MAY'S POV
The first slap came so suddenly that I didn't even see it coming.
One moment I was standing beside the bed, my hands trembling around the glass of water I had brought him. The next-SMACK. My head snapped violently to the side as pain exploded across my cheek. The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered against the tiled floor I had spent two hours that morning mopping and polishing exactly the way he liked it. For a moment everything rang-my ears, my skull, my thoughts-like the entire room had turned into a bell someone had struck with brutal force. A metallic taste spread across my tongue, and it took me a second to realize it was blood.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes.
Danny Morgan stood in front of me, breathing hard, his face twisted with fury. This was the same man who had once smiled at me like I was something precious, the same man who had promised me a future so bright it had almost blinded me with hope. Now he looked at me like I was something filthy stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
"You disgusting whore," Danny snarled.
My throat tightened painfully. "I-I didn't do anything," I whispered, though the words barely escaped my lips. My heart was pounding so violently I could hear the frantic rhythm echoing inside my skull.
He laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound that bounced off the walls of the enormous bedroom. His bedroom.
"You didn't do anything?" he mocked.
Before I could react, his hand shot forward and grabbed my arm. His grip was so tight my bones screamed in protest. "You think I'm stupid, May?"
"N-no... I would never-"
SMACK.
The second slap was even harder. My knees buckled instantly and I collapsed to the floor as another wave of pain burst across my face. For a moment my vision blurred and the world tilted sideways.
"You want to ruin my life right?!" Danny roared.
I curled slightly where I had fallen, clutching my throbbing arm. "I didn't..." My voice trembled helplessly. "I didn't ruin anything..."
Danny kicked the broken glass aside and crouched down in front of me. His face hovered inches from mine, his breath hot and sharp.
"You think I don't hear things?" he hissed.
"Hear... what?" I managed to ask.
"That my woman is spreading her legs for other men. That's what."
My eyes widened in horror. "No! Danny, I swear-"
His hand tangled violently in my hair and yanked my head back. A cry tore from my throat as pain shot across my scalp.
"You think I built my empire by believing lies?" he growled.
"I'm not lying!" I sobbed.
"Then explain why everything in my life started falling apart the moment you showed up." His grip tightened even more. "You're bad luck, May."
Tears slid silently down my temples.
Maybe he was right.
Bad things had always seemed to follow me.
Maybe I really was cursed.
*******
Three Years Earlier
Three years ago, I woke up as a blank slate.
Not the poetic kind people talk about in stories. Not the kind where someone forgets a few memories but still remembers their family or recognizes their home. No. When I opened my eyes that morning, there was absolutely nothing waiting for me inside my mind-no memories, no past, no sense of identity. Just a terrifying emptiness, like someone had wiped my entire existence clean.
The first thing I remember feeling was the cold. It seeped through my skin as I lay on a hard surface, sharp and biting, like tiny needles pressing against my bones. When I finally forced my eyes open, a dull gray sky stared back at me between the tall buildings above. For a moment I simply lay there, staring upward, my thoughts heavy and sluggish, like my brain was struggling to wake up.
"W-what...?" My voice came out hoarse and weak.
I pushed myself upright, but the movement sent a violent spike of pain through my skull.
"Ah-!" I gasped, clutching my head.
The pounding headache felt like someone was striking a hammer against my brain again and again. When the pain finally eased enough for me to think, I looked around and realized I was lying on a sidewalk while the world continued moving around me as if I were nothing more than a piece of trash someone had tossed aside.
Cars rushed past. People walked by without stopping. The smell of exhaust fumes mixed with the sour stench of a nearby garbage bin.
"Where am I?" I whispered.
But the question immediately led to another.
Who am I?
Panic crept slowly into my chest. I searched my mind desperately, reaching for anything-a face, a memory, a voice, even a fragment of a thought-but there was nothing there. Just a vast, silent void.
It felt like someone had erased my life.
The realization settled over me like ice.
Eventually I checked my pockets, hoping for some kind of clue. There was no phone, no wallet, no identification-nothing except a small tag sewn inside my jacket.
Two faded words were stitched into the fabric.
May Gray.
I stared at the name for a long time. It felt strange on my tongue when I whispered it out loud, unfamiliar and hollow, but it was the only thing I had.
So I accepted it.
That was the moment May Gray was born.
And the moment whoever I had been before disappeared forever.
The first night on the streets was the hardest.
I wandered the city until darkness swallowed the sky and the cold crept into my bones. Hunger gnawed painfully at my stomach as I passed restaurants glowing with warm light and laughter. Through the windows I watched people eating steaming meals, smiling and talking as if the world was kind and safe. For a moment I stood there staring, my mouth watering, until a waiter noticed me and snapped at me to move along.
That night I slept beside a dumpster in a narrow alley because the walls blocked the wind. The ground was hard, the smell was awful, and every noise made me jump awake. I spent most of the night staring into the darkness, wondering who I had been before my life disappeared.
Days blurred into weeks.
