Chapter 1 Chapter 001
Tito Haye’s POV
I was halfway through packing my books when my phone buzzed on the desk. The screen lit up with a number I knew too well—the bar on 9th Street. My stomach dropped before I even picked up.
“Miss Hayes?” The manager’s voice came through, sounding very irritated. “Your mum’s here again. Drunk, she made a scene. You need to come pick her up. And bring cash…she smashed two bottles and refused to pay.”
The line went dead before I could even reply.
There was no apology, no hesitation on her end, just another problem shoved into my lap.
I closed my eyes, pressing my palms against them for a second. I should’ve been on my way to my tutoring job—the one thing in my life that felt like mine, the one piece of my future I clung to. Instead, I was going to walk into another bar and scrape my mother off the floor. Again.
That was my life.
It’s been five years since my dad died, but the memory is heavier than anything else I carry. I was twelve, still young enough to beg for sweets after school. I saw the donuts in the window and pulled on his arm, pleading. Just one, I said. He smiled, soft and indulgent, like he could never tell me no, and stepped into the street.
The tires screeched before I could blink. The car didn’t slow down. I saw him thrown forward, the box of donuts flipping from his hands, landing in the road with the frosting splattered like blood. The driver never stopped.
That’s the picture I carry every time I close my eyes. If I hadn’t begged, he wouldn’t have crossed. If he hadn’t crossed, he’d still be alive. That thought is the loop I live in, the chain I can’t break.
My mother never recovered. She drowned herself in bottles and pills, and I became the parent. Having three jobs, bills to settle, groceries list instead of a secret diary.
My grades were so perfect my teachers called me a miracle, though they didn’t know the truth—I was just desperate. My father’s family turned their backs on us, leaving me to hold her together with my own two hands. I swore I wouldn’t abandon her, no matter how heavy she became.
And tonight, as I grabbed my coat and sprinted for the bus, she felt heavier than ever.
The bar smelled like sweat, smoke, and old jobless men. Heads turned when I pushed through the door, whispers biting at me like gnats. I ignored them and searched for her, though I already knew where she’d be.
And there she was. My mother.
She lay sprawled on the sticky floor, her hair matted to her face, her dress twisted above her knees. Vomit stained the fabric, the sour stench rising into the air. My chest burned with shame, but I still knelt down beside her and slipped my coat around her shaking shoulders.
“Mum,” I whispered, touching her face gently.
Her eyelids fluttered, her pupils sluggish. “You… you shouldn’t have come.” Her words slurred together, her breath sour with alcohol.
“Where else would I be?” I tried to steady my voice, but it cracked.
“Someone called me trash.” She hiccupped and gave a broken laugh. “Said I was nothing. I showed them…” Another giggle caught in her throat, breaking into a cough.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled her into my arms. She was light as paper but felt like lead. Shame pressed down on me, but my love for her carried me forward. I paid the bartender with nearly all the tips I had left from my shifts, ignoring his muttered comments, and dragged her outside into the night air.
We barely made it half a block before we were surrounded.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
Four men stepped out of the alley, their faces grinning in the half-light, eyes sharp and mean.
My pulse spiked.
“Keep walking,” I muttered under my breath, tightening my grip on Mum.
One of them stepped directly into my path. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” His eyes dragged over me, slow and deliberate, as if I were already his possession. He yanked the strap of my purse off my shoulder, grinning as he rummaged through it.
“Give that back!” My voice wavered but I didn’t back down.
Another one swooped in from the side and ripped my glasses right off my face. The world blurred instantly into smudges of light and shadow, the alley a watercolor nightmare.
“Aw, she can’t see.” He waved them in the air like a trophy. “Poor baby. What a shame.”
I lunged toward him, desperate, but another hand shoved me hard into the wall. Pain shot through my shoulder and I gasped. My mother stumbled and fell to the pavement with a groan.
“Stay away from her!” I shouted, scrambling up, panic coursing through me.
The men laughed. One grabbed my chin, forcing my face up. His breath stank of beer and rot. “You’ve got some fire. I like that.”
I jerked my head away, fear and fury battling inside me. “Touch me again and I’ll scream.”
He smirked. “Do it. No one’s coming.”
