Chapter 1.Nothing In This House Is Love
Elena woke up to shouting.Not the kind that startled you anymore.
The kind your body learned before your mind did.A door slammed somewhere downstairs, followed by her aunt’s shrill voice tearing through the house like nails on glass. Elena stared at the ceiling for a second, breathing slowly, already exhausted. The room was cold, the blanket thin, the walls marked with old stains no one had ever bothered to paint over. It had been a storage room once. Then her parents died, and suddenly it was good enough for her.Lucky me.“Elena!”She shut her eyes.“Get your ass down here!”There it was.The warm, loving sound of family.She pushed herself out of bed and got dressed fast, fingers working automatically. Same oversized sweatSame faded skirt. Same careful movements. She tied her hair back and glanced at herself in the mirror nailed crooked above the dresser.Sofia sat at the table scrolling through her phone, one leg bouncing, face already twisted like waking up had personally offended her.“Well, look who finally decided to move,” her aunt snapped.“It’s six twenty,” Elena said quietly.Her aunt turned her head. “Did I ask for a fucking time check?”Elena dropped her eyes. “No.”That’s right. So stop standing there and make breakfast.”Sofia didn’t even look up. “And make mine right this time. Yesterday the toast was burnt.”It wasn’t burnt. It was barely golden.
But Elena had learned a long time ago that truth was useless in this house. Truth didn’t protect you. It just made them meaner.She moved around the kitchen in silence, cracking eggs into a pan, setting bread in the toaster, pouring juice. Her aunt smoked by the sink and complained about bills, neighbors, the weather, Elena’s existence. Sofia kept scrolling and occasionally threw in a comment like a bitchy little queen with a servant she didn’t pay.“Did you wash my white blouse?” Sofia asked.“Yes.”“Did you iron it?”Elena set a plate down carefully. “Not yet. I was going to after school.”Sofia looked up then, finally, with that expression she always had. Like Elena was something sticky she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.After school?” she repeated. “What the hell do you do all day that you can’t iron one shirt?”Elena swallowed. “I had homework.”Sofia laughed. “Oh my God. Listen to her. Homework.”Her aunt snorted. “That girl acts like she’s gonna become a lawyer or some shit. You should be grateful we put a roof over your head.”There it was again.
Grateful.As if being fed scraps and treated like unpaid labor was some kind of gift.Elena said nothing.That was the trick. Stay quiet. Move fast. Don’t react.
Reacting only fed them.She set Sofia’s plate in front of her.Sofia took one bite, then made a face. “This is cold.”“It just came off the pan.”“Well, it tastes like shit.”Her aunt flicked ash into the sink. “Then make it again, Elena.”For a second, Elena just stood there, staring at the plate.Something hot twisted low in her stomach.
Not courage. Not exactly.
Just anger, old and sour and buried so deep it had started to rot.But she picked up the plate anyway.Because anger was useless when you had nowhere to go.By the time she left the house, she hadn’t eaten.Again.The morning air bit at her skin as she walked to school, backpack hanging heavy on one shoulder. The street was still half asleep, shops shuttered, cars sliding past in dull silence. Elena liked this part of the day best. Out here, no one was ordering her around. No one was calling her useless. No one was looking at her like she’d ruined the room by being in it.She could almost pretend she was normal.A girl walking to school.
A girl with a home.
A girl with people waiting for her who didn’t hate the sound of her voiceBut pretending was dangerous too.
It made real life feel worse when it came crashing back.School was loud by the time she got there. Lockers slamming. Sneakers squeaking over tile. Girls laughing too hard. Boys yelling across the hall like they owned the fucking place.Elena slipped through it all like smoke.That was what she was good at — being there without really being there.
Teachers liked her because she was polite.
Classmates forgot her because she was quiet.
No one looked too closely, and that was fine.Mostly.At her locker, the handle stuck again.“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, yanking harder.It didn’t budge.“Think it hates you.”Elena froze.That voice was low, rough, almost amused.She turned.Nico De Luca stood a few feet away, leaning against the locker beside hers like he’d been there forever. Black jacket. White shirt half untucked. Silver rings catching the overhead light. Tattoos curling down one hand and disappearing beneath his sleeve. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and there was a cut across one knuckle that looked recent enough to still hurt.He looked like exactly what people said he was.
Trouble.
Bad news.
A guy your aunt would call filthy and your cousin would secretly want.Elena stared at him. “What?”His mouth twitched. “Your locker.”She blinked, then looked back at it like she’d forgotten where she was. “Oh.”Brilliant, Elena. Stunning conversational skills.Nico pushed off the locker and stepped closer. “You fight with it every morning.”Her fingers slipped off the handle. “You noticed?”The question came out before she could stop it.His expression changed a little. Not much. Just enough.“Yeah,” he said.Yeah.Like it was that simple.
Like noticing her was the most normal thing in the world.Elena looked away first. “It’s fine.”Nico glanced at the bent metal handle, then back at her. “Doesn’t look fucking fine.”Before she could answer, he reached past her.She sucked in a breath.He was close enough that she could smell soap, clean laundry, and something darker underneath — smoke maybe, or cold air, or just him. His hand closed around the handle, ringed fingers curling over the metal, and with one sharp pull, the locker popped open.“There,” he said.Elena stared at the open locker.“Thanks.”“No problem.”But he didn’t move.She could feel it then — his attention.
Not casual. Not passing.
The kind that made her skin go tight.His eyes dropped to her wrist.Shit.The sleeve of her sweater had slid back just enough to reveal the fading bruise near the bone, fingerprints yellowing at the edges.Elena jerked her sleeve down.Too late.Something in Nico’s face went cold.Not pity.
Never that.Worse.Anger.Not at her.
For her.And that was so unfamiliar it nearly made her dizzy.She cleared her throat. “I should—”“Who did that?”His voice was quiet now.
Quiet in a dangerous way.Elena shook her head too fast. “It’s nothing.”“Doesn’t look like nothing.”“I said it’s fine.”Nico held her gaze for a second, and she instantly regretted snapping. Not because he looked offended. He didn’t. He just looked like he knew she was lying.And maybe that was the scariest part.Not that he’d seen it.
That he’d understood it.A group of boys came down the hall then, loud and laughing, and one of them called Nico’s name. He didn’t answer right away.His eyes stayed on Elena.Finally he stepped back.“Right,” he said.She gripped the edge of her locker. “Right.”But as he turned, he paused.You don’t have to say it’s fine every time something’s fucked up.”Then he walked away.Just like that.Elena stood there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, her heart beating too hard.Nobody talked to her like that.
Nobody looked at her bruises and got angry.
Nobody noticed when things were wrong unless they were the ones causing it.But Nico had noticed.And the worst part?
A tiny, reckless piece of her had liked it.Not the bruise.
Not the shame.Just that for one second, someone had looked at her like she mattered.She hated that feeling instantly.Because hope was a dangerous little bitch.And girls like Elena didn’t get to keep dangerous things.
