Chapter Twenty

Rose Alexandria Sinclair;

“Ma, how are you?” I asked, gnawing at my nails—a bad habit that always crept up when stress or anxiety took over.

“Rose…when are you coming to see me?” Her voice trembled, each word heavy with exhaustion. “The hospital bills, Rose…they’re piling up.”

I closed my eyes, releasing a long, shaky breath. “Ma, I sent Pa some money last week. What do you mean?”

She let out a bitter laugh that stung more than her words. “You sent him money? Rose, I haven’t seen your father in two days. He’s probably out gambling it all away!”

My frustration bubbled over, spilling into my voice before I could stop it. “Why does he keep doing this, Ma? What is wrong with him? Does he even understand what it means for me to be stuck here, held captive in this godforsaken place, barely able to make ends meet?”

I paced the tiny room, every corner closing in on me. “I’m working myself to the bone, Ma. I’m barely sleeping, barely eating, and for what? So he can throw it all away at some card table? Does he have any idea what it’s like to not even have control over your own life?”

Her silence on the other end of the line only fueled my frustration. “I’m trying, Ma. I’m trying so hard, but it feels like nothing I do is ever enough. The hospital bills, the rent, the food—I can’t keep carrying this weight alone if he’s just going to make it heavier!”

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m not asking for much, Ma. Just for him to think about us for once. To think about you.”

Her voice cracked on the other end. “I’m sorry, Rose… I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to live like this. I never meant to bring you into a world where you’d have to suffer so much. It’s all my fault…all of it.”

“Ma, no…” My chest tightened as I heard her start to cry. “Don’t say that. Please, don’t. I didn’t mean to—” My voice broke, the weight of guilt pressing down on me. “I’m sorry, Ma. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just—everything feels so heavy, and I—”

“Rose, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed us all,” she sobbed, and I could hear her struggling to catch her breath.

“No, Ma, don’t say that!” I wiped at my own tears, but they kept falling. “I’m sorry, Ma. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’ve done everything you could for us. I’m just… I’m just so tired.” My voice cracked again, and before I knew it, we were both crying—both too broken to offer the other comfort but too desperate to stop.

After a long moment, the silence between us became unbearable. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Ma,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Take care of yourself, Rose,” she choked out, sniffling.

“I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too, baby.”

The line went dead, and I let the phone slip from my hand. The sobs I’d been holding back came rushing out, my body shaking as I buried my face in my hands.

“Are you okay?” Edward’s voice came from the doorway, soft but concerned.

I shook my head violently, my chest heaving. “No… no, Edward, I’m not okay,” I cried, the words tumbling out of me in a torrent. Tears streamed freely down my face, my body trembling as I struggled to breathe.

“Easy, honey, easy,” he said gently, stepping into the room. His calm tone only made the chaos inside me feel louder.

“I’m so tired!” I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. “I hate this—I hate my life!” With a guttural cry, I threw myself to the floor, my fists pounding against the ground in helpless frustration.

Edward didn’t hesitate. He knelt beside me and pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if he could shield me from everything that was breaking me.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady against the storm of my sobs. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

I buried my face in his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. The tears wouldn’t stop, the words wouldn’t stop—they poured out of me, raw and unfiltered, while he held on and didn’t let go.

I couldn’t tell how long I sat there, lost in a storm of thoughts. Questions swirled endlessly in my mind. What should I do next? What on earth I'm I going to get the next money from?

Edward had left after laying me on the bed. With Nathalie working the night shift and me on the day, the house felt eerily quiet. I was utterly alone.

Until a knock broke the silence.

I hesitated, wrestling with myself, before finally opening the door.

“Yes, Leo?” I asked, nervously biting my lower lip.

“Boss Frederico is asking for you. Come on,” he said, his tone firm. I exhaled sharply, bracing myself, and followed him.

My head throbbed, each step sending a hammering pulse through my skull, but I couldn’t afford to protest. Who was I to refuse?

We ascended to Frederico’s private floor. Leo gestured for me to wait while he announced my presence. Moments later, the door opened, and I was ushered inside.

“This way, Rose,” Frederico’s deep voice called out, drawing my gaze to the far side of the room.

There he was, sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but a towel.

“You sent for me?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

He nodded, gesturing toward a nearby table.

My eyes fell on a set of oils and other items laid out neatly. A quiet understanding passed between us.

“You want me to massage you?” I asked, though his silence answered the question well enough.

Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed the oil, my hands trembling slightly as I began to work it into his skin.

My fingers worked the oil into Frederico’s broad shoulders, the smoothness of his skin interrupted by rough, jagged scars etched into his back. I hesitated, my curiosity slipping through my lips before I could stop it.

“Why do you have these scars?” I asked softly, tracing one with the tip of my finger.

Frederico stiffened beneath my touch. His silence was heavy, but I couldn’t pull my hand away. Something about the marks drew me in. Before I could even process it, he moved.

In one swift motion, he grabbed my wrist and spun, pulling me onto the bed beneath him. My breath hitched as he loomed over me, his towel hanging precariously low on his hips, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice dark and low, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I spat, glaring up at him despite the pounding of my heart. “I do. You’re cruel, manipulative—”

“And yet,” he interrupted, leaning closer, his lips hovering just above mine, “you’re here, tracing my scars like you care.”

“I don’t care,” I shot back, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

He smirked, his eyes narrowing. “Liar.”

My breathing quickened as he shifted, his hands caging me in on either side. “Why does it matter how I got these scars, Rose? Are you hoping to find some reason to pity me? To humanize the monster?”

“You are a monster,” I snapped, though my voice faltered when his knee pressed between my thighs, pinning me even further.

“And yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, “your hands didn’t hesitate to touch me.”

My heart thundered in my chest as the room grew impossibly small, the air thick with tension.

“Frederico…” I began, my voice weak.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice like a growl.

“Say what?”

“That you hate me.”

“I hate you,” I whispered, though I wasn't sure if that was the exact way I felt.