***"You were born reaching for your mother's hands***
***Victim of your father's plans to rule the world***
***Too afraid to step outside***
***Paranoid and petrified of what you've heard"* - Billie Eilish**
***Alissa Blake***
Sometimes, it felt like life had a cruel talent for twisting the knife. I knew my parents were terrible people, but the confirmation that they had another child shattered me in ways I didn’t think were possible.
A child. A little girl, small and vulnerable. The same kind of vulnerability I carried when I lived under their roof.
The image of that girl—my sister—haunted me. She looked happy in the photos, her smile innocent and untainted, the kind only children can have. But I knew how easily that smile could be destroyed. I knew what happened behind closed doors.
My stomach twisted as memories resurfaced. I was young, maybe nine years old. My father had just lost money on some stupid bet. My mother was hysterical, yelling things that didn’t even make sense. I had nothing to do with it, but as always, I became the target.
“You can’t do anything right, Alissa!” my mother screamed, slamming a pot of soup into the sink. The soup, the only warm meal I’d been hoping for that day, spilled down the drain.
“You’ll go without dinner tonight!” my father declared, pointing a finger at me.
I shrank into myself, holding back tears because I knew crying would only make things worse. I spent the night in my room, listening to their shouting echo through the house as my stomach ached with hunger.
That memory hit me so hard I had to sit down. The apartment felt smaller, suffocating. Everything inside me screamed that I had to do something. That little girl couldn’t go through what I did.
I grabbed my phone, but my hands shook too much to type anything coherent. There was an unread message from Lara, my coworker, probably wondering why I hadn’t shown up for my shift today. I ignored it. I had no answers.
The only person I could think of was Holden.
He was my anchor now, even though I didn’t want to admit it. I knew he had his own problems—the tour, Chloe, and everything else fame brought—but none of that mattered. I needed to see him. I needed to talk to someone who could understand the weight of this, someone who could make me feel less lost.
Without thinking too much, I grabbed my bag and left.
The trip to his building was a blur. I didn’t remember taking the subway or walking through the busy streets. All I knew was that I was there, at the employee entrance, just like I’d seen the night I stayed with him.
I slipped in, trying not to draw attention, the hood of my jacket pulled tightly over my head. My heart raced, and not just from the fear of being caught. It was the urgency, the desperation to see Holden.
When I reached his floor, my hands trembled as I knocked on the door. I waited, trying to steady my breathing. One second. Two. Three. The anxiety grew, a wave ready to crash over me.
Finally, the door opened.
But it wasn’t Holden.
The man standing in front of me made my blood turn to ice. Even after all these years, I would’ve recognized him anywhere.
Denver Young.
Holden’s father.
He stood there, blocking the doorway with the same cold, imposing presence I remembered. The years hadn’t changed him much. Maybe a few more gray hairs, but the look in his eyes was the same.
“Alissa.” He said my name like it was an accusation, like a ghost from my past he hadn’t expected to see.
My body stiffened, and my instinct was to step back. But he moved forward, closing the door behind him and cutting off my escape.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with disdain.
I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off before I could speak.
“You’ve got some nerve. Showing up here after everything.” He took another step toward me, forcing me to retreat.
“I just want to talk to Holden,” I managed to say, my voice shaky.
“You think you can just waltz back into his life? Use my family as your stepping stone?” Denver spat, his face reddening with anger.
“What’s going on here?” Holden’s voice echoed down the hall, slicing through the tension like a blade.
He appeared behind his father, his eyes widening when he saw me. But what started as confusion quickly turned to concern as he took in the scene.
“Alissa, what are you doing here?” Holden asked, coming toward me and ignoring his father entirely.
“She’s intruding,” Denver declared, his tone authoritative as if stating an undeniable fact. “Just like all the others.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Holden shot back, his voice sharp.
Denver laughed, a low, mocking sound. “You don’t know who she really is, Holden.”
“Alissa, I’m sorry,” he began, but I cut him off.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, my voice still shaky. “But... now you understand.”
He nodded, the fury still evident on his face. For the first time, he saw what I had endured. And he knew this wouldn’t be easy to overcome.