The lights flickered, making it absolutely impossible to register the face that was stalking her way, with slow deliberate steps. She could see that glint, however, the sinister glint of a nocturnal predator in his eyes. And her feet stumbled backward in their own accord, thundering heartbeats swirled around endlessly, like a broken record. When the back of her knees bumped into a soft surface, she fell backward. But instead of finding any softness colliding with her back, she landed on the floor. A loud shriek escaped her mouth.

"Don't, Mevil," she pleaded. "Stay away."

But he didn't. In the dark, she couldn't see his face, but somehow, she could feel him smirk.

Evil feeds on the fear that it emanates from people.

"Why would I stay away from you?" He asked.

But that voice didn't belong to Mevil. In her panicked state, sweating tremendously and trembling she realized that the voice was familiar, even if it was not Mevil's. She frowned.

Her vision blurred a little, and then it cleared as the man took another step forward. The light from the lamp-post outside the window seeped in through the slight gap of curtains, revealing the face finally.

Sofia's eyes widened, it was Max! How did Mevil become Max?

"It's our wedding night," he asserted, his long steps suddenly brought him extremely close to her, so close that his toe hit her swollen ankle, it throbbed in pain. "And I've all the right."

He sure had, hadn't he?

Her heart just stopped at that, in further panic and an onslaught of immense helplessness.

He crouched down over her on the floor, the lapels of his coat touched her chin, burning the skin when he leaned in. His eyes defined monstrosity and the contours of his jaw determined.

Right when, she thought, it couldn't get any worse, it did. Suddenly, the familiar stench tattooed in her mind of sweat and liquor and madness surrounded her. It came from him—from his very soul.

He had the face of a monster, the voice of madness, and the soul of the devil.

They were all the same.

In a bout of desperation, she tried to move away, but it was as if her limbs were made of lead. She tried to scream and slid off from underneath him, but none of her attempts succeeded.

Her fate was sealed.

"Give in already..."

--

Sofia woke up to smell tears on the pillow, it felt wet against her cheek. Even her neck felt damp.

She realized she was still mumbling incoherent words, pleading and begging and trembling. The realization made her put a stop to her violent sobs with a string of hiccups, but the trembling—that was completely out of her control.

She just focused on her breathing, thinking it might help.

Her eyes went in the direction of the open window where the gaped curtains quivered being gently hit by the wind. The darkness was slowly dissipating. Streaks of colors on the sky hinted it was nearing sunrise.

Sitting up on the bed, she groaned when her midriff protested. She really needed those painkillers soon.

Involuntarily, her eyes drifted to the spot where Max had stood just hours ago in front of her fallen form on the floor. The humiliation was still buzzing on her skin with vigor.

She recalled the look of rage in Max's eyes. She recalled how he'd inched closer. With his fist raised, intending to hurt, he looked so much like her father.

In reality, Max had left after that, but in her nightmare, he didn't. He stayed, and he took Mevil's place, completing what Mevil could not.

From Mevil, Max had saved her, but there was none to save her from him.

Sofia closed her eyes and sighed heavily in the empty room.

In her conscious mind, she had never seen Max like this before.

She never wanted to put him on the same pedestal as all the other cardinal evils of her life. But she was pining for a futile mission, it seemed. His incessant attempts had managed to win.

The slow increasing glow coming from the outside just enhanced the eerie darkness inside. Maybe because, more than the complete black, the darkness, that light tried to reach but frustratingly could not, was far more terrifying.

Getting out of bed, Sofia slowly walked to the window. As the fresh, cold breeze slapped against her face like a soothing balm, she closed her eyes momentarily in relief.

In her mind she kept on chanting—Max was neither Mevil, nor her father; he was none of them.

He had joked yesterday. A dry, pathetic joke. And she was too overwhelmed with the happenings of the last few days that she overreacted.

With the skies brightening, her senses began to get coherent too.

Sofia felt silly now, and embarrassed.

What he might be thinking of her? Weak, vulnerable, gullible?

No.

Her hands clenched against the window frame. She was not all those things. She had always been brave, no matter the fears inside. She was a fighter, slicing away relentlessly enemies in her way.

And she would be damned if fate now made her the otherwise. Because she just couldn't allow it to happen. Always she had been holding life by its neck, fighting every bump and blows that it had to offer. No matter what, now she wasn't going to change into some damsel in utter distress in front of that brute of a man—Max.

It was time she picked herself up, and figure out how to regain control of her life.

From where she stood now, it seemed quite impossible. And if anyone knew of what mess she was in, they would call her insane for trying to recover the ruins.

But didn't they also say that the earth is not round?

It was impossible to earn a million dollars in the timeline she had before her home, grampa's haven where granny's memories were in all nooks and corners, would be put up for auction.

Robert was going to give the money to save the house, true. But she could eventually pay it all back to him. Maybe it would take more than a year to pay back all the money, but this was a task she had to make sure was done.

Someday she would pay the debt and would gain back her dignity. That would be the day she walked out of this house, her prison—this marriage.

She would walk out with her head raised, proud and victorious.

