Bumping into my father

Chapter 1

Cold water dripped down my body, and I gasped as a shiver ran through me. My skin burned from the chill, but my mind burned harder from the truth I had awakened into. I wasn’t sure if I had fallen asleep last night, or simply blacked out from his beating again.

Since the day my mother died of cancer, my life has spun into a nightmare. A full circle, but straight into hell.

Back when she was alive, my stepfather, Mr. Smith, was sugar-coated kindness. A charming smile. Gentle words. It was all an act. The moment she was gone, his mask slipped. He never wanted me. Only her wealth. If she hadn’t made the mistake of putting her property in my name, he would have tossed me onto the streets long ago. Now, instead, he keeps me as his personal slave.

Sometimes I wonder if starving on the roadside would be kinder than this cage.

I don’t even know who my real father is. Mom never talked about him. And even if I did find him—what if he turned out like this monster? I couldn’t bear the weight of two devils in my life. One is enough to crush me.

But today is different. Today I have a plan. I can sing. I can dance. I can survive on the streets if I need to. Anything is better than this.

“Get your ass up!”

His voice cracked through my thoughts. I froze. Mr. Smith loomed over me, his face a twisted mask of rage.

“I don’t feed you so you can lie around all day. Get up and clean, prepare food, you whore!” His spit hit my cheek as his words sliced through me. I stared at him with quiet disgust, which only earned me a stinging slap across the face.

The pain burned. His grin widened. Victorious.

I swallowed my pride, nodded, and dragged myself up. He left, smirking, while my cheek still throbbed.

I cooked pancakes and juice for breakfast, scrubbing and cleaning the house until my body begged me to collapse. For one second, one brief second, I sat down on the couch.

That was enough for him.

“You think you can rest?” he hissed, seizing my jaw and yanking me upward. His hand came hard across my face again. I hit the floor, tasting iron. Blood.

“You made pancakes,” his voice dripped venom, his smirk curling. “I wanted an omelet.”

Before I could even breathe, his boots crashed into my stomach again and again. My vision blurred red, my lips stained with blood that pooled and spilled. He yanked my hair, dragging me upright, and slapped me three more times.

Only when his fury was spent did he devour his breakfast, button his suit, and walk out the door as though nothing had happened.

As though I was nothing.

The pain was unbearable. My ribs ached. My head spun. My arms stung from his nails digging into my skin. But today, I couldn’t break. Not today.

With trembling hands, I crawled to my room. I had been preparing for this moment for months. Six pairs of clothes. A blanket. Four sweaters. Two shoes. My guitar. Essentials stuffed into an old backpack, the one I had sworn would someday carry me out of this misery. I even managed to squirrel away some money from him—it would last me at least two months if I was careful.

I added my mother’s diary. Her locket. My laptop. My phone. All the pieces of her that gave me strength. And then I breathed deep. This was it.

The pain screamed through me as I swung the bag onto my shoulders, but I silenced it. Nothing could stop me now. Nothing.

I was my mother’s daughter. Bold. Fearless. Independent. She raised me to never bow to men like him. Today, I would prove it.

I slipped out the window, climbing slowly down the pipe, each inch an agony. In the backyard, I scaled the colony wall, pushing through the torment. “It will all be worth it, Lia,” I whispered to myself, forcing bravery into my breaking bones.

I fell hard when I jumped down, my arm exploding with pain. Fractured, maybe. But no time to think. No time to stop. Only forward.

The train station was two kilometers away. I dragged myself as fast as my wounded body allowed, every step a victory against him. At last, the train to California took me in.

Pain shot through me when I sank into my seat, so sharp I let out a shriek. A mistake. People stared. I flushed, mouthing an apology, and the world shifted back.

Except for one man.

He sat across the aisle. Early thirties, maybe. Sharp suit, but gentleness in his eyes. Eyes. Blue. Exactly like mine. A mirror.

His gaze dropped to my face just as my scarf slipped, exposing swollen lips and bruised skin. His expression changed instantly—confusion, then something softer. Worry.

He leaned closer. “Hi. I’m Liam Steel.” His tone was careful, as though measuring each word.

“Hi, Mr. Steel,” I murmured.

“Love, will you tell me how you got these wounds?” His eyes flicked across my face as though memorizing the damage.

I hesitated, heart pounding. “I… just had an accident on my way here.” The lie tumbled out clumsily. His frown said he didn’t believe me, but mercifully, he didn’t press further. Instead, he treated my wounds with tenderness, then retreated into his phone.

I put on my earphones, letting music drown me, and slipped into the darkness of sleep.

Gentle warmth cradled me. Somewhere in my dreams, I felt someone adjust me, tucking my head against a cushion—or was it his shoulder? A duvet draped over me. Comfort. A stranger’s comfort. For the first time in years, I slept with a smile.

When I woke, his arms were around me, as though I was fragile glass. Priceless. Protected. I untangled myself quickly, grounding myself again in reality. He was a stranger. Nothing more.

California greeted me with noise and freedom. I slipped from the station without meeting his eyes, clutching my backpack.

McDonald’s gave me the cheapest combo on the menu. After devouring it, I wandered, searching for somewhere—anywhere—to spend the night. When no shelter appeared, I settled for a park bench, hidden under a tree’s shadow. A blanket, my bag, and the hope that no one would notice me. No cops. No care homes. No returning to him.

For tonight, I survived.

Liam

The train staff’s voice jolted me awake. I turned instinctively to my left—and found emptiness. Her seat was cold.

Why does it hurt?

I shook it off, but it lingered. That girl—broken, bruised, yet strong enough to run—she had clawed her way into my chest. And I hated it.

I am Liam Steel. Ruthless. Feared in boardrooms across the world. I do not feel.

Not since Lucy. Not since she left me for another man and ground my heart into dust. Since then, I’ve buried my heart beneath money, power, and the easy arms of women who meant nothing.

So why her? Why this girl, nameless and young and battered, haunting me even now as I walk into my office?

I took my seat, surrounded by files, numbers, and silence. But my eyes betrayed me, searching for her where she couldn’t possibly be.

Her eyes—so much like mine—refused to leave my mind.

Maybe fate wasn’t done with me yet.