Chapter 1: A Hellish Beginning
I don't know how to start this, but I guess it begins with the day my life turned into a living nightmare. My name is Alexandra—Alex to the few who've earned the right to say it. My life isn't just a mess; it's hell. Real, suffocating hell. Peace? I wouldn't recognize it if it kissed me on the forehead. Some days, I want to vanish. Other days, I dream of waking up to something hopeful—like sunlight that doesn't feel like a lie.
My mother died bringing me into this world, and my father replaced her with her—my stepmother. A witch wrapped in designer clothes and poisoned smiles. She didn't just marry my father; she consumed him. A year later, our house wasn't a home; it was a battlefield. Then, my father conveniently dropped dead. Mysterious? Please. I know she killed him. And now? I'm counting the days until I return the favor.
She threw me out of my own house—my father's house—like I was trash. But let's be honest: if I'd stayed, she'd have buried me next to him. So I ran. Not because I was scared (okay, maybe a little), but because revenge needs patience. And when I come back? It won't be with tears. It'll be with fire.
People call me beautiful. Cute, even. They laugh at my jokes, cling to my charm, but they don't see the cracks. The rage. The hunger. Then he came along—the one who taught me that love doesn't always start with flowers. Sometimes, it starts with a fist. A bruise. A whisper of "You're mine" that feels like both a threat and a promise.
Violence was our first language. Love came later.