The determination slowly replaced the helplessness in her heart. She reveled in the feeling of it. Nevertheless, the doubts remained and fright peeked up its ugly head from around the corner, and she knew she would have to find a way to deal with them.

And when she finally opened her eyes, it was the brilliant rays of the rising sun that caught her sight.

What dwells in the nights will stay frigid in dark, there was nothing right now she could do about that, but the days will mean light of hope that for her own sake she would never stop looking forward to.

--

After taking a long shower, washing away all the dirt of yesterday and the lingering smell of fear from the nightmare, Sofia stepped out of the steam-coated shower glass. There was already a towel along with other toiletries in the unnecessarily big and royal bathroom attached to the bedroom. She wrapped the fluffy towel around herself and frowned at the comfort it provided to her skin.

Way too much poshness.

She glanced at the Jacuzzi tub to her right, at the vast space beside the shower glass.

A fancy compartment at the opposite wall had a commode.

Between the bathing area and the fancy pooping platform was a pair of sinks—right before which she stood. And next to the sinks, on the wall was hung a floor-to-ceiling mirror with ceramic designs on the rims. There were even some orchids in a vase—which by the way looked antique, at one corner snug in front of the mirror.

For her own sanity, Sofia didn't dare open the cupboard. Who knew what more costly, luxurious items in there would be?

What an abnormal bathroom.

Sofia let out a long breath, feeling wary suddenly at being thrust into this queen-size lifestyle. And to make matters worse, she knew, this was just the minuscule beginning.

Her eyes strayed to her reflection in the mirror only to move her gaze away. The dark blue and purple bruises on her skin made her cringe. For some reason, looking at them increased the pain.

It is a purely psychological thing, that when you focus on your wounds they tend to hurt more, more than they normally do.

Behind the bathroom door was a row of hooks. She had hung her clothes there before stepping into the shower. They were the very same clothes she had worn yesterday—clothes she had worn while getting married. Her mouth stretched out into a smile of pain, but then she shook her head, sighed out the bitter memories, and, as quickly as possible, moved to put them on again.

While buttoning up her shirt, she thought with a groan that she had to collect all her belongings from home—from the Haydens'.

But would they even let her enter the house?

What if they were as disappointed in her as Robert was in Max?

And how many questions would they hurl her way even if they let her in?

Not that she didn't have any answers to them, she just didn't wish to go through that interrogation just yet. Way too many had transpired for her to explain them in toned-down, lie-coated words. For, surely she couldn't just give them the plain truth—the truth that was going to give away her injuries, that was going to reveal a Max her grampa had never seen before.

She could not risk her grandfather's already deteriorating health, knowing she would just cry simply by standing before him.

The weight of her miseries was her alone. She was not going to have another to get buried under it.

Sofia hated saints. Because, in a way, the entire process of sainthood was sadistic. Funnily though, she often found herself walking straight in the direction of that ridiculous process.

Maybe because it is not by choice, people do crazy things for love.

After much pondering, Sofia discovered another way to get some clothes. And not by collecting the ones at home. It crossed her mind that she had some old clothes of her stored at the diner for emergency purposes. Those would have to do for the time being.

Because buying new clothes was not even an option at the moment. She simply couldn't afford to waste money on that purpose, or any other purposes other than paying the debt.

She stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in her dirty shirt and tights from yesterday. It was uncomfortably contrasting to the freshness she had gained from taking the shower.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door, her ears perking up trying to detect any sound that would give a hint of Max's location in the house. So far, it was dead silent out there. And after a while, she doubted if he was even in the house. It was very much possible that he had gone out—to work, perhaps, or wherever the bloody hell he wanted to. And then, another minute later, she decided that she couldn't just hide inside this room anymore. She was hungry and she was desperate to get out of this house, which even when lit with immense light seemed haunted with darkness.

Walking down to the door, she yanked it open.

Looking right and left, she got out into the corridor and realized that the master bedroom was the last room on this floor. She didn't quite get the chance last night to get acquainted to her surroundings, considering she was roughly whisked away from the lounge area. The memory of Max carrying her all the while scowling had her now grit her teeth in irritation.

She located a few doors on her way, as she walked towards where she knew from last night the staircase was. There were some six rooms upstairs, she counted and made a mental note to check them out later.

A wise person once said — know thy arena of war.

Upon reaching the stairs, she climbed down slowly, hissing when her ankle hurt more than before. The neglect was showing its effect.

Sofia halted at the bottom of the stairs, hearing noises coming from the lounge area.

Her eyes zeroed in on a female figure, much younger than her, vacuuming the carpets. The girl was dressed formally and meticulously in a white button-up shirt, dress pants, and an apron. It made Sofia feel like she was in a posh hotel or a hospital where dressed staff worked looking as impeccable as their employers.

The girl looked up a while later, her eyes widening at the sight of Sofia, and then recovering from the initial surprise, she greeted Sofia with a soft smile.

"Good morning, ma'am," The woman said. "I hope I didn't wake you by all the noise here, sir will be displeased if he gets to know I did."