Weeks blurred into months.
Eventually the months became years.
Street life didn't transform me overnight. It wore me down slowly, piece by piece, like water eroding stone. I learned where to find food when restaurants closed, which alleys were safe to sleep in, and which people to avoid. Some days a stranger would hand me leftovers with awkward kindness. Other days someone would scream at me to get away like I was something disgusting.
But the streets taught you one rule above all others.
Stay invisible.
Because the moment people notice you, you become a problem they want to erase.
So I became quiet. Small. Forgettable.
And for three years, I survived like a ghost drifting through the city.
Until one night... everything changed.
It was raining.
Not the soft, peaceful kind of rain people liked to watch from their windows, but the harsh kind that slammed against the pavement and turned the streets into rivers of filthy water. Within minutes my sweater was soaked through, the cold clinging to my skin like icy fingers.
I had curled up in my usual spot behind a convenience store, wrapped in a thin blanket beside a rusted dumpster. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the alley before darkness swallowed everything again.
I was just starting to drift into uneasy sleep when I heard footsteps.
Fast.
Uneven.
Someone was running.
No... stumbling.
The sound grew louder until a tall figure staggered into the alley, slamming against the brick wall as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Even in the little light I could see it.
Blood.
So much blood.
It soaked through his shirt and dripped down his arm onto the pavement.
My body went completely still.
Trouble.
Every instinct screamed at me to stay hidden. People bleeding in dark alleys meant gangs, criminals, or something worse-and people like me weren't supposed to get involved.
But then the man lifted his head.
Our eyes locked.
"Help… me," he rasped.
The words barely made it past his lips, his voice sounded raw and shredded like it had been dragged across broken glass. It was little more than a whisper—but I could tell it had taken everything he had left just to force it out.
Then voices exploded from the street outside.
"Check the alley!"
"He ran this way!"
The stranger's expression tightened with panic. Up close, I finally saw him properly.
Even half-dead on his feet, he looked… striking. Ruggedly handsome in a way that didn't belong anywhere near the streets. Rain clung to his dark hair, and beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt I caught flashes of black ink—tattoos crawling along his arm and disappearing beneath the torn sleeve. Blood soaked through the same shirt, spreading dark and heavy where a bullet had torn into him.
"Th-they're coming," he whispered hoarsely. "Please… hide me."
For half a second, I hesitated.
Then my body moved before my mind could stop it.
"Come here," I whispered urgently.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward my sleeping corner. He was heavier than I expected, leaning hard against me as if every step drained the last of his strength. Up close, the smell of rain, blood, and something sharp and metallic clung to him.
"Lie down," I whispered.
He looked confused.
"In the blankets. Hurry."
He collapsed beside me just as I threw my filthy blanket over both of us and curled my body against him, trying to make it look like two homeless people huddling together for warmth.
Beneath the blanket I could feel the heat of his body and the slow, sticky spread of blood against my arm.
My heart pounded so loudly I was certain it could be heard over the rain.
Then the footsteps entered the alley.
Three men appeared, their silhouettes sharp under the flickering streetlight. Even without seeing their faces clearly, I could feel the danger radiating from them.
One of them scanned the alley slowly.
For one horrible moment, his gaze landed on us.
I forced myself to look small.
Weak.
Invisible.
Just another homeless girl clinging to warmth beside a pile of garbage.
After a long, suffocating pause, the man scoffed.
"Damn it."
"He must've gotten away," another muttered.
A few seconds later, their footsteps faded into the rain.
Silence returned to the ally.
The stranger beside me finally released a shaky breath.
"You... saved my life," he murmured.
I lowered the blanket slowly and looked at him again; his handsome and strong features where pale from blood loss.
"You're hurt," I said quietly.
"It's nothing," he muttered.
"You're bleeding too much for it to be nothing."
A weak laugh escaped him.
"You're observant."
"What's your name?" he asked after a moment.
"May," I said quietly.
I wasn't sure why my voice suddenly sounded so small. Maybe it was because a man like him—someone who clearly didn't belong in the dirt and rain of an alley—was asking for the name of someone like me. A street rat.
For some reason, it made heat creep up the back of my neck.
"May," he repeated slowly, like he was testing the weight of the word… like it actually mattered.
Then he looked at me and said, "I'm Danny."
A week later, Danny came back.
But this time he wasn't bleeding in an alley.
He wore an expensive black suit, his black hair was neatly styled, and three large bodyguards stood behind him like silent shadows.
He crouched in front of me on the dirty pavement without hesitation.
"You saved my life, May," the way he said my name made my heart skip and my cheeks flushed.
"You don't owe me anything," I replied quickly.
His gaze softened.
"Oh May, I owe you everything." he replied with a smile; then he held out his hand. "Come with me."
"To where?" I asked quietly.
"A better life."
His voice was gentle. His eyes were warm.
And for the first time in three years...
Something fragile inside my chest began to hope.
Slowly, hesitantly-
I reached for his hand.
And I believed him.