Chapter 1

LESLEY'S POV

Perched on the roof of my small run down house, my gaze was fixed on a single star, whose brightness seemed to dominate among the vast multitude of glowing stars, that graced the endless sea of the magnificent night sky.

The darkness of the night appears to be the only thing left in my life and it sometimes feels as if it, too, is slipping away from me, just as everything else has.

This is the one time I can let my thoughts run wild and free, when I can allow them to completely consume me because my thoughts are my sanctuary.

I had found solace in them for years.

Whenever I'm alone, I let myself be entirely devoured by them, as the silence that accompanies it allows me to seek peace.

I mean, there's nothing like a little alone time to appreciate my own company.

Every time I look up at the eternal and ceaseless sea of stars, I couldn't help but try to assure myself that no matter how much darkness expands in the sky, light will always find a way to revolt, and the black sky will always turn blue.

But I'm afraid that I was succumbing to this delusion, a false sense of hope, that someday a light will appear for me, which will rescue me from the darkness of my life.

"You are a monster Lesley—"

My own mother thinks I am a monster, I tried to hopelessly fool myself expecting her to get rid of that notion, but she'll never see me anything more than that, an inhuman monster.

If I really am a monster,

No doubt that I'm doing a pretty shitty job at it,

....especially compared to my own mother.

Thoughts, they say, are the shadows of our emotions and mine were empty, dark and depressing.

A traitorous tear rolled down my cheek as I reflected over my tormented and abusive existence.

Tears, the concept with which I've gotten far too conversant for my liking.

Given the amount of them that I've already shed, I'm surprised that they hadn't completely drained out by now.

With time I've managed to learn how not to cry my heart out, especially since I discovered the meaning of 'suck it up.'

Bottling up those unwarranted and useless emotions that keep fussing about the bitterness of my circumstances, helped me toughen up my overly sensitive soul.

Now there are no more expectations left, just plain hatred.

However, there are times when I just simply can't prevent them from falling out.

They are like a small rebellious army that retaliates more ferociously when I try my best to subdue them.

Life would have been so much easier if feelings had an off switch.

If only I hadn't let their words affect me to the extent that they did, I could have avoided the years of pain and heartbreak that came with the expectations I had as a child.

My heart would have been spared from the years of misery that had been resulted from the anticipation of love and care.

All my life, I have only ever wished for them to love me and accept me as their daughter, no matter how flawed they think I was. I wanted to be their perfect daughter but instead I only ever got hate.

Eventually as I grew older, I allowed numbness to take over the pit of emptiness in my heart, where I have always been alone, all by myself, having lost all hope of someone coming to rescue me.

I was 6-years old, when I got my first hit.

The day has been etched in my brain as if it had just happened yesterday. The helplessness I felt, the pain I endured, the cries I screamed; all of it.

Gerard came into my life when I was about 5 years old. Della told me that he was my father and I was happy to finally have a father after so many years of wanting one.

It was as if I got an early Christmas present, which soon turned into my nightmare.

But I suppose having a child doesn't automatically make one a good father.

Instead of loving me, he called me derogatory names. Instead of playing with me he would slap me because my presence bothered him too much.

It progressed from a few occasional slaps, shoving, hair pulling, name-calling to full-fledged beatings.

I was ten years old when I received my first thorough beating. My father whipped me with his belt until I passed out.

And my mother never stopped him, she didn't even bat an eye when I got beat and instead laughed at me, telling me how I deserved it all.

Eventually her ignorance turned into an abuse itself.

So, I just stopped referring to them as my Mom and Dad. I believed her when she said that I would never be loved and I will always be unwanted and hated.

I still do—

I wanted to escape my reality, and I tried, but it only ended up in breaking me completely.

It was then I realised that my parents had shackles on me, bounding me to my never ending doom of misery which I quit trying to escape.

As I turned 12, I had to get a job because we didn't have enough money to pay for food and bills.

My parents didn't want spend there money on me, and yet, they exploited my money to buy more drugs and alcohol, and the food was solely for their own consumption.

I was only permitted to eat once every two or three days in order to keep me; 'their punch-bag' alive.

Growing up I had to fend for myself because there was nobody else who was willing to do it for me.

So after I got a job, I began putting a little money aside to buy myself some food and other basic necessities.

