Chapter 2

Tessa's POV

I struggled between fire and ice.

Sweat soaked through my clothes, yet I shivered with cold. My entire body ached as if run over by a truck. Even breathing sent sharp pains through my ribs.

In my daze, I felt someone touching me, warm hands wiping my burning forehead, a cool damp cloth pressed against my skin. This wasn't right. Nobody treated me this way.

My eyes snapped open, the harsh light making me squint. This wasn't my room. The walls were pale yellow, the sheets clean, smelling of laundry detergent. Outside, snowflakes fell past the window as sunlight streamed through.

Fear shot through me like an electric current. Where was I? Who had taken me?

I struggled to sit up, but the sharp pain in my ribs made me gasp.

"You're awake!" A woman's voice made me tense. A tall, thin woman stood in the doorway holding a steaming mug. She was in her early thirties, brown hair loosely tied back, a smile on her face.

"Don't touch me!" I rasped, dragging my aching body off the bed only to collapse dizzily on the floor. "Who are you? Are you sending me back?"

She set down the mug. "Nobody's sending you anywhere. You're safe here. I'm Lisa Coleman. My brother Michael found you in the snow last night."

I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Where... where am I?"

"Our home. 18 Green Street, South District." She crouched down to my eye level. "You're badly hurt. Two broken ribs, mild concussion. You need rest."

I stared into her eyes, searching for signs of threat. In the South District, kindness usually came with a price.

Noise erupted outside, followed by a man's gruff voice, "Lisa! That damn Hank is snooping around the yard again."

I instinctively shrank into the corner. A tall figure appeared in the doorway—dark cropped hair, deep-set features, wearing work pants and a flannel shirt. He paused when he saw I was awake.

"She's up," he said tersely, his sharp gaze sweeping over me.

Michael turned toward the window, pulling the curtains shut. "Damn Hank, always in everyone's business. He was at the front door muttering about 'bringing home another problem' and calling you a 'crazy woman.'"

"Ignore him," Lisa picked up the hot soup again. "He's just a lonely old man." She turned to me, "What's your name?"

I pressed my lips together.

"It's okay if you don't want to say," Michael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Tell us when you're ready. But we need to know if anyone's looking for you, if anyone wants to hurt you."

I gave a bitter smile. "Everyone."

The room fell silent.

"Nobody's going to hurt you here," Michael finally said quietly. "Not right now, anyway."

---

The next few hours blurred in feverish haze. Lisa checked on me every few hours, giving me medicine, changing ice packs, feeding me warm broth.

"Your temperature's down a bit," she said, pressing her hand to my forehead, "but you still need rest."

"Why help me? You don't even know me."

Lisa sat on the edge of the bed. "Because everyone deserves help. Besides, Michael said you looked too young to die in the snow."

I nodded, but doubts lingered. In South District, good things never happened without reason, especially not to people like me.

Night fell, and thirst drove me out of bed. Fighting through the pain, one hand pressed to my ribs, the other braced against the wall, I slowly moved toward the faint light at the end of the hallway.

Just before reaching the kitchen doorway, I heard low arguing.

"Lisa, we CAN'T just take in a minor! It's illegal!" Michael's voice was filled with anxiety. "What if someone's looking for her?"

"So it's more legal to send her back to be beaten to death?" Lisa countered. "You saw her injuries, Mike. That wasn't from one fight. That was sustained abuse. I counted thirty-seven separate injuries, old and new, including cigarette burns!"

My heart sank. They wanted to send me back.

"I know. But we have to be careful. What if she's—"

"If she's what? The daughter of someone dangerous? All the more reason to protect her!" Lisa interrupted. "Don't forget we needed help once, Mike. If Jack hadn't helped us back then, you might have—"

"Don't mention Jack," Michael's voice suddenly turned cold. "This is different."

I accidentally bumped a picture frame on the wall, making a soft noise. The argument stopped immediately.

"Who's there?" Michael asked warily.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the kitchen light. They both turned—Lisa sitting at the table, Michael standing by the sink with a glass of water.

"Sorry," my voice was hoarse, "I just wanted some water."

"Sit down," he pointed to an empty chair.

I carefully sat down, accepting the glass he handed me. The temperature was perfect. I took a long drink, the cool water soothing my burning throat.

They wanted to send me back. Realizing this, I felt panic rising.

"I can do anything... clean, cook..." my voice trembled, shame washing over me, "just please don't send me back. He'll kill me. That's not an exaggeration, he really will."

Michael's gaze sharpened. "Who did this to you?"

I set down the glass, fingers gripping it tightly. A crazy thought flashed through my mind—tell the truth. If they really wanted to help, they should know who they were dealing with.

"My name is Tessa Williams," I finally said, looking straight into Michael's eyes. "Terence Williams' daughter."

The air in the room instantly froze. Lisa gasped, while Michael's expression shifted from surprise to something more complex.

Of course they knew my dad. Who in South District didn't know Terence Williams?

"Williams," Michael repeated slowly. "Terence's daughter?"

I flinched, nodding, preparing for rejection. After all, nobody dared cross my father.

Surprisingly, Michael just sighed deeply. "No one will hurt you here, Tessa. At least get some rest tonight. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

I couldn't believe my ears. He hadn't thrown me out, even knowing who I was.

"Why?" I choked out. "Why help me? You know who he is, what he'll do."

Michael studied me silently. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Lisa gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "And we all need second chances, don't we, Mike?"

Some unspoken communication passed between them. I didn't understand its meaning, but I sensed a story behind it.

I lowered my head to drink, tears falling unnoticed into the glass. It had been a long time since I'd felt this—cared for, not hurt.

"Does he know where you are?" Michael suddenly asked.

I shook my head. "He was drunk when I escaped. He probably thinks I'm dead in some dumpster." I tried to smile. "Wouldn't be the first time. Just... he completely lost it this time."

"Why?" Lisa asked softly.

I looked down, shame spreading through me. "Because I refused..." I couldn't finish the sentence. "Refused the 'job' he arranged. He wanted to give me to someone in his gang, Jackson. Like he once did with my mom."

Saying these words made me feel exposed and vulnerable, but also somehow relieved.

Michael's expression darkened. He exchanged a look with Lisa, then stood up. "You're safe, Tessa. At least here, tonight. Tomorrow we'll figure something out."

Back in the guest room, Lisa helped me lie down, placing a fresh ice pack on my forehead.

As she turned to leave, I grabbed her hand. "Thank you."

She smiled. "Sleep, child. No nightmares tonight."