating her breakfast.
I walked over and started packing her lunch.
“Where’s yours—?” Ruh started, looking up at me.
“I’m not hungry,” I cut her off. I didn’t want her to see the cracks in my voice. I reached out, caressed her cheek, and forced a small smile. “Now eat fast. We have to go.”
She just nodded. She was learning how to survive this house, too.
We were at the door when my father’s voice stopped me cold.
“Come home sharp by 1:50 p.m. Not a minute late.”
He didn’t look up from his cup. “And if you don’t obey me, Shailee...”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The silence in the room was louder than any shout.
I just nodded and pulled Ruh out the door.
At school, nothing changes.
Classes are 35 minutes. Recess is 20. My life is measured in tiny increments of time, all leading up to a 1:50 p.m. deadline. I don’t go to meetings. I don’t stay late. I don’t have a life.
Papa always wants me home.
The only days I can breathe are the days he’s gone. And today isn’t one of them.
The school bell didn’t sound like a relief today; it sounded like a death knell.
I was already adjusting my bag, my mind already halfway out the front gates, when the intercom crackled to life. The voice of the Principal, sharp and bureaucratic, cut through the hallway chatter.
“All student council members and class representatives, please report to the assembly hall immediately for an emergency meeting. Attendance is mandatory. No exceptions.”
My heart stopped. Then it began to thrash against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Mandatory.
I looked at my watch. It was already 1:15 p.m. If I stayed for even ten minutes, I’d never make it back by 1:50. And if I wasn’t through that front door when the clock struck, the “silence” from this morning would turn into something much louder. Much more painful.
“Shailee? Are you coming?”
I turned to see the Head Boy, Julian. He stood there with a clipboard, his expression perfectly composed, the very picture of the privileged authority I hated. He didn’t have a father waiting with a stopwatch. He didn’t have bruises hidden under his concealer.
“I... I have to go,” I stammered, backing away.
“The Principal was very clear, Shaillee,” Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, professional yet firm. “It’s about the upcoming gala. If you miss this, it’s a strike on your record. You know how the school feels about ‘reliability’.”
“I’ll be there,” I lied, my voice shaking. “I just need two minutes.”
I didn’t wait for his response. I turned and ran.
I sprinted down the hallway, my lungs burning. I ignored the History Teacher, Mr. Khanna, who shouted at me to slow down as I darted past his classroom. I didn’t care about the rules of the school. I only cared about the rules of my house.
I reached Ruh’s classroom and practically slammed into the doorframe. The room was half-empty, students lingering over their desks. Ruh was sitting in the back, her eyes widening as she saw me breathless and pale.
“Shailee? What’s wrong?”
I knelt beside her desk, my hands gripping her shoulders. “Listen to me, Ruh. There’s a meeting. I can’t leave yet.”
“But Papa—”
“I know,” I cut her off, my voice a frantic whisper. “I know. You’re going to take the auto home alone today. Do you hear me? The money is already in the side pocket of your bag. I put it there this morning.”
Ruh’s lip trembled. “He’ll be angry if we aren’t together.”
“I’ll handle him,” I lied, the weight of the promise crushing my chest. I smoothed her hair, trying to project a calm I didn’t feel. “Just go straight home. Don’t stop for anything. Tell him I’m coming. Tell him the Principal held me back.”
I watched her small hands grip her backpack straps. She looked so small, so vulnerable. I hated that I was sending her back into that house without me as a shield.
“Go,” I urged, giving her a gentle push. “Now.”
As she disappeared down the hall, I stood there for a second, staring at the empty space. I looked at my watch again.
1:25 p.m.
The countdown had begun, and for the first time in my life, I knew I wasn’t going to win. I turned back toward the assembly hall, rubbing the spot where my concealer was starting to cake over the bruise, and walked toward the room.
The assembly hall felt like a vacuum, sucking the air right out of my lungs.
I slipped into the back row, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure the girl sitting next to me could hear it. I kept my head down, hair falling forward to shield the side of my face where the concealer felt heavy—a physical weight on my skin.
At the front of the room, the Principal stood behind a mahogany lectern, looking over his spectacles with a clinical sort of boredom. Beside him stood Julian, the Head Boy. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his crisp white shirt, watching the room with an intensity that made me feel like I was under a microscope.