Chapter 2

It would just be an apple or a protein bar a day, but, having grown used to going without food, I became accustomed to not being hungry for days at a time.

And due to the days of starvation that I endured, my body had just stopped growing.

My bones were disfigured and virtually jutting out, not to mention, even my rib cage was visible through my skin, making me look like a child for a 15-year-old. However, all of that was hidden beneath the hundreds of scars and bruises that littered my skin.

Anyways, it's 5 a.m. right now, and I'm sitting on the roof of the cabin where we live. I have been sitting on the roof since 2 a.m., after waking up from passing out from yet another vicious beating.

I had applied bandages to my wounds and then took pain killers, but I couldn't get any sleep.

My entire body was aching. It wasn't the most brutal beating I'd ever received, but it wasn't any less painful.

My ribs are definitely bruised from all of the direct hits that they received, and I believe that I may have a sprained shoulder. The skin on my stomach was blistered and peeling off as a result of the boiling water my mother poured on me, and my back was still sore from last night's whipping.

But I'm used to these sufferings.

An unconscious groan left my mouth, as I recalled that I had a school to attend. It begins at 7:30 a.m. and is a half-hour walk from home to the bus stop.

Since I couldn't afford skipping school, which would most certainly lead to another beating, I slowly managed to stand up amidst the pain and limped my way inside to the bathroom, as I breathed heavily.

I didn't have to worry about getting into another encounter with Della or Gerard because they both left after beating me and won't be returning home until later.

As I entered the bathroom, I removed my bloody and torn clothes, and turned on the tap of the shower on which instantly supplied me with water.

The warm water burned the bruises and burns I received from today's beating.

I turned the faucet off after letting the water wash away any residual soap and blood from my body, cutting off the soothing warmth of the water.

Drying off, I turned around to face the mirror.

There stood a girl around 5 feet 4 inches tall, her light auburn hair cascading down to her lower back and her dull lifeless blue eyes were staring right back at me.

Her face was covered in blue and black bruises from the blows which were directed towards her, and her neck had fingerprints from being strangled.

A bruise on her shoulder was becoming visibly obvious, affirming the theory of being strained, but her ribs and stomach were the worst. The skin above her ribs was darkening to a dark purple and black, and blisters covered her stomach.

She feels pity for the girl hating the way she looks. Her bones were practically disfigured from being extremely underweight and the sadness on her face made her basically appear to be dead.

She didn't have a hint of a smile on her face; she must have forgotten how to smile because she had never had a reason to before.

Yet she wants to smile, so she made an attempt for the same. But behind her smile was a hurting heart.

Her eyes were welling up with tears but she didn't stop the big fake grin on her face even when her lips trembled from a sudden stretch.

She wanted to give up on this life because she can't take this anymore.

The pain, the hurt, the torture, all of the abuse was slowly sucking the life out off her and if it continues she might not even raise a fight it anymore.

The girl in the mirror was no stranger to me just like her pain that was just as familiar to me as it was to her.

Because that girl was me.

She was me—

And just like her, I was tired of fighting, for once I wanted to be fought for. I hated that I was still hoping.

Hoping for a better future, for safety, for love but most importantly for happiness. I feel like I have been having this hope for so long that now it just seems impossible to happen.

But as pathetic as my life is right now, I still want to live. Because somewhere deep down I kept hoping for things to get better.

I finally lowered my gaze because I didn't want to see the lifeless look on my face for any longer.

I quickly re-did all my bandages and then took Della's concealer to cover up all of the bruises on my face and neck.

Don't want to show off, obviously...

After I was done with my makeup I went back to my room; aka the attic to get ready. I only own two pairs of jeans, some hoodies and a couple other clothes that my co-workers gave me because I used to wear torn up clothes, as well as two pairs of old converse.

I put on a pair of jeans and a full-sleeved shirt followed by a hoodie because it was large on me and will cover the majority of my body.

I then limped my way down after putting on my shoes and taking my backpack.

I took a piece of bread and started eating it with a cup of hot coffee to keep me awake at school. I devoured the food because that's probably all I'll get for today.

I sighed when I started to feel the fatigue begin to set in, and as much as I wanted to go back and sleep, I still exited the house.

Chapter 3

After locking and putting the keys in my pocket, I walked towards my next hell aka my school.

