Tainted Embrace

Natalie Walker had her sights set on a much bigger prize.

Ethan Blackwood could singlehandedly propel her to international stardom if she played her cards right. And with a face like his? If it took a few casting couch encounters to secure her future, she wouldn't hesitate for a second.

The air was cold, the chill seeping into Lily's skin.

Between her legs, the sharp sting of pain and the unbearable discomfort made her legs give out beneath her. She slumped against the chain-link fence, unable to hold herself upright any longer.

It had happened.

A stranger had taken everything from her.

Lily Anderson - had she ended up like this?

All for the sake of a tabloid scoop? Was it worth it?

Her shoulders trembled uncontrollably.

Tears she had been trying to hold back finally spilled over.

Her slender fingers clutched the collar of her torn blouse as she broke into quiet, gut-wrenching sobs.

She pulled off her sweater and tied it around her waist, using it to cover the humiliating remnants of her skirt. Only then did she force herself to move, returning to the small courtyard house she called home—or rather, the house that belonged to her uncle?

As she stepped inside, her uncle, Robert, emerged from the living room, adjusting his work bag over his shoulder.

"Lily, you were out all night staking out that lead. Did you catch any footage of the so-called 'mystery figure'?" His voice was casual, unaware of the storm raging inside her.

At forty-eight, Robert was balding, his beer belly straining against his shirt. He wasn't a successful man, running a struggling magazine that always seemed to be on the verge of shutting down.

Lily forced a smile. "No, nothing."

She had captured something far more significant than any mystery figure—something that could have saved the magazine from collapse.

But now?

She had lost more than just a scoop.

"Well, that's how it goes sometimes," Robert said with a sigh, reassuring her shoulder before heading out the door. "I'm off to work."

A shrill, bitter voice rang out inside the house when he left.

"This life is unbearable! Robert, other men work hard to move their families into bigger homes, but you? You're a failure! A useless man dragging us into the gutter! And now we've got that freeloader living off us for nine years!"

Lily didn't need to ask.

She knew exactly who her aunt was talking about.

Her.

Nine years ago, she had been just a middle school girl.

Her father's company had gone bankrupt overnight. He was arrested and thrown into prison without a second thought.

Her mother—unable to bear the shame—jumped from a building.

One day, she had been a pampered princess, adored and admired.

The next, she was nothing more than an outcast—shunned by everyone.

She had no idea where she would have ended up if not for Robert. He had taken her in, given her a place to stay, and let her work at the magazine.

Lily shut the door behind her, blocking her aunt's relentless complaints.

She headed straight for the bathroom, turning on the shower.

The water, as always, was lukewarm—never truly warm, never genuinely comforting.

As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, her breath hitched.

Her once-pristine skin was now marked by bruises—deep, angry red imprints where he had gripped her too tightly.

The memory of him—of everything he had done—came rushing back with horrifying clarity.