Samuel looked up.
His eyes found Anna's. Red-rimmed. Raw.
A thousand unspoken things passed between them.
Anna took a step forward, then another. Slowly, she sat beside him, her hands shaking.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For everything. Your father... your family."
He didn't speak, just stared ahead. Her voice filled the space between them , pulling taut.
She remembered her grandmother's death, the weight of grief that made the air too thick to breathe. How it crept in like cold and never left. She imagined Samuel living with that cold.
Samuel's eyes held her again, the deep brown of them almost hypnotic. His gaze dropped to her lips. His breath hitched. Then, slowly, he leaned in.
His lips brushed hers, hesitant. She didn't pull away. The kiss was soft. Questioning.
Then he kissed her again. This time harder. Desperate.
She stiffened.
"Samuel," she whispered, pressing her hands against his chest. "Stop."
But his grip only tightened.
His body moved with a strange, detached urgency, grief curdling into something else, something sharp and senseless. His hands fumbled with her dress. Her panic surged.
"Please, stop." Her voice was muffled, his hand now over her mouth.
She writhed beneath him, her heart thundering in her chest. Tears blurred her vision. The cold floor bit into her spine.
Behind the bookshelf, Vivian watched, frozen. Paralyzed by fear. By disbelief.
Anna fought. She tried to scream. Her body screamed for her. But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
Samuel pulled away, his breathing ragged. His face was pale, eyes wide as if waking from a trance. He stood, adjusted his shirt with shaking fingers, then reached out for her.
Anna flinched.
He hesitated, then helped her stand. She was silent. Shattered. Together, they stepped out of the room, the door clicking closed behind them.
The car ride home was silent. Streetlights flashed across the windshield. Anna stared straight ahead, unmoving.
When they arrived, she stepped out without a word.
Samuel watched her go. His phone vibrated, unanswered.
Inside the house, Anna's mother rushed forward. "Anna? What happened?"
Anna tried to speak. Her lips moved. Nothing came out.
Then:
"It was Samuel. Samuel Flores Boron."
Her knees gave out. Her mother caught her just before she fell.
Tears spilled. Darkness took her.
**********
Georgina hadn't stopped crying since she brought Anna to the hospital. Her chest ached with every breath, her hands trembling as she paced the sterile white room. The moment she heard what had happened, she'd dropped everything and rushed her daughter here. Anna hadn't woken since.
The doctor had reassured her, no physical injuries, only exhaustion. But that didn't soothe the image in Georgina's mind: her daughter, terrified and alone, fighting him off until her body gave out.
She sat, stood, sat again. Couldn't stop moving. Couldn't stop seeing it.
She had already called a law firm. Demanded someone come immediately. They promised a lawyer with experience in cases like this. She clung to that promise like it could steady her.
Across the room, Anna lay motionless, hooked to an IV drip, her face pale and still. Georgina's eyes welled again. She crossed the room and sat beside her, brushing strands of hair from Anna's forehead. The soft rhythm of her daughter's breath was the only sound. A weak reminder that she was still here.
Georgina's stomach turned as the memory resurfaced, how she had not found Anna's underwear and screamed. She couldn't stop imagining what had been done to her daughter. The rage burned through her grief.
This had happened at school. A place meant to be safe. How had no one seen? How had no one stopped it?
And then there was him.
Samuel Boron.
His name had become synonymous with privilege, especially after the recent death of his father, founder of Nikel Boron, the country's largest oil empire. Headlines still mourned the man. But Georgina mourned something else: her daughter's safety, innocence, and trust in the world.
The door opened, pulling her from her thoughts.
A man stepped inside, mid-forties, average height, clean-shaven but for a neatly trimmed beard. His navy suit was immaculate, his leather briefcase worn but sturdy. He moved with brisk, professional purpose.
"Mrs. Monroe?" he asked.
She stood instinctively. "Yes. Thank you for coming."
He offered a hand. "Jim Floyd. I'm here from Blake & Turner. You called this morning?"
Georgina shook his hand, her grip unsteady. "Please. Sit."
They both did. Her breath trembled as she began.
"My daughter was raped," she said. "By Samuel Boron."
The name hit the room. Jim blinked. A flicker of recognition passed over his face. Of course he knew it. Everyone knew that name. The Boron family wasn't just wealthy, they were untouchable.
"Did she tell you this herself?"
"She did," Georgina said quietly. "Right before she lost consciousness."
Jim shifted slightly. "Do you have any evidence? Witnesses, recordings, anything we can build a case on?"
"My daughter's word," she said, blinking hard. "Isn't that enough?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward Anna's sleeping form. His voice was careful when he finally spoke.
"It should be. But you know how this works. Especially with someone like him. If we want this to hold up in court, if we want justice, we need something solid. A witness. CCTV footage. Anything."
Georgina's mind jumped to one name: Vivian. Anna's best friend. Always with her.
She grabbed her phone and dialed. No answer. Again. Still nothing. Five tries later, she dropped the phone in her lap, defeated.
"She's not picking up," she whispered.
Jim reached over and placed a hand gently on hers. "We'll try again. We'll find another way. But you need to stay calm. This is going to be a long fight."
She nodded, tears spilling freely now. "Please," she said, voice cracking. "Help me make him pay for what he did to her."
Jim opened his briefcase and pulled out a notepad. "Let's start with the details. Walk me through everything you know. We need to move fast."
And just like that, the war began.