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Chapter 2 The Stranger

I lay there, a mix of vulnerability and awkwardness enveloping me as I rested next to him, my bare skin exposed to his gaze. The weight of his ominous silence amplified my unease, turning what should have been a tender moment into a knot of anxiety. This was my first time in the embrace of a man, a moment I had always imagined differently. I had pinned my hopes on William, believing he was the one meant for me, but reality had proven harshly otherwise.

As minutes stretched like eternity, the memory of the ordeal I had suffered at the hands of this stranger consumed me. He finally slid out of the bed, his half-naked form finding a place on the couch. The silence he carried with him deepened the chasm of my distress. Tears flowed unrestrained, each drop a testament to the profound loathing I felt for this despicable man who had violated my trust. The values ingrained within me during my years at the orphanage now lay shattered, a stark contrast to the compassion and kindness I had once believed in.

Amid the tempest of emotions, I found a shard of strength to voice my turmoil. "Why?" The word escaped my lips, a tremor of defiance underpinning it, "I didn't deserve this..."

Before I could finish, his voice sliced through, obstinate and unyielding. "You are Lily."

"Rose!" I cried out, a surge of fervor propelling the words, "My name is Rose, not Lily! How many times must I correct you?" Clutching the plush white linen blanket, I sought refuge within its folds, a feeble attempt to shield myself from the torment that raged around me.

Abruptly, his grip seized me, a force I couldn't muster the strength to resist. He led me to the bathtub, and I found myself submerged in water, the blanket slipping from my grasp. His touch on my shoulder was firm, his gaze fixated on something on my back. A pause, a moment of profound realization etched onto his features. Then, as if shocked by his discovery, he withdrew, retreating hastily from the bathroom.

When I emerged, the room was empty, a stark contrast to the overwhelming emotions that still echoed within me.

Looking at the wardrobe in the cabinet surprised me. It suggested that he was living with a woman and this is her room and belongings.

I couldn't help but marvel at the breathtakingly beautiful gowns hanging in the closet. Some of them were designs I had only seen in obscure catalogs that I stumbled upon in the orphanage's restricted library. The nuns had always enforced strict guidelines, limiting our reading to religious and moral literature. Yet, despite my devotion, I found myself questioning why God seemed to have forsaken me. Was I a cursed being to endure such a harrowing ordeal? I tossed all the past events and focused on the outfits in front of me.

As I dressed in the plain white blouse, thin jeans, and gray sweater that surprisingly fit me perfectly, my reflection in the mirror was a painful reminder of the ordeal I had been through. Tears welled up again, and I wiped them away hastily, trying to suppress the overwhelming emotions within me. I hurried to the door, desperate to escape the clutches of the stranger, only to find it locked from the outside. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks—I was his prisoner, and there seemed to be no way out.

Defeated, I returned to sit silently on the bed, my palms feeling the soft linen that offered some semblance of comfort. Memories of the orphanage where I had grown up alongside fifty other children crowded my mind. In that overcrowded room, I had found a place in the corner, but now, in this vast and unfamiliar room, I felt utterly lost and confused.

Lying down on the bed, I sought solace in its unusual comfort. The elegant design of the ceiling lights and the rich maroon velvet draping the walls gave the room an air of opulence, but it was a cold comfort in my current circumstances. Despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me for a while as my mind continued to race with fear and uncertainty.

Eventually, exhaustion overcame me, and I succumbed to the weight of my traumatic experience, drifting off into an uneasy slumber. As I slept, the darkness of the room seemed to mirror the darkness that had enveloped my life, leaving me uncertain about what the future held and how I would find a way to escape the clutches of this monstrous man.


The aroma of brewed coffee filled the air, abruptly awakening me from my uneasy slumber. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, reacting to the enticing smell. The stranger had returned to the room, sitting on the couch beside the table of food and fruits. He spoke in his deep voice, "Eat, Lily."

"My name is Rose, not Lily," I grumbled, determined to assert my identity.

He responded sternly, "You are Lily, and you must make amends for all the wrongs you've done to me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know anyone named Lily. But you owe me for the pain you've caused by raping me," I retorted, my voice firm. "You'll be in jail soon."

“Shut up, Lily,” His reply shocked me, “You’re Lily and you’re going to pay for what you did to me on our wedding day!”The mention of a wedding was unexpected and confusing. He said a lot of things against me that I had nothing to do with.

"You don't understand how it felt when your bride fled far away from you," he said bitterly, exposing a hidden layer of pain.

Now realizing that he had mistaken me for a runaway bride named Lily, I felt a mix of sympathy and fear for her plight. However, I was adamant in asserting my true identity as Rose.

"Help!" The desperate cry tore from my lips as I sprinted toward the door, a beacon of hope that someone beyond that threshold might hear and come to my aid. My heart pounded in rhythm with my footfalls, yet the response was a haunting silence that wrapped around me like a shroud.

His agitation surged, a palpable force that dragged me toward the mirror. His grip was unyielding, a vice that held me captive in his grasp. In one swift motion, a drawer yielded its contents – a photograph of a woman, forcefully meeting the mirror's surface with a resounding thud. "Look!" His voice crackled with pent-up fury, fingers trembling as he pointed to the image. "It's you!"

As my gaze met the photograph, reality splintered into shards. There I stood in the picture, an undeniable likeness to me, yet the circumstances defied comprehension. A rush of unease swept through me, like being trapped within a surreal, nightmarish realm.

A sickening sensation churned in my stomach, anxiety blooming like a poison within. "No..." The word was a feeble protest, an attempt to reject the maddening truth that was surfacing.

His grip tightened, an unrelenting force that stole any inkling of resistance. In that moment, I wished fervently for this to be a twisted dream, an illusion that would dissolve upon waking. The prayer that this nightmare wasn't real resounded within me as I hoped to be torn from this monstrous predicament.

“This is impossible,” I mumbled, my words fragile as I stared at the woman in the photograph – a face so much like mine yet so utterly alien. The image of Lily, her smile an enigmatic taunt, cast a shadow over my soul, a harbinger of upheaval that would alter the course of my life.

Mocking whispers brushed against my ear, his words a venomous confirmation. "Yes, it's true. That picture is real." His grip on my waist was invasive, his breath a chilling reminder of my captivity. “She is you.”

Tears traced wet trails down my cheeks as I stood frozen, stripped of agency, caught in a vortex of powerlessness. Once more, he led me back to the bed, a toss that echoed both threat and despair. The weight of his warning hung heavy – any defiance would exact a severe toll.

“Don’t try to escape from me,” He growled, “if you don’t want to regret it for the rest of your life.” He departed, leaving me to grapple with the dread that had become my companion.

Time stretched, an eternity of solitude, until exhaustion finally granted me a reprieve. He didn't return until sleep stole over me, a respite in the midst of the nightmare.

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