“Silence, please,” the Principal’s voice boomed, echoing off the high ceilings. “We have a security breach regarding the upcoming council gala. This meeting will not conclude until every department lead has submitted their revised schedule.”
No. No, no, no. I glanced at my watch. 1:32 p.m.
I had eighteen minutes. Even if I sprinted to the gates and caught an auto immediately, I’d be pushing it. My hands began to shake under the table. I shoved them into my pockets, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the lighter I’d stolen this morning.
“Shaillee?”
I jumped, my head snapping up. It was Mr. Khanna, the History Teacher and council advisor. He was standing a few feet away, holding a stack of folders. “You’re the lead for the junior decorations, aren’t you? I need your signed inventory list before you leave today.”
“I—I’ll get it to you first thing tomorrow, sir,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Now, Shailee,” he said, not unkindly but firm. “The Principal wants everything filed before we exit this room. Rules are rules.”
Rules. The word tasted like ash.
I looked toward the exit, but Julian was standing right by the door now, checking names off a list. He caught my eye, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed my agitation. He began walking toward me, his stride confident and slow.
“You look like you’re about to faint,” Julian said, stopping in front of my desk. He leaned down, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “What’s the rush, Shaillee? The meeting hasn’t even officially started.”
“I just need to go,” I said, my voice rising in a desperate pitch. “Please, Julian. Just let me slip out. I’ll do double the work tomorrow.”
He didn’t move. His gaze traveled over my face, lingering just a second too long on my eye. For a horrifying moment, I wondered if the fluorescent lights were cutting through my makeup. “You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice losing its edge and turning into something sharper—curiosity. Or maybe suspicion.
1:40 p.m.
The panic was a cold tide rising in my throat. Ruh was probably almost home by now. She would be walking through the door alone. My father would be standing there, checking the clock, his silence growing louder with every tick of the second hand.
“I can’t stay,” I choked out, grabbing my bag.
“Shailee, sit down,” the Principal barked from the front, his eyes locking onto me. “We are starting the roll call.”
I sank back into the hard plastic chair, my body vibrating with a terror I couldn’t suppress. I looked at the clock on the wall. It felt like it was mocking me.
1:45 p.m.
In five minutes, I would officially be a dead girl walking. I closed my eyes and prayed for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Anything was better than the silence that was waiting for me at home.
— TIME SKIP —
The front door creaked open at 2:09 p.m. He was already waiting. Not sitting. Not pacing.
Waiting.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the suffocating quiet.
“You’re late,” my father said.
I dropped my bag slowly. “There was a mandatory meeting for the gala. They didn’t let us leave.”
“For a dance?” he asked flatly.
it’s for council, and boards are coming up so they were—”
“Boards,” he repeated, stepping closer. “Do you even know what that word means?”
My throat tightened. “Yes.”
“Because from your marks, it doesn’t look like you do.”
He grabbed the progress sheet from the table and shoved it toward me.
“89 in Physics. 90 in Math.” His voice rose. “Do you want to fail your board exams?”
“No!”
“Then why are you behaving like you do?” he snapped. “Coming home late. Roaming around with boys. Focusing on useless decoration committees instead of studying.”
“I’m not roaming,” I said, my voice shaking. “Julian is Head Boy. It was about work.”
“Ah.” His lip curled. “So now you’re on first-name basis with boys?”
“It’s not like that!”
“Do you want to fail boards?” he shouted again, louder this time. “Answer me!”
“No!” My voice cracked. “I’m trying!”
“Trying?” He stepped forward and shoved my shoulder. I stumbled back into the table, pain shooting up my arm. “If this is you trying, then maybe you do want to fail.”
“I don’t,” I whispered, tears blurring everything. “I’ll do better. I swear.”
“You think life gives second chances?” he continued, breathing hard. “If you fail your board exams, that’s it. No college. No freedom. You will stay in this house and learn what real failure looks like.”
My chest felt tight. Too tight.
“I’ll get above ninety,” I rushed out. “I’ll stop everything else. I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll come straight home every day.”
“You better,” he said coldly. “Because if you fail boards, don’t expect me to protect you from the consequences.”
Another shove. I hit the cupboard this time. My vision flickered.
“Papa, please,” I gasped. “I just need time.”