"What?" Sofia's brow crunched in confusion. Why would any supposed sir get displeased if this girl woke her up?

Not giving Sofia any time to transform her confusion into words, the woman bounded near her. "By the way, ma'am, I'm Debbie, at your service." And then Debbie bowed deeply when she raised her head, she looked taken aback by her own action.

This was a cheerful girl firmly trying to be serious during work.

Sofia couldn't help but smile. A real smile, after so—so long.

She heaved a breath—a long, shaky breath. And it seemed as though some of the suffocating steam had been released from her chest. "Can you show me the kitchen, Debbie? And call me Sofia, please."

"Sure, ma'am." Debbie beamed, totally disregarding Sofia's second request.

--

Sofia sat there at the dining table sometime later, chewing on a morsel of toasted bread.

She had to practically command Debbie to not make breakfast for her and go back to her cleaning. She had further added that the girl could go home and rest now, for she was herself capable of doing all the household chores alongside managing her business. After all, she had been doing all that for years now. And Debbie had looked at Sofia after that speech as if she was looking at the idol of a Goddess.

Debbie had left saying these exact words without further ado—"Mr. Winder's lucky to have you."

Sofia had snorted.

He didn't have her, he had bloody captured her.

There was a huge difference between the two. Also, by the way, she doubted if he thought himself lucky on the fact that he had her.

Sofia swallowed down the last bit of her breakfast and sipped the coffee. The caffeine quickly chased away the fog in her mind that somehow had managed to still linger after that repulsive nightmare of last night.

Debbie peeked in right then. "Ma'am, you have got a guest waiting in the living room." And she left as quickly as she had emerged.

Sofia shook her head. She had an inkling that Debbie was keeping an eye on her discreetly, otherwise, how did she even know that she was done eating?

Quickly, Sofia took the dishes to the kitchen sink and washed them, all the while wondering who was this guest waiting on her, that too, this early in the morning.

It was Neil.

When Sofia entered the living room, she found Neil perched on the sofa, one of his legs bouncing, showing his anxious state.

Neil looked up when she cleared her throat. She could feel his eyes digging a hole through the side of her face as she went to the sofa opposite to him.

"Uncle has been keeping me impossibly busy with all the paper-works at the office since the last two days." Neil blabbered out quickly, his eyes guilty.

Sofia kept her expression calm and collected. "So?"

"You never picked up my calls," like Neil had turned bipolar, he fiercely accused Sofia. "And then, I get a call from Max yesterday telling me that you two... that you two GOT MARRIED! It's Max's sheer luck that an emergency has popped up over there in London that needed to be sought out by uncle himself. His flight was last night. The reason why Max didn't start getting bombarded immediately after the news of your elopement and hasty wedding got out."

"Neil—"

"Sofia, I know for a fact that you would never elope and marry like this, and I don't believe the scandal that's all over the news, no matter what people say. But—" He deflated suddenly. "What is going on, Sofi? I can bet this was Max's idea. That foolish man refuses to talk to anyone about his issues and just keeps on assuming nonsense. Did he behave too roughly with you? Sofi, are you alright?" His tone revolved to deep worry at the end.

And Sofia looked away, blinking, trying to push back her tears.

It affected her so much, made her so emotional, that someone had at least thought to ask if she was alright. Even if no one could do anything for her, not after all that had transpired already, the care, the worry—it made her want to curl up into a ball, sob, and scream all her problems out from within the painful cage of her chest. It made her want to hope, get an assurance that everything would be alright soon.

But what she did was the exact opposite. "It's nothing that I can't handle, Neil. I'm the hell-dog Sofi, remember?"

It was a slip-up. She cringed visibly, recalling who gave her the name hell-dog which had originated from her surname Hayden.

The knowing smile on Neil's face announced that he'd remembered as well.

Max was that much weaved into all the threads of her life. And she did not know at this point how to separate him from her without tearing herself in the process.

Sofia glared at Neil. And the smile briskly evaporated from his face.

"You're invincible, true," Neil said after giving her a long, incredulous look. "But you're a great liar, too. You're not fine, Sofia."

Because, even this hell-dog had a sensitive, beating heart in its chest. A heart that could get hurt deeply, despite all the brave smiles on her face, worn after shedding each drop of tears, in secrecy.

When Sofia kept quiet, Neil sighed.

Leaning forward, he reached out to place a hand on top of hers. "I won't be able to change what has already been done. And knowing you, I suspect you'll ever include me in your future battles, you lone ranger." Neil grumbled, scowling.

One side of her lips lifted up into a small smile.

He continued, "But remember that I'll be there for you always, you just need to let me know, Sofi. You tell me and I will beat my own cousin, no matter if he's older and taller than me."

Sofia nodded, feeling grateful for having such a wonderful friend.

Life wasn't just offering her lemons it seemed.

"I will," she nodded fiercely again. "When I'm out of limbs and can't fight anymore."

They stared at each other in silence for a second until they both burst out laughing.

Fate has ludicrous ways of inflicting wounds one moment and spreading balm upon them the very next.