The silence was suffocating.

Rose’s eyes fluttered open, but her head pounded too violently for her to understand where she was. The air was cold,clammy, even and thick with the sharp scent of alcohol and dampness.

Her fingers brushed against something soft beneath her: a mattress. Old, possibly used by too many people.

There was another mattress close by, equally thin and worn, with stains that made her skin crawl.

She sat up slowly, her limbs aching, her dress bunched around her waist, shoes missing. The room was dimly lit by a weak light bulb dangling from the ceiling, swinging slightly, casting distorted shadows on the cracked, mold-stained walls.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

There were no windows. Only a tiny square opening near the ceiling, and from it came the sound of men laughing drunken, guttural laughter that made her entire body freeze.

Where was she?

What happened after the gown fitting?

She remembered…

The boutique.

Diego’s sudden emergency call.

The driver left with him.

Her, calling her mom that she’d be heading home alone…

And then the car that pulled up.

Her breath hitched.

The hand. The handkerchief. The sharp smell. The struggle.

Then blackness.

“God,” she whispered. “No… no, no, no.”

Suddenly, the rusty door creaked open and slammed against the wall. Her breath stopped in her throat. A large shadow stepped in, filling the frame. He was tall, massive even and his silhouette reeked of menace.

The flickering light outside caught his form just enough to make out part of his face. She couldn’t tell who he was, only his staggering legs, the wild look in his eye, and the faint outline of a tattoo trailing down the back of his neck and arm.

“Look who’s awake,” he slurred, stepping toward her with a wobble.

She backed away until her spine hit the cold wall, eyes wide with terror.

“Please… please let me go.”

He only chuckled. “You shouldn’t have said yes to him. Pretty girls like you should know when they’re not welcome.”

Rose’s blood ran cold.

This was because of Diego. The proposal.

“Who sent you?” she cried. “What do you want from me?!”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached behind and pulled out a flask, unscrewed it, took a long swig, and then forced it toward her face. The stench was unbearable.

“Drink. Loosen up.”

“No!”

She tried to slap the bottle away, but he grabbed her hair violently and shoved the flask against her lips. She struggled, kicked, flailed but he overpowered her like a ragdoll.

“I said drink!”

The liquid burned down her throat as he forced it in. She gagged and tried to spit it out, but he touched her hard, sending her crashing into the mattress.

“Now… let’s have some fun.”

He hovered over her, grabbing at her dress, tearing it. Rose screamed until her throat hurt but the music and laughter outside masked her cries. She fought, scratched, begged but he was stronger. His breath stunk of beer, his weight crushing her.

As he climbed over her, something inside her broke.

She stopped moving.

Stopped fighting.

Her mind drifted not out of consent, but out of trauma. She escaped into a memory…

A little girl watching her father walk out of their house, suitcases in hand, while her mother begged him not to leave.

“You’re not worth staying for,” he had said.

That memory wrapped around her like a noose.

And now here she was, again, abandoned. Powerless. Alone.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

She saw nothing but his tattoo. She would never forget it, the write up like a name in Spanish, etched in red and black ink. That would be the only thing she remembered of him.

When it was over, he stumbled off her, belching, laughing like he’d won something. He walked out without looking back and slammed the door shut.

Rose curled into herself, her arms folded tight around her chest, what remained of her torn dress offering no warmth.

She didn’t cry.

She was too numb for that.

She just lay there, still… broken.

***

Meanwhile…

At home, Rose’s mother, Mrs. Kurt, sat by the kitchen table, her phone clutched tightly in both hands. The wall clock ticked past 2:43 AM, and there was still no sign of her daughter.

She had called eleven times.

The boutique had said Rose left hours ago.

Something wasn’t right.

“She always calls back,” she whispered. Her heart was racing now, cold sweat forming under her headscarf. “Lord, please bring my child home.”

Her eyes flicked to the old wooden crucifix above the door.

“I’ve lost so much already. Please don’t take my only child.”

She dialed again. Voicemail.

She tried Abigail, Rose’s best friend.

“Abigail… is she with you?”

“No, Ma. She told me Diego left her at the shop, and she was going home. I thought she was with you!”

Panic bloomed in her chest.

Mrs. Kurt collapsed into the wooden chair, trembling.

***

Hours passed.

Rose remained on the mattress, barely blinking.

At one point, a woman in her late thirties, heavy mascara, chewing gum came in and threw a blanket over her. She didn’t say anything, just looked at Rose with something between pity and indifference.

“He ain’t coming back tonight,” she muttered. “Sleep. You’ll need your strength.”

Then she left.

But Rose didn’t sleep.

She just stared at the ceiling.

Time didn’t exist anymore.

***

When morning finally broke, the weak rays of sunlight barely made it through the barred window. Rose's face was pale, eyes hollow. Her wrists bore red marks from the struggle. Her body ached all over.

But worse than her body was her heart.

She had never felt more ashamed. More used. More discarded.

Everything she thought she had love, respect, dignity was stripped from her in one night.

***

Back at the Edwards estate, Diego was pacing in front of his phone.

“No, I told you to trace her number again! She hasn’t responded to any messages and her mom says she never made it home!”

He was furious and scared. His gut had been twisted all night.

“Sir,” his security head replied, “we’ve checked the gown store. They confirmed she left alone around 7:30. CCTV lost her trail around Eleko junction. We’re pulling more footage.”

Diego’s voice cracked.

“Find her. I don’t care what it costs. Just find her!”

He slammed the phone and walked to the window, knuckling white with rage. He had failed her.

***

And somewhere… miles away…

Rose Kurt stared at her reflection in a tiny cracked mirror on the wall.

Bruised. Dirty. Robbed of everything but one thing, her soul.

She didn’t know how she would recover.

But she was still alive.

And just then, the door cracked open again.