My father stepped closer, his shadow stretching over me like a shroud. The air in the room didn’t just feel cold; it felt thin, as if he were consuming all the oxygen for himself.
“You’ve had fifteen years of time,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal silkiness that was far more terrifying than a shout.
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine, his eyes twin voids of ice. “Board exams decide your future, Shaillee. They are the only thing keeping you under this roof. If you waste that future because you’re distracted by boys and nonsense... if you think your little ‘crush’ or your ‘meetings’ will save you when I’m done with you...”
He reached out, his hand wrapping slowly around the back of my neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin just below my ear. It wasn’t a hug. It was a tether.
“...don’t cry later,” he whispered against my temple. “Because when you fail—and at this rate, you will—I won’t just stop ‘protecting’ you. I will make sure you realize exactly how small and powerless you are without me. You won’t be a student anymore. You’ll be nothing. Do you understand?”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink. The ticking of the clock felt like a hammer hitting a nail.
“Answer me,” he commanded, his grip tightening just a fraction.
“Yes,” I choked out. “I understand.”
“Good.” He let go, the sudden absence of his touch making me stumble. “Now get out of my sight before I decide your ‘time’ is up right now.”
The front door didn’t just open; it was an expulsion.
I lay there for a long time, the cold pavement biting into my skin. I could feel something warm and wet trickling down my temple, mixing with the dust on the ground. I touched my forehead; my fingers came away stained a dark, messy crimson.
2:25 p.m.
I was locked out. Bleeding. Discarded like the trash my father always claimed I was.
My breath hitched in a sob that I refused to let out. My hand trembled as I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the stolen cigarette box. My father thought I was “roaming” with boys? He thought I was distracted? He had no idea how I actually survived the suffocating pressure of being his daughter.
I flicked the lighter. The flame danced in the wind, a tiny spark of rebellion in the gray afternoon. I lit a cigarette, taking a long, shaky drag. The smoke burned my throat, but it felt grounding. It was the only thing I could control.
I leaned my back against the cold brick of the outer wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the dirt, blood matting my hair. I closed my eyes, letting the nicotine numb the throbbing in my head.
“Hey—!”
The voice was a sharp crack in the silence.
I looked up, squinting through the red haze. A foreign boy was sprinting toward me from the sidewalk. He looked older—maybe eighteen or nineteen—with features that didn’t belong to this city. His skin was pale, his hair a dark contrast, and his clothes looked expensive, but right now, his face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, skidding to a halt in the gravel. His eyes weren’t just wide; they were frantic, darting from the blood on my temple to the cigarette in my hand, then back to the locked door behind me. “Are you—are you okay? What happened? Did someone hit you?”
I didn’t answer. I just took another drag, the embers glowing bright.
“How...” He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” I whispered.
Nathaniel flinched as if I’d slapped him. “Fifteen?” He choked on the word, his eyes welling up with a sudden, helpless rage. “You’re a child. You’re just a kid. He threw a fifteen-year-old girl onto the street?”
He was vibrating with nervous energy, his hands hovering over me as if he wanted to help but was terrified to touch me and break something else. His accent was thick, foreign—American, maybe—and it rose in pitch as he looked at the smear of red on my uniform.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” he fumbled for his phone, his fingers slick with sweat. “I’m calling—”
“No,” I croaked, the word catching in my dry throat. “No police. No doctors.”
“No doctors?” He looked like he was about to have a heart attack right there on my driveway. “There is blood on your face! You just... you flew out of that door! I saw it! I saw him throw you!”
He dropped to his knees in the dirt in front of me, ignoring the dust ruining his dark trousers. Up close, I could see the panic in his eyes—they were a piercing, startling blue, now clouded with a desperate kind of fear.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cracking. He reached out, his hand shaking as he gently tucked a blood-matted strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re shaking. You’re going pale. Please, just tell me what to do. Do I take you to a hospital? Who did this to you?”
He looked over his shoulder at the house, his expression flickering from horror to a sudden, sharp flash of protective rage before returning to me.
“I’m Nathanial,” he whispered, his breathing ragged. “I just moved in next door. Please... don’t close your eyes. Look at me. Just stay with me, okay?”
I stared at him, at the way his foreign features were twisted in genuine agony for a girl he didn’t even know. He was the only person who had looked at me with anything other than coldness in years.