•

LESLEY'S POV

"Stop looking for reasons to be unhappy and start focusing on what you do have and why you should be happy."

What a load of crap—

I don't deliberately chose to be unhappy. I just don't have a single reason to be happy.

What am I supposed to be happy about?

Life– ha! not worth the effort...

Getting no attainment of peace for my mind, I resignedly shut the book I borrowed from my school's library and put it back in my bag as frustration set in, from the lack of any help.

I'm practically beyond help.

Anyway, I'm sitting in the school bus right now, and the pain in my body is jolting up to match the vibrations of the moving bus. My ribs and shoulder are throbbing, and the ache in my entire body's getting intense.

Only if I could cancel my subscription of daily pain

The bus is divided in the same hierarchy as the school is; the quiet ones and loners are at the front, the normal or insignificant ones are at the middle, and the populars or the only significant ones are at the back.

And I'm obviously sitting at the end with a bunch of significant ones.

Yeah, I wish—

Yours truly have a special seat reserved in the front row, which even the school's loners wanted to avoid.

Impressive no?

Was I glad to be left alone? Yes

Did it hurt? So much–

The popular ones usually keep to themselves, just staying in with their small tight knit group of populars and occasionally 'joking around' with the population they look down on.

The quiet ones; I'm pretty sure they know exactly what's going around with everyone, but they just don't care.

The loners simply stay away from everyone, mostly from those who pick up on them, and some of them try too hard to escape their label of loners.

And the ones who fit into 'the normals' are the most vicious ones. These are the ones you must be on the lookout from if you want to survive in school.

Their noses are always up in everyone else's business except their own, and those are the ones who get butt hurt when their lives are brought to the spotlight.

I'd made sure of staying away from them ever since I started at the school, but I still wasn't left out by their prodding noses.

The rumors these guys spread about me are weirdly astounding.

Someone said my mother was a stripper, and that rumor lingered for so long that everyone just started calling me 'Lesley'.

This was because one time my dear mother came to my school wearing clothes that were probably shorter for me as well.

The other time, it was said that I am dark and mysterious because I fight underground and that's the reason why I have faint bruise marks on my face.

Interesting...

This rumour lingered for so long that it birthed a completely bizarre one. My stoic face, aloof nature and ability to ignore also kinda fuelled these rumours and I became a 'bad-girl' who is a member of a big gang.

Gang soon turned into Mafia,

And now I'm allegedly a Mafia Princess...

This is also one of the best ones, so turns out I was some 'mafia princess' and I'm in this school undercover.

How come these people know about me so much more than I know about myself..

I was engulfed deep in thoughts, when my eyes looked out of the window of the school bus as it stopped at the next stop to pick up more students.

My attention was drawn to a group of three people laughing and talking, as they walked down the street. A girl, around six-years-old and two boys, most likely her brothers, who looked roughly my age.

The girl was walking in the centre, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp the fingers of the guys on either side of her. She appeared carefree and happy, as if nothing in the world could harm her at that moment.

That was something I longed for—

She looked so well protected and I envied her.

An unconscious smile grazed my lips as I saw one of the brothers quickly hoisting her up in his arms while running from the other who chased them, as the three of them laughed loudly.

I wish I had a brother.

Someone I could look up to, someone whose shoulder I could cry on, someone who made me feel safe.

But that little bubble of fantasy burst as the bus began moving, passing those three happy people who were still in their own jovial world.

As I caught sight of the old red brick building, an inadvertent sigh of despair escaped my lips.

Thoughts clouded my brain as I mused over how I didn't have any friends. It wasn't that I didn't want any, it was just that I wasn't allowed to talk to anybody.

When I first started at this school the other students attempted to befriend me. A lot of them were nice at first, but I just ignored them, and once they realised I wasn't going to answer or talk to them, that's when my bullying and teasing began.

I was jolted out of my reverie of thoughts, when the voice of the bus driver pierced my ears.

I looked around and realised that the bus had already come to a halt and everyone else had exited, leaving me the only one onboard.

After slowly rising up to my feet and swinging my bag on my good shoulder, I slowly made my way inside the school, not wanting to make notice of my obvious limping.

Chapter 4

I pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head to avoid any attention on me. I carefully maneuverer my way through the dull beige hallways of my high school.

