I watch the young man resume his workout, grateful for his advice. Even a stranger shows some concern for me, what of my husband.
I clutch the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white as I listen to Sunny's voice. The park around me feels like a blur, the trees and benches blending into a haze of shadows and dim light.
My tears fall freely, dampening the envelope in my hand containing the pregnancy results. Roan's face flashes in my mind, his cold eyes, his harsh words. He hates me. How did I come to this?
"Where are you now?" Sunny's voice breaks through my thoughts, filled with concern.
"Some park," I manage to say, my voice cracking. I rub my temples with my fingers, trying to ease the pounding headache. "Near the clinic."
"Send me your live location and order a ride to come back. People will worry about you," Sunny instructs gently.
"Okay, thank you, SuSu," I reply, my voice trembling. I'm so grateful to have her. Even as kids, Sunny always looked out for me. And yet, I ruined everything for her.
"No need to thank me," Sunny's soft voice reassures me. "Just tell me once you get home."
"Okay," I whisper, falling silent for a moment. The weight of my guilt presses down on me. "I'm so sorry," I say again, my voice brittle.
"How many times will you have to apologize, Sel?" Sunny's voice is quick to comfort. "I forgave you a long time ago. It really wasn't your fault."
I open my mouth, the words on my lips, but I choke on my tears. I breathe in deeply to calm myself down and finally say,
"I love you," a chill spreading at the back of my neck.
"I love you too. Now get going before it's too late. And don't forget to send me your live location," Sunny reminds me.
"Okay," I say, and then the line goes dead. I lean back on the bench and exhale, looking up at the sky. A snowflake falls, and I catch it on my fingertip, watching it melt away.
I look at the beautiful snowflakes, a smile playing on my lips. It's too early for snow, but I take it as a sign from the heavens. This baby is going to be a blessing, and I won't be lonely anymore. I rub my belly, feeling a warmth that soothes my soul.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I see a message from Sunny reminding me to send my live location. My lips quirk slightly as I tap the screen and send it, adding a smiley face emoji. I am grateful that she shows such concern for me. It's heartwarming.
Opening an e-hailing app, I order a ride. Standing up, I slowly walk to the pickup point, but I am incredibly unlucky tonight. Two drivers reject my request because of the location. It must be that dangerous for them to refuse. I try one last time, but like the other two requests, it gets rejected.
I bite my lower lip and scroll through my missed call logs. I have no choice but to call the Kingsley family butler, Mr. Seith. The phone rings five times, but he doesn't answer.
Despite my status, Mr Seith dislikes me. He never hid his disapproval of me, and now that I left the mansion without informing him and not picking up his calls earlier, he must be seething with anger. I call again, and it's only on the third attempt that he picks up.
"Madam, why are you calling at this late hour? We are already sleeping," he says with an attitude.
Feeling guilty, I bite my lip and apologise. "I had something urgent. May you send a car to pick me up?"
He snorts. "Why can't the madam find her way back the same way she left?"
I don't know how to respond. After a sigh, he says, "I will see which driver can wake up and send the car."
I don't argue. I know he's making it difficult for me deliberately. "Thank you," I say, only to hear the sound of the call being hung up. I show a self-deprecating smile.
I wait at the park entrance, my breath visible in the cold air. Ten minutes turn into an hour, then two, but the car hasn't arrived. The snow is falling even harder now, and I'm getting colder by the minute.
I keep my hands in my coat pockets, moving around to try and warm myself up but a chill creeps into my arms. I rub my arms vigorously, looking around at the now deserted park and closed businesses. Even the clinic is shut. Fear and worry gnaw at me, but what choice do I have?
I consider walking to the police station, an hour away, but the GPS shows a route with no streetlights. It seems safer for me to stay in a well-lit area.
Suddenly, I see two headlights in the distance and heave a sigh of relief as a luxury car pulls up. I am glad that I haven't left. Otherwise, the driver would have missed me. But my relief turns to dread when I notice there are no plates on the car. I freeze, unsure of what to do.
I dial the butler's number as I see four men get out of the car, each holding a bat. Panic surges through me, and I start running, the phone ringing in my hand, my only lifeline. The butler doesn't answer.
I hear the men yelling behind me, telling me to stop. I keep running, but something strikes the back of my head, and I fall, dropping my phone. It slides underneath a large dumpster in the alley.
I try to get up, but a foot presses down on my spine, forcing me to the ground. The snow falls against the cracked pavement, a relentless drizzle that blurs the streetlights into ghostly halos.
The cold bites through my clothing, and I can feel the dampness seeping into my bones. My heart races, pounding against the concrete beneath me, a frantic drumbeat underscoring the chaos around me.
Shadows loom, the menacing silhouettes of four men against the flickering glow of a nearby sign buzzing and flickering like a dying firefly.
"Please," I manage to whisper, my voice trembling like a leaf. "I will give you anything you want. Just… please let me go."
Their laughter erupts, harsh and hollow, slicing through the night like glass. It is not the kind of laughter that carries joy; it is the kind that seeps into your skin, making you feel cold and hollow inside.
The man with his foot pressed into my back leans down, his breath hot and rancid against the nape of my neck. "Really?" His voice as a gravelly rasp.
I feel the weight of his foot pressing harder, the pressure building until every breath becomes a struggle. "Too bad we don't want any of your money," he sneers, and with that, he stomps down again, the force driving the air from my lungs. Pain radiates through me, sharp and burning and a cry escape my lips—raw, desperate.
Blood fills my mouth, hot and metallic, spilling onto the ground. I spit it out, the crimson droplets staining the snow, painting the pavement like a grotesque canvas.
The man grips my hair, yanking me up roughly, and I find myself staring into the cold, predatory eyes of a monster. "You think I am short of money?" he growls, a twisted smile curling his lips, revealing yellowed teeth.
My gaze drifts downward, catching a glimpse of a diamond-studded chain peeking from his grey shirt. The glittering jewels shine with a cruel light, a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding us. They are not here to rob me. My stomach churns as dread settles in, expanding like a cold knot in my gut. What do they want?
One of the men crouches down, the glint of a knife catching the light as he leans closer. "Look, boss," he says, a sickly sweet tone dripping from his words. "She is a beauty." His tobacco-stained hands reach out, brushing against my cheek, and revulsion surges through me like bile. I recoil instinctively, turning my head away, but the grip on my hair tightens painfully, a vice that leaves me gasping.
"Don't be rude," he hisses, his breath warm and fetid against my skin. I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel the weight of their eyes upon me, dissecting me like a specimen under a microscope. I'm more than just a target; I'm an object of their twisted desire, and that realisation claws at my insides, leaving me hollow.
This isn't the first time I have felt fear. I had experienced it before but this is different. It's not just fear for my life. It's a terror that seeps into the marrow of my bones, a visceral dread that makes my skin crawl. It was no longer just me I had to protect but my unborn child. Tears flow down my face as I search for a way out.
"Please," I whisper again, my voice cracking. "Just let me go." The words feel futile, like throwing pebbles into a stormy sea, but I cling to them, grasping at any thread of mercy.
The man's laughter rings out again, a sound devoid of humanity. "You don't understand, do you?" He leans closer, his face inches from mine, his breath hot and acrid. "You're not going anywhere. Not until we are done with you." In that moment, I realise that my life is no longer mine.