CHAPTER ONE - ROSALIE

That was three years ago. Three years. Even as I stare at my reflection, I can still recall every awful minute. When I shut my eyes, when I sleep, I see more, more moments, when Silas had abuse me, when he’d raped me, when he’d beaten me just for the fun of it.

I should be over it. I should have moved on. I’d escaped. I was technically free of him but the ghost of what he’d done still lingered in my peripheries.

I’d spent my first six months of my captivity in and out of hospital. Not because he’d beaten me, although he had, but he’d decided to ‘improve’ me. To enhance me. To change my body into his ideal woman. My breasts had been enhanced to a ridiculous size that didn’t fit my body, my legs had been liposuctioned, I’d been surgically altered in so many ways and worst of all, he’d had my two lower ribs removed giving me an impossible hourglass figure that made me resemble more of a sand timer than a human being. He’d bleached my hair, turning it from strawberry blonde to peroxide white that drained my skintone. He’d filled my wardrobe with slinky, clinging dresses so that I looked like some living breathing barbie doll.

His barbie doll. His trophy.

I’d wanted for nothing. He’d covered me in jewels, in diamonds. On paper I was living a life of luxury. I had everything I could ever wish for. Only I wasn’t. Because under the glossy exterior, under the glamour, I was a shell, hollow, dead almost. I guess it was the only way I’d survived, to withdraw, to completely compartmentalise from the abuse and the trauma, and the violence of everything around me.

You see Silas wasn’t just a man. He was more than that, more than just my kidnapper.

Two days after he’d taken me, I learnt the truth. The horrific truth. That the world I thought existed was a lie. That monsters were real. Witches were real. And worst of all, Werewolves were real too.

Silas was a wolf. Not a full wolf. They called him a Mutt. He had all the traits, the size, the healing, the never-ending stamina, but he didn’t have an actual wolf. He couldn’t transform like true Werewolves could. It was a genetic thing. A flaw. And as a result, Silas was more aggressive, more dangerous too, because he couldn’t control his urges. He was rabid.

Normally, Mutts were relegated to the bottom of the pack. The dregs. They made good guards, good soldiers, but Silas was lucky; he had connections. His cousin was Alpha of the Crimson Shadow Pack. One of three that held territory across the country and as it turns out, lived a mob-like existence controlling the day to day lives of almost everyone, though most of us humans lived blissfully unaware.

Silas was the Pack’s enforcer. He ran the mob. Ran the gangs. He oversaw everything.

From day one, I’d thought I’d never escape him. In truth I’d never planned too. I planned to endure it all for the sake of my parents, but just over a year ago that all changed.

I’d been sitting in my rooms, bored as usual, when I opened the newspaper. I only read it because it was a way I could still have some sort of connection to my parents. They’d put birthday messages in, even when it wasn’t my birthday. They’d put fake anniversary messages too. Little things to let me know they were safe, that they hadn’t forgotten me. That they loved me.

Only, that day they were in the obituaries.

They were dead. Both of them. I saw their faces staring back at me. There were no details. Nothing on how they’d died. Just the date it had happened.

And I think something in me snapped. Something finally broke. My parents were dead. There was no need to be there anymore. No need to endure Silas. I packed a small bag, shoving in as many of the precious jewels and valuables I could fit, and I ran.

Silas had never guarded me all that much. He knew the threat hanging over my parents was enough to keep me in check. But I knew well enough that if they did catch me, if Silas ever caught me, he would make me suffer for the rest of my life.

The cold water brings me back out of my thoughts, out of my memories too. I needed to get my shit together. Stop going through it all. I am safe now, relatively speaking. I am far from him, far from that Pack too.

I grab my uniform, pulling the white chef’s top over my tank top, and then tie my hair up into a topknot. I’m living my dream. I’m a chef of sorts. I run a kitchen. Though not my own. And not nearly as glamourous as what I’d imagined, but this one keeps me anonymous.

I work in a nice enough hotel. It’s rural, isolated. You don’t just stumble on this place and best of all, they throw in accommodation with it so I don’t need to worry about references or social security or anything that would leave a trace and which could lead to me getting caught.

The owner is more interested in making money than anything else and, when I’d offered to work the first month for free to prove myself, he’d jumped at the chance. I was desperate by that point. I’d been on the run for six months, hiding, avoiding the cities, and I was starting to run out of cash.

This job has been a lifeline.

“What’s on the menu this evening?” Katie asks, as I walk past her.

“I’m thinking Foie Gras and Lobster.” I joke as she laughs. The menu is limited. Nothing fancy, nothing imaginative. Standard hotel food but I don’t care.

I’m safe here, hidden, and in a way, I’m living the life I wanted.

In my first few months of escape, I’d bribed a surgeon into removing the awful implants. It’d cost me a diamond worth more than his yearly salary, but it was worth every penny. I’d cut my hair off and dyed it back, so it was almost it’s old shade, though now it’s grown back out to midway down my back and any remnants of the awful bleach is long gone.

My waist is still tiny, so I wear baggy clothes to conceal it. To conceal me. I don’t want to be noticed. I don’t want to be seen. I want to be anonymous. Invisible.

And I spend my life either in my room, in the kitchens, or at the hotel gym working out, just in case.

I walk into the kitchen, seeing the pile of vegetables already waiting in the box. Everyone has been on at me to hire an assistant, but I’m reluctant to. I like my solitude. I like my space and besides, the menu is so simple, I can literally cook for every single guest without any struggles.

“Dee, what you doing later?” Rachel asks as she sticks her head through from the server door.

“Sleeping.” I say. I’m still not used to that name. You’d think after a year, it would’ve sunk in. I’d picked it from a magazine. I wanted something totally unrelated to me so that no one would be able to make a connection between ‘Dee the chef’ and ‘Rosalie Morgan the escapee’.

“Nah, you’re not.” Tyler says, pushing through. “Everyone’s drinking in the bar. You have to come.”

“I’d love too, but who else would cook?” I say pulling my trump card with a smug smile.

“Tony’s closing the restaurant.” Tyler states.

“What?” I snap. No one’s told me. But it’s just like bloody Tony to do something like that.

“Yeah, he says there’s some big announcement he wants to make.”

“For fucksake.” I mutter.

“I’ll come by at five. We can get ready together.” Rachel says grinning like a god damn Cheshire cat.”

I roll my eyes and ignore the pair of them and start prepping the food for the lunch menu. We had seventy guests in the hotel. A wedding party left the day before. There were 120 rooms total, though we are rarely fully booked. My life is quiet, my days repetitive.

Rachel comes back bang on five. Everyone has been fed. Everything has been cleared away. I even had time to prep some things for breakfast the next day.

“This is delicious.” Rachel says, shoving half a slice of cake in her mouth.

“Hey, that’s meant for the guests.” I moan, though I take the compliment. My favourite thing is baking. If I could I’d cook the fanciest pastries, the finest cakes, I’d bake souffles for every guest, but this is not that kind of establishment.

“Promise me you’ll bake me a proper cake for my birthday.” She pleads.

“I already said I would.” I say back, putting the last of the knives away.

“Yeah, you better. I’m thinking three levels. Mixed fillings. Chocolate at the bottom, then Victoria sponge, and the top one as red velvet.”

“Sounds like you want a wedding cake…” I tease and she laughs.

“Come on. I want us to properly glam up for this evening.” She says pulling me from the kitchen and out towards where the staff quarters are. I know she’s got her eye on Tyler. That she’s hoping tonight might be the night and from what I’ve seen I think he’s got the same thing in mind.