As I reached for my locker, I felt a presence behind me. I couldn't stop another sigh from leaving my mouth.

Ah here we go again—

"Hey Lesley, wearing yesterday's clothes to school again. Where do you get your clothes from, 'Don't-wear-them'." She remarked and laughed at her own words.

I didn't bothered to turn around to respond to her, as I busied myself to open my locker.

Apparently, people don't get the hint...

"I fail to understand why you keep showing up, if I were you I'd lock myself up in my room rather than show up to school looking as hideous as you." Georgina Rogers, aka my biggest bully, who insists on calling her my friend, exclaimed as she and her two sidekicks laughed at the same joke she'd been telling for years.

"I'm sorry if my clothing choices offended you, Georgina. If you find me so offensive, I suggest you quit finding me. Have a good day somewhere else." I replied without turning around, fully aware that she had heard my gleeful words.

"I don't like you or your tone, bitch." Georgina sounded offended as she used the oldest and most hurtful retort ever devised.

"Well then you'll have to join the rest of the people in line who are waiting for me to give a flying fuck." I stated in a monotonous tone, as I turned to give her a disinterested look.

"Guess what, you have the ugliest personality, just like your face, no wonder no one wants to talk to you. I was doing you a favour by talking to you, but you know what I hate you, so you can kindly fuck off." She finished her small speech with a look of triumph, which by the way sounded like a child throwing a tantrum.

She's more thoughtful than my own mother,

"I appreciate your help, I'm dripping with gratitude." I replied impassively with my eyes narrowed apathetically.

"Everybody hates you, you freak." She countered scornfully, her lips raised in disdain.

"Just leave me alone." I sighed and raised my hand to rub my temples because talking to her was giving me a headache, before closing my locker and walking away to my first class.

"This is why you don't have any friends." She managed to call out to my retreating back.

And that is why I don't socialise.

My first lecture was English. I entered the room and went to sit on my usual seat, trying to get over the queasy feeling that came with the pain that began to build up out of nowhere.

I was relieved that no one bothered me, not even the teachers. Despite everything that was going on in my life, I was surprisingly able to pass my classes with good grades.

Classes flew by, with the occasional teasing and insult thrown my way. Walking wasn't as painful anymore and thankfully my limping had severely died down.

After entering the last class for the day, I walked to one of the front seats because I actually enjoy studying Math.

The school secretary came in halfway through the class and left after informing the teacher.

My math teacher, Mrs. Austen looked at me and said "Lesley Cameron, you are requested in the Principal's office. Please gather your belongings and report to his office."

She sounded pretty sympathetic which made me look at her, perplexed.

"Ey! the freaks in trouble!" Someone exclaimed, and the entire class burst out laughing.

Mrs. Austen quieted the class while I made my way to the principal's office.

When I arrived at my destination, Mr. Cole, my principal, was already waiting for me. When he saw me he motioned for me to follow him into his office.

He was also giving me a sympathetic look, which added to my confusion. I sat in the chair as I stared at my teacher to speak.

"Lesley, I'm sorry to inform you that your parents were involved in an accident. Your house was caught on fire while your parents were still inside. They unfortunately couldn't rush out in time. I am deeply saddened by your loss." He said with sadness and grief as his eyes turned more sympathetic.

After I heard that I couldn't believe my ears as the shock robbed me of my voice. It must have been pretty evident on my face as my mouth stayed hung open in disbelief.

As the realisation hit me, my mind went completely blank. I couldn't decide or even figure out how to react.

On one side, I wanted to rejoice in happiness, but the news was unbelievable and I didn't want to keep my hopes high.

On the other, I felt skeptical. I found it difficult to believe that those two could die so suddenly.

"Are you certain? Were they really inside?" I inquired, not believing a single word that came out of Mr. Cole's mouth.

They are far too clever to die like that–

"The police have discovered two dead bodies, and has already confirmed that those bodies indeed belonged to your parents." He gave me a precise answer, while looking at me suspiciously.

He definitely wasn't expecting this reaction, was he?

As I became more aware of the situation, I couldn't help but sigh in relief.

They are dead.

As much as I feel sorry for the way they died, I was relieved that there will be no more beatings.

But I had no idea what was going to happen to me now, so I looked up at a stunned Mr. Cole as he began to discuss my situation.