His palm cracked across my cheek, the blow so sharp my ears rang. White light burst behind my eyes. I staggered, clutching my face. My mother whimpered on the ground, helpless.
Tears blurred my already broken vision. My fists clenched and I swung wildly, connecting with one of their shoulders. Pain jolted up my arm, but I didn’t stop. Rage burned hot in my chest. I would rather break myself than let them think I was weak.
The man just laughed and shoved me back again. My head smacked the wall and stars scattered across my vision. “Feisty. I like feisty.”
Another man crouched toward my mother, his hand reaching. Rage ripped straight through me.
“Don’t you dare!” I screamed, throwing myself forward.
They grabbed me instead, pinning my arms, pressing me back against the wall. My heart raced so fast I thought it would stop. My lungs clawed for air.
“Pretty little thing,” one of them jeered, dragging his fingers down my arm. “Bet she screams real sweet.”
“Get off me!” I twisted, fighting with everything I had. My nails scratched skin, I kicked out, but they were too strong. A fist slammed into my stomach and I folded with a cry, the wind knocked from my lungs.
Pain spread through me, tears streaming down my cheeks. I still tried to fight, but their laughter drowned out my voice.
In that instant—headlights flooded the alley.
A sleek black car tore into the alley, engine snarling like a beast. It screeched to a stop, the beam flooding over us.
The men froze.
The driver’s door swung open, and a man stepped out.
He was tall, or at least that’s what my blurred sight made of him—broad-shouldered, a dark shape against the light. His coat looked expensive even through the haze, fabric falling in sharp lines that caught the dim glow. I couldn’t make out his face, not really, but the outline of him was enough.
He looked like power dressed in wealth, every line of him radiating control. His features were shadowed, unreadable, yet his presence alone stilled the air.
“Is there a problem here?” His voice cut through the alley, deep and cold. He didn’t shout.
The men exchanged nervous glances. One tried to play brave. “Not your business, man. Walk away.”
But he didn’t walk away. He strode forward, his footsteps deliberate, like a predator closing in. And then, without warning, his fist cracked across the first man’s jaw. The thug crumpled instantly.
The others lunged, but he moved before I could even blink. One twist, a fist driving into a gut, another body slammed so hard into the wall I swore I heard bone crack against brick. He didn’t fight wild—every strike was measured, controlled, like he’d done this a hundred times before. Brutal, but precise. By the time I caught my breath, the alley was already scattered with groaning bodies, their earlier laughter replaced by pain.
I stood frozen, breath heaving, my cheek burning where the slap had landed, my stomach still aching from the punch. My glasses were gone, so the world was still a blur, but I could feel his eyes on me in a cold and dominating. The kind of gaze that pinned you in place.
“Pick her up,” he ordered, his voice stern.
For a second I thought he meant me, but then I realized he meant my mother. I scrambled forward, my arms shaking as I pulled her limp body against me.
He stepped past us, opened the back door of his car with a sharp motion, like the matter was already settled. “We’re going to the hospital.”
I hesitated, but one look at the groaning men on the ground was enough. I dragged my mother into the car and slid in after her, my hands trembling as I held her close.
The leather smelled rich and expensive. The air inside the car felt heavy, filled with his presence. He didn’t look at me as he slid behind the wheel, his jaw tight, eyes fixed forward.
I clutched my mother’s hand, whispering, “Stay with me, Mum. Please.”
She didn’t respond. Her head restes against my shoulder, her breaths shallow. Panic rose in my throat. I looked at the stranger driving, his silence suffocating, his aura unyielding.
“Please,” I whispered again, my voice cracking.
We reached the hospital in minutes that felt like hours. He pulled up and stepped out first, opening the door without a word. I half-carried, half-dragged my mother inside, shouting for help. Nurses rushed forward, taking her from my arms and laying her on a stretcher.
“Ma’am, step back,” one of them ordered as they wheeled her down the hall.
I stumbled after them, my chest tightening, tears burning my eyes.
Then a doctor appeared, blocking my path. His expression was heavy, already carrying the words I didn’t want to hear.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said gently. “You have to wait here. Your mum is unconscious.”
The words hit harder than a slap. The floor seemed to tilt beneath me, my breath snagged in my throat, and my knees gave way until the wall was the only thing holding me upright.
In that moment, it felt as if the thin thread holding my world together had finally snapped.