2. KELLY

Kelly

The thrill of tonight’s victory over the Phoenix Frost drains away the moment my parents' mansion comes into view. Excitement shifts to dread, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. I don’t want to go inside. I know what’s waiting for me.

Once he realizes I’m back, he’ll come into my room, and—

No. I shake my head violently, forcing the thought back into the shadows. The memories claw at the edges of my mind, but I won’t let them take over. My breath leaves me in a sharp puff, frustration bubbling up as I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Hard.

I stare at the massive double doors in front of me, their imposing size a reminder of everything this house stands for. Wealth. Power. Control. And yet, with all its grandeur, it’s never felt like home. For a moment, I consider driving away, hitting the highway and leaving all of this behind. But the thought is fleeting, just another escape I can't afford. Not yet.

Taking a deep breath, I steady my trembling hands. “Get it together, Kelly,” I mutter. This isn’t about me. This is about surviving one more night, one more conversation, one more goddamn confrontation.

I pull the car into the long driveway and let the engine idle for a few extra seconds, as if that small delay will somehow make everything easier. Then, with a resigned sigh, I cut the engine and step out, the mansion looming over me like a silent threat.

The front door feels heavier than usual as I push it open. Inside, the house is quiet, too quiet. My footsteps echo against the marble floors as I make my way toward the staircase, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

I just need to make it to my room. If I can get there before—

“Kelly.”

The voice freezes me mid-step. Deep, commanding, and all too familiar.

I turn slowly, my heart pounding in my chest as I meet his gaze. My father stands at the bottom of the staircase, his expression unreadable. But I know better. That mask of his always hides something worse.

“You’re late,” he says, the calm in his tone more threatening than any shout.

Here we go again.

I stiffen as I hold my father's gaze, trying hard not to break under the weight of it. His presence always feels suffocating, like he’s peeling back every layer of me to find my weakest point.

“I had a game,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. Short, simple answers—just enough to get through this without giving him more ammunition.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile but something close, and it makes my stomach churn. “You’re always playing games, aren’t you?” he says, his words laced with a venom I’ve heard a hundred times before. “When are you going to focus on something that actually matters?”

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“Hockey matters to me,” I say, my tone sharper than I intended.

“Of course, it does. You always chase distractions instead of facing reality,” he mocks. “Why can't you be more like your brother?”

I internally roll my eyes. He's always comparing me to my twin, who is the exact opposite of me. Colton is exactly what my dad wants in a son: obedient and someone who does his bidding like a little puppet.

“Stop,” I snap before I can stop myself, and from the way his jaw clenches, I know I've messed up.

I don’t even notice when he closes the gap between us. One moment, he’s a few feet away; the next, his hand strikes my cheek with a force that leaves me reeling.

Before I can recover, his hand clamps around my arm, the grip bruising and unrelenting. Pain shoots up my arm, but I bite down on the whimper clawing at my throat. I know better than to make a sound.

“You think you can disrespect me like that?” His voice is a low growl, thick with rage. Each word feels like a strike of its own, laced with venom meant to tear me down.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, the words trembling as they leave my lips. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right, it won’t,” he snarls. His free hand lashes out again, this time connecting with my ribs. The blow knocks the air out of me, and I double over, gasping for breath.

I don’t fight back. I never fight back. Fighting only makes it worse.

“You're so weak and pathetic,” he mocks, shoving me backward. I manage to hold myself from getting sent spiralling down the staircase.

He looms over me and that evil expression that always scare the shit out of me appears on his face. “You're nothing but a disgrace to the Blackwell name. I wish you'd die already and carry your shame with you!”

The words hit harder than the blows, each syllable carving itself into my mind. I stare at the floor, my chest heaving, my vision swimming with unshed tears. I won’t cry. Not in front of him.

After that, I can't count the number of times he hit me that night.

~

Everything hurts. From my head down to my toes, it feels like I’ve been run over by a damn truck. I almost wish I had been—at least that would be an escape from this nightmare.

“Hey hun, are you awake?”

The familiar voice pulls me back to reality, and disappointment settles in my chest. Mom. She’s here, which means I didn’t escape this world like I’d hoped.

“Kelly, doll, how are you feeling?” she asks softly, her tone laced with concern.

She’s perched at the edge of my bed, her hands twisting together in her lap. The guilt in her eyes is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than the bruises on my body.

I hate that look. I’ve told her so many times that this isn’t her fault, but she never listens. She carries the weight of my pain as if she’s the one who inflicted it.

“I'm fine, Mom.” I lie through my teeth, offering her my hand so she can help me sit up.

Pain shoots all over my body and I wince, wondering how I'm going to go to school with this. If only I could live at the hostel like my other mates, then I wouldn't have been going through this. But like every time I brought the topic up, I'm silenced with a hard glare or often receive insults and always reminded that I'd never be allowed to.

“You don't have to lie to me, hun” Mom sighs while I mumble an incoherent word under my breath.

“I love you so much, hun,” she whispers, her voice breaking. A tear slips down her cheek, and she doesn't bother wiping it away. “And I want you to know I've got your back, always.”

I nod. “I know that mom, and I love you too.” Even though life was hard for me, I still have my mom. She's the only reason why I haven't completely fallen apart.

She sniffs. “Everything is going to be alright, okay?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. We both know it’s a lie, a fragile hope she clings to because it’s all she has left.

It’s not going to be alright—not for a long time. Not for me. Not for her. And deep down, we both know the truth.