Chapter 5

"You will be escorted to the police station, where they will take your DNA and check whether you have any living relatives and if they are willing to take you in. If not, then they'll take you to an orphanage. Lesley, you are a strong young girl and I wish you the best of luck for your future." He said in a professional tone, as he tried to mask the specks of sympathy in his voice.

He stood up and led me to a police car, where he exchanged a few words with the police officers.

I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn't hear anything they said. One of the officer called my name and brought me back to reality, as he asked me to get in the car.

After making sure I sat in comfortably, he then got in the driver's seat and we made our way to the police station with one thought in my mind.

I'm finally free–

•

LESLEY'S POV

The ride to the police station was relatively blurry. I was lost in thoughts, unsure of what would happen to me or how things would change in the future.

It was difficult not to get weary and frustrated when I had no idea what was going to happen or what changes were awaiting for me.

I kept wondering about where I would go.

Would I end up in a safe home or in a situation much worse than what I lived before?

I'm not even sure if I ever wanted to get adopted at all, and that would mean that I'd be staying in an orphanage till I'm eighteen.

Whatever it is that I end up with, I only have three more years to deal with it before I officially start looking out for myself, just as I have always have.

My thoughts were all over the place creating a haywire of mess in my head.

As I sat in the backseat of the car, the officer in the passenger seat turned around as her voice, calling out to me, jolted me out of my trance.

"Hello, Lesley. My name is Marco, I am sorry for your loss. If there's anything you need, feel free to ask me. I'm here for you." The lady officer said in a humble and empathetic tone, as her sympathetic eyes looked at me in concern.

Can I ask her for a million dollars?

I didn't respond to her, instead just nodded my head as I turned my face to look out the window.

Why do people act like they care when they really don't–

For the remainder of the drive, we sat in silence as I went back to draining myself with questions of what might happen.

Once the car stopped outside the station, officer Marco exited the vehicle and came to open my door as she waited for me to step out of the car.

We then proceeded to walk inside the building, where she made me follow her into an office and told me to wait for my social worker, who would be here shortly to discuss the further details with me.

She also took a strand of my hair and a swab of my cheek to collect DNA samples.

Which, as I told her, wasn't necessary but it was a protocol they had to follow.

She then left me alone in the office, where I sat in an uncomfortable chair for what felt like hours.

The longer I sat there alone, the worse the pain in my body became, followed by pain in my head and numbness in my ass, but I was too tired and exhausted to get up.

The longer I stayed in the office, the more suffocated I felt.

I desperately needed fresh air–

A sigh of relief left my mouth as I saw officer Marco returning, with a very professional looking lady walking besides her. The new lady was dressed formally, with her blonde hair up in a bun, her heels clanging on the floor, and a folder in her hand.

She approached and stood in front of me, smiling politely and genuinely.

I could tell she'd done it a lot because there was no nervousness or hesitation in her movements. She appeared to be quite acquainted and experienced with all of this.

"Hello Lesley! My name is Ellen, and I'm your social worker. I am deeply sorry for your loss and extend my heartfelt condolences to you. I can't imagine the loss and pain you must be feeling right now, and I know you are grieving, but I will only take a few minutes of your time to discuss what will happen next, along with assisting you further." She said with a sad smile as she paused for me to reply but I only stared back at her.

Same words, different people— when is this going to end?

I'm sick of hearing the same condolences over and over, as well as the look of pity everyone has given me ever since I've been here.

These people don't have a single clue as to what I am feeling or going through right now, so why can't they just stop pretending.

How would they react if they found out, I am actually quite relieved that 'my parents' died.

As she saw me nodding my head, Ellen motioned me to sit and took a seat besides me.

"So we have matched your DNA and reached out to your family. They are already on their way to bring you home." She said as I stared at her in confusion.

Woah. Woah. Woah...

Whatt??!!!

'Family'?

'Home'?

What the hell did she say...

Who's coming?

".....brothers"

I snapped out of my thoughts when I realised I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying.

"What? I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," I apologised to Ellen, still perplexed by what she had said.

Chapter 6

"Don't worry, sweetie! I was just telling you that your father has agreed to take you in and that you will live with him and your brothers." She said with a soft smile as she revealed a shocking piece of information.

