Fractured

Chapter 001

♡RORY (PRESENT)

I woke with a jolt, my heart racing as the remnants of a nightmare clung to my mind. The dream had been familiar: the shadowy figure of my father, turning his back on me, leaving me to the cold hands of an unknown man. I could still feel the panic rising in my chest as I awoke, the terror of that moment flooding back.

It had been eight years, yet the nightmare never stopped. It was a cruel reminder of what had been taken from me.

The harsh sound of my alarm blared in my ear, snapping me out of the dark fog. 5:30 AM. I had exactly one hour to prepare for the day ahead. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, pushing the haunting images of the nightmare aside, and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

My feet dangled in the air for a moment before they touched the cold floor, grounding me in the present.

I stood, stretching out the stiffness from my limbs, and made my way to the bathroom. The hot shower was always my first refuge. The water poured down over me, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cold grip of the nightmare still lingering in my mind. I closed my eyes, allowing the steam to rise around me, soothing my muscles and washing away the last of my dream-induced tension.

As I massaged shampoo into my ginger red hair, the scent of it filled the air-one of the few things I truly loved about myself. I admired how the damp waves fell effortlessly down my back, the fiery strands catching the light in the mirror. It was a small comfort, something real and beautiful amidst the turmoil that never seemed to fade.

Once I was done, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a plush towel. I avoided the mirror. I had long since stopped examining my reflection, too familiar with the scars and imperfections that marred my skin. The years had etched their marks, both physical and emotional, and I'd learned to ignore them-easier that way.

I dried off quickly and moved toward my closet, where my wardrobe awaited. Each piece was carefully chosen, the height of luxury and style. Designer suits, dresses that clung to my curves-everything I needed to project confidence, power, and control.

Today, I chose a sleek black pantsuit with a crisp white blouse paired with Louboutin heels that clicked with a promise of sophistication.

With my hair styled and makeup flawless, I felt the familiar surge of confidence. The woman in the mirror was strong, composed, and ready to take on the world. A mask, I thought briefly, but one I had perfected over time.
I grabbed my bag and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of coffee should have been waiting for me, but my mind snapped back to the day ahead. I had a meeting at 9 AM-there would be no time for breakfast.

A Starbucks run would have to do.

I stepped into the elevator of my penthouse apartment, the doors closing silently behind me. As the elevator descended, I took a deep breath, pushing the remnants of the nightmare away. It had no place here, not in this world I had carefully crafted for myself.

When the elevator doors opened, I was met with the sleek, polished lobby of the building. My car and driver waited outside, ready to take me to the office. Another day. Another fight. The city stretched before me, bustling and alive, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could outrun the shadows of my past.

As the elevator doors opened, I was greeted by the familiar, steady presence of my driver, Ivan. He stood by the door of my black town car, his dark suit as impeccable as always. His expression remained stoic, the professionalism in his demeanor unwavering.