The door creaked open again.

Rose stirred at the sound, her weak body curled up on the bare mattress, trembling. Two men stepped in. One was shorter, with a black hoodie and a trembling hand that flicked the light switch on for a split second.

Rose squinted, her bruised eyelids lifting just barely. Her gaze found the second man. His face is partly familiar. It sent a pulse of hope through her battered body.

She tried to lift her arm. To speak. To scream.

But before she could utter a word, the shorter one lunged forward, pressing a cloth laced with chemicals over her mouth and nose. Rose jerked once, twice her limbs flailing in instinctive protest. Then… stillness.

Darkness returned.

The door shut again.

At approximately 5:30 p.m. that same day, a teenage girl walking home from a nearby mechanic shop spotted something by the bush path along the highway near Angwa Junction. At first, she thought it was just a pile of torn clothing dumped beside the road.

But then, the clothing moved.

She gasped, running back to the road to wave down the first motorcycle she could find. Within minutes, a crowd had gathered. Women screamed. Men stood frozen. Someone had already dialed emergency services. Her bruised face. Her bloodied clothes.

The tears dried on her cheeks. Someone threw a wrapper over her trembling frame. She was breathing, but unconscious.

Rose Kurt had been found.

But she would never be the same.

****

At home, her mother had spent the entire night on her knees, praying her rosary beads clenched so tightly in her fists they left deep red marks in her palms. Abigail had called everyone they knew. Even Diego’s number had been dialed over and over again until it rang into silence.

That moment, when the hospital called to say Rose had been brought in, her mother dropped to the floor and wept not in relief, but in dread.

Because deep down, she already knew.

The Rose that left the shop for her wedding gown fitting… would never be the one who returned.

Rose was rushed to the hospital immediately after she was found. Her body was bruised, her spirit almost gone, and her consciousness drifting in and out. The paramedics who picked her up said they found her barely breathing by a bush pathway.

Her mother had not stopped crying since the call came in. One look at her daughter's face was all it took for her knees to give way. Abigail held her up as nurses ushered them into the emergency ward.

Doctors confirmed what Rose’s loved ones feared most, she had been drugged, molested, and left for dead. It was a scene that shook the hospital to its very core, and word quickly spread about the girl who had just gotten engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in the country.

Diego arrived at the hospital almost immediately after receiving the call. Disoriented, furious, and guilt-ridden, he pushed past security, storming into the ward. His guards could barely keep up. But when he saw her lying there still and broken his knees buckled.

Diego Edwards, the same man known for his cold control and indifference, wept uncontrollably at the sight of his fiancée.

He hadn’t even noticed the camera lights flashing outside the hospital. The media had caught wind of the incident, and rumors were already swirling.

Some believed it was a plot to ruin the wedding, while others speculated it was a lover’s revenge. But one thing was clear: Diego was a man shattered, and Rose… Rose was forever changed.

The days that followed were full of chaos. Rose remained sedated for a while. Her physical wounds were being treated, but the emotional damage ran deeper. Diego never left her side. Her mother and Abigail took turns sleeping by her bed, praying in turns, and keeping the press away.

When Rose finally opened her eyes, she didn't speak. She didn't scream. She just stared into the distance, as if her soul had taken refuge in another world. Abigail tried to cheer her up, but even her best jokes couldn’t lift the cloud that hovered over her friend.

Diego held her hand, whispering apologies over and over again. He blamed himself. If only he hadn’t taken that meeting. If only he had insisted she went home with the driver. If only he had known someone out there was capable of doing this.

The police were already investigating. Security footage from the wedding gown boutique was reviewed. Witnesses were questioned. But it all led nowhere.

The only clue they had was what Rose mumbled in her sleep, something about tattooed hair and a voice that reeked of alcohol.

Meanwhile, Kimberly Edwards and Julia sat quietly in their luxury apartment watching the news. Julia feigned concern, but her eyes had a hidden smirk. Kimberly, however, seemed nervous. "This is bad. Too bad. I didn’t want this," she muttered, pacing the floor.

Julia poured herself a glass of wine. "Relax. The wedding's probably off now. That’s what you wanted, right?"

Kimberly didn’t reply. Deep down, she hadn’t wanted things to go this far. She just wanted Diego to rethink marrying someone as "ordinary" as Rose. But this? This was criminal.

***

Back at the hospital, Rose finally spoke. Her voice was hoarse, but clear enough. "I want to go home."

Her mother looked at the doctor for approval. The doctor hesitated but eventually agreed. "She’ll need rest. And therapy. A lot of it. But if home is where she’ll feel safe, then let her go."

Diego offered to fly her out of the country for special care, but Rose shook her head. "No. I want to be home. I need to feel familiar things again."

And so, with Diego’s security stationed around the clock, Rose was taken back to her mother’s small apartment. The media remained relentless. Reporters camped outside the building. Online trolls speculated about everything from staged drama to lies.

Rose even became the butt of tasteless memes and cruel hashtags. #BrokenBride trended for a full day.

Still, in the quiet of her room, Rose tried to reclaim parts of herself. She sat by the window each morning, sipping warm tea, sometimes writing in the journal Abigail gifted her.

Diego visited daily, bringing her books, flowers, and even a rescued puppy. He named it Hope. "Because that’s what you gave me the day you said yes," he whispered.

Rose smiled faintly. It was the first time in days.

Each night, she tried to sleep. But the nightmares returned. The faceless man. The alcohol. The slap. The memory of her helplessness. And always, the tattoo.

She kept hearing his laughter in her head.

Diego noticed the growing darkness in her eyes. He asked the therapist to increase her sessions. She agreed. She wanted to heal. But she also wanted justice.

One night, while going through news footage with Abigail, Rose paused the screen.

"Wait," she whispered.

Abigail leaned closer. "What is it?"

Rose pointed. "That man… in the background. I think I’ve seen that face before. In the room. He came in just before I passed out again."

Abigail looked closely. The man was in a cap and hoodie. The image was blurry, but it was something. Rose forwarded the clip to Diego’s investigator.

The wheels of justice began to turn.

And just like that, Rose found a reason to fight again. She wasn’t just the bride who was left behind. She was the survivor who refused to be silenced.

She was ready to reclaim her story.

She was ready to get justice for what happened to her.