Father? I thought Gerard had passed away—

Please, God, don't let him be alive.

But 'Brothers'?

Which of them–

Is there more than one?

Okay, she is high..

"You must be mistaken, because I have no other family. My father died in the house fire with my mother, and I don't have any brothers." I stated out in confusion.

"Lesley I'm not lying; I'm guessing your mother didn't tell you." Ellen began with a look of realisation on her face.

"The person who died in the house fire was your step-father. Your biological-father has agreed to be your guardian and he is very happy and eager to welcome you into his home. In fact, he is already on his way to get you right now." She said, causing my heart beat to quicken and my mouth dropped open in shock as I comprehend what she was saying.

There was this feeling inside of me that was somewhere between relief and bitterness...

How fucked up is that I was actually relieved to know that Gerard was not my father and at the same time, all I could wonder was why my own father abandoned me, which only resulted in me, harbouring a grudge and spite against him.

At the moment, I can only blame him for the years of abuse I've endured.

If he hadn't abandoned me, then maybe, there was a tiny possibility that I might have had a normal life.

I wish Della wasn't my mother either–

Her and Gerard are both monsters, they should never be called humans, let alone parents.

My eyes widened as I stared at Ellen in absolute shock and mouth agape in disbelief.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement; in fact, I felt as if my mind was struggling to make sense because everything seemed to be too much for me to handle, leaving me emotionally exhausted.

"That's not possible, my mother never told me about any of this." I managed to spit out my words, my mind still reeling from the earlier revelation.

I can definitely believe my mother withholding this piece of information from me–

But I didn't want to accept it.

My heart was racing, as wild thoughts reclaimed my mind.

The possibility of me having a family other than Della and Gerard sounded strange to me— it terrified me to the core.

My mind began to race with a slew of questions.

Gerard was not my biological father, and I had a father whom I never knew about

After all these years of abandonment, why does he want me now?

Why didn't he want me before?

Why hadn't he contacted me sooner?

Does he even know anything about me at all?

Did he care about me at all?

I had so many questions but no answer to any of them.

All of the lies and missing information raised enough doubts to call into question every single truth about my existence.

And in this moment I couldn't stop myself from drowning into my emotions. Tears fell out of my eyes, releasing every emotion and sentiment that was overwhelming me.

I had been broken in ways that ripped through every layer of my soul, my trust had been broken so many times that I could never bring my heart to trust anyone again, but somehow this piece of information bring about a pain which was filled with the feeling of betrayal.

It hurts to know that I was never good enough for anyone—

Not for my mother, my stepfather, my biological father, or even my brothers.

I always had brothers that I so desperately wanted but I guess they've never wanted me back.

Everyone has a breaking point where any semblance of optimism that was left had been shattered to pieces, and this was mine.

At this point, I fully understood what it was like to have a broken heart.

I finally gave up on that last hope that I had been clutching for so long, as I sat there sniffing the last tears that had run down my cheek.

At that moment I decided, if I wasn't good enough for anyone, then none of them is good enough for me.

If they didn't want me, then I want nothing to do with them either.

My overflowing emotions held me captive, but the only one that dominated the rest was dread and resolve.

I could feel my eyes closing from exhaustion, but my brain forced my sanity to stay awake as it tortured me with endless questions.

Slowly, I closed my eyes and gave in to my exertion, just before whispering to myself–

"I can't do this anymore–"

I felt two hands shaking me, as I jolted awake.

I immediately opened my eyes, sitting down as I shielded myself from the impact that never came— instead when I finally looked up, I saw Ellen looking at me with furrowed brows and a look of contemplation.

Everything that happened a few hours ago came crashing to me, causing me to sigh deeply.

"Are you all right, Sweetie? Why were you cowering like that? Has someone been hurting you?" Ellen inquired, suspiciously, as she waited for me to response.

"Ahem! No nothing like that, I was having a nightmare and when you woke me up, I just got startled." I lied right away, before clearing my throat.

"Are you certain? Don't lie to me, I could request for a full medical examination, both physiologically and psychologically." She stated, as if she still didn't believe me, and I simply nodded my head.

Chapter 7

"I'm not lying, I just dreamt about my p-parents-s screaming-g for help-p." I quickly quivered out more lies confidently and deliberately shivered when I mentioned about them.

