Chapter 1
Sofia's POV
At 1 AM, I dragged my exhausted body home from the hospital. Twelve hours of night shift nursing had left me completely drained, but tomorrow was my wedding day, and I needed to look perfect.
The house was quiet, only the faint glow from the living room TV breaking the darkness. Mom and Richard must be asleep. I tiptoed upstairs, careful not to wake anyone. Tonight, I just wanted a quiet shower and some rest.
Steam filled the bathroom as hot water cascaded over my aching shoulders. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth envelop me, trying to relax my tense nerves.
Just as I was massaging shampoo into my scalp, the bathroom door suddenly swung open.
"Sorry, Sofia, I—"
I spun around to find my stepfather Richard standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed directly on me. Though the shower curtain covered most of my body, I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.
"GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!" My voice trembled with fury.
But Richard didn't leave immediately. He deliberately moved around the bathroom slowly, pretending to search for something. "I'm just looking for a towel, Sofia. You don't need to get so worked up."
His gaze wandered over me with that disgusting look that made me sick. I yanked the shower curtain tighter, wishing I could disappear completely.
"The towels are in the hallway closet! You KNOW that!"
Richard walked to the sink, deliberately opening drawers slowly. "Sofia," his voice carried that nauseating false tenderness, "tomorrow you're getting married. I'm really going to miss you..."
A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he turned to face me, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent, "you'll be leaving this house. As your father, of course I'll miss you."
"You're NOT my father!" I practically screamed.
This disgusting pervert! How dare he say this while I'm showering!
Just then, Mom's voice echoed from the hallway. "What's going on? Why all the noise so late?"
Richard's expression immediately changed to one of innocence. Mom appeared in the bathroom doorway, taking in the scene with furrowed brows.
"Richard, what are you doing in here?"
"Oh, Elena, I was just looking for a towel. Sofia's overreacting a bit." Richard shrugged, putting on his wounded act.
Mom looked at me, then at Richard, and finally sighed. "Sofia, you're being paranoid. Richard wouldn't do anything inappropriate. He just made an honest mistake."
My heart sank. Here we go again. She's defending this bastard again.
"Mom, he—"
"Enough, Sofia." Mom cut me off. "You've been too on edge lately. I understand pre-wedding stress, but don't read into innocent situations. Richard has been so good to us. Stop being suspicious."
Richard flashed a triumphant smile. "It's okay, Elena. Sofia's getting married tomorrow, so it's natural she's nervous. I understand."
I was shaking with rage but speechless. They tag-teamed me, painting me as some neurotic woman.
"Richard, please step out and let Sofia finish her shower." Mom spoke gently to Richard, then turned to me with a stern tone. "Sofia, get to bed early. Tomorrow's your big day. Stop making a scene."
After they both left, I collapsed against the wet tile wall, tears finally streaming down my face. Five years. Five whole years of this pervert harassing me, and Mom chooses to believe him every single time.
I quickly finished my shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and rushed to my room, locking the door behind me.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the white wedding dress hanging on my closet door. It looked so pure and beautiful, like something from another world.
I walked over and gently touched the lace trim on the skirt. Tomorrow, I would wear this and walk toward Todd, toward a new life.
But Richard's words and leering looks wouldn't let me find peace. I sat on the edge of my bed, remembering all the disgusting things he'd done over these five years.
The first time was on my 21st birthday. I was in the kitchen preparing cake when he suddenly hugged me from behind, calling it "fatherly love." When I broke free and told Mom, she said I was reading too much into it—Richard was just trying to show stepfather affection.
Then came countless "accidents." He'd always "walk into the wrong room" while I was showering, "knock on the wrong door" while I was changing, or make me sit next to him while watching TV so he could touch my leg or shoulder.
Every time I protested, Mom would say, "Richard has been so good to us. Don't be paranoid. He treats you like his own daughter."
His own daughter? What father looks at his daughter with THOSE eyes?
Since then, I'd tried to avoid being alone with Richard. I picked up extra night shifts, minimizing my time at home. But this house was too small—avoiding him completely was impossible.
Just then, I heard Richard's voice outside my door.
"Elena, I think Sofia has a real problem with me. She always treats me like I'm some kind of villain."
Mom's voice followed. "Don't take it personally, Richard. She's always been too sensitive. It's probably just pre-wedding stress. Once she's married, things will get better."
"But her misunderstanding me really hurts. I genuinely want to be a father to her, but she keeps pushing me away."
"I know, honey. That's just Sofia's personality—she's suspicious by nature. Don't let it get to you."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. They were discussing me right outside my door like I was some mentally unstable person. Mom actually called me suspicious by nature? She'd rather believe her husband than her own daughter.
I fought the urge to burst out and confront them. What was the point? She would never take my side.
My phone buzzed softly. A text from Todd: "Picking up my beautiful bride at 9 AM tomorrow. Love you."
Reading his message, warmth flooded my chest. I quickly composed myself and replied: "Can't wait to be your wife!"
The sooner tomorrow came, the better. Todd was my lifeline, my only escape from this toxic family. Just one more night. I could survive one more night.
I carefully hung the wedding dress in the closet and lay down, but sleep wouldn't come. I stared at the crack in the ceiling, repeating my mantra: "Tomorrow everything changes. Tomorrow, I start living for myself."