Sympathy card always works.

Logically, I should tell her of my situation, but I can't have her knowing the truth, and I certainly can't have a medical exam.

I'm aware that there's no one stopping me from telling the truth, but I was terrified from what happened the last time I tried telling someone.

It permanently damaged me enough to not seek help or tell anyone the truth.

I simply don't trust anyone, at all.

I didn't want her or anyone else to know anything about my past, my life story is mine alone and none of anybody else's business.

A look of realisation flashed across her face, followed with sympathy look, which ended with a sigh. She then took a rectangular piece of card from her pocket and extended it towards me.

"Lesley, If you ever need any sort of help, or even want someone to talk to, you can give me a call." She said this as I nodded and took her business card which she was still holding out for me.

I wasn't planning to call her. I have only just met her, I'm not stupid enough to reveal my secrets to complete strangers.

"Anyway Lesley, I came to wake you up because your Father and one of your brothers are here to take you to 'Home'." Ellen said bringing me out of my reverie.

Well shit–

•

Harold Vincent'S POV ( Lesley's Father)

I took a sip of my whiskey as its rich smoky flavour & woody aroma filled my sinuses. The acidulous liquid stings the back of my throat, righteously serving its purpose.

I stared off into the distance, my mind wandering to the thought of my sons.

I was overcome with a feeling of pride as I rejoiced in acknowledging my children's success and accomplishments.

Nothing beats seeing my sons mature into better versions of themselves.

I have raised my sons alone since my ex wife of a bitch, Della left me, and I never bothered to look for her because, frankly, I didn't care.

I can't keep someone who doesn't want to stay.

She abandoned our family 15 years ago, when my oldest son was only 12 and my youngest was barely a year old. It was hard in the beginning— looking after my 7 sons along with managing the world's strongest mafia, but I never once complained. Even though my younger ones are somewhat crazy, I wouldn't change a thing about any of them. I consider myself fortunate to be able to watch all of them grow up.

For years, I was the don of 'The American Mafia,' and I held the title of 'THE MAFIA-KING.' Nobody dared to mess with me or my mafia because I was merciless.

This power was what I strived on, it was what I sought and it made me unrestrained. It made people consider twice before they plan to cross me.

Our mafia has been a family business and when I told my kids about the mafia, they were all very supportive of it. Four of my oldest sons had already joined the mafia when they came of age while my three youngest are still in training.

I've retired from the position of mafia don, and my oldest son has been in charge since he turned 25. At the age of 26, he became 'The Mafia-Vincent.' And now, at the age of 27, he is the most feared man on the planet.

My lips curved into a smirk as I acknowledged how powerful my sons had become.

We have many enemies because we are the strongest mafia in the world, and we had encountered a few setbacks over the years, but we always fought our way back to top.

There's always one ruler; and our reign has only just begun.

The shrill sound of a ringtone coming from my phone, jolted me out of my daze of thoughts.

I picked my phone from the desk and looked at the unknown calling ID of the caller.

After answering the phone, I brought the phone up to my ears as I leaned back in my office chair, resting the back of my head on it and stared up at the ceiling,

"Hello! I'm Frank Taylor from the Florida Police Department, may I speak with Mr. Vincent?"

"Hello Officer Taylor! This is Harold Vincent speaking. What can I do for you?" I asked in my usual authoritative tone, wondering which of my idiot son had done something stupid yet again.

"Mr. Vincent, I am calling to inform you that your daughter is here in our department. Her mother, Mrs. Della Cameron, and stepfather, Mr. Gerard Cameron, died just recently. She does not have a guardian registered with the system and you are her closest and only relative. So I'm calling to see if you'd be willing to take her guardianship, if not, she'll be placed in the foster-care system or an orphanage." He informed me in a professional tone.

Daughter— what?!

I almost immediately sat upright as everything he said left me shocked to my core. When he told me that I have a daughter, it left an unsettling feeling in my stomach as I couldn't believe what he was saying.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I gritted out, obviously not expecting anything close to what I was just informed.

"Your daughter has lost her–"

What an idiot–

"I heard you the first time, there's no need to repeat yourself. Are you certain she is my daughter?" I asked, with uncertainty as I was still trying to comprehend the bomb he had just dropped on me.