The air hung heavy, thick with the intoxicating scent of jasmine and a chilling undercurrent of fear. Rosslyn, lay beneath the weight of a stranger, his rough touch a jarring contrast to the delicate blooms of the jasmine that wafted through the window. She was trapped, a bird caught in a hunter's snare, her breath shallow and quick.

"Fiona," the man murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent another shiver down her spine. "I love you."

But Rosslyn, her mind still clinging to the edges of a nightmare, couldn't quite grasp the reality of the situation. She wondered if it was all a dream, a cruel and twisted fantasy, or a horrifyingly real event.The remnants of the nightmare clung to Rosslyn like a damp, chilling shroud. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the terror of her dream. "S--stop!" she whispered, the words catching in her throat. She sat up, the crisp cotton sheets rustling around her, and stared at the man beside her. He was still asleep, his back to her, his dark hair a mess of tousled waves against the pillow.

The memory of the night before, the whirlwind of emotions, the intoxicating rush of connection, all came flooding back. It was a blur, a kaleidoscope of stolen glances, whispered confessions, and the electric thrill of their first kiss. She had never felt so alive, so seen, so understood. Yet, the nightmare had shattered that fragile sense of security, leaving her with a gnawing unease. After all the man beside her was her sister's boyfriend Damian.

"Mm," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She couldn't quite grasp the reality of the situation, the dizzying heights of their newfound intimacy. The man stirred, his back still turned towards her. He mumbled something unintelligible, his voice husky with sleep.

Rosslyn reached out, her fingers tentatively brushing against his bare arm. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to pull him closer, to seek comfort in his presence like last night, but a wave of fear washed over her. What if this was all a dream, a fleeting illusion? What if she woke up tomorrow and found herself alone, the memory of the night before fading like morning mist?

She drew her hand back, her heart aching with a bittersweet longing. The man shifted, his back still facing her, and she felt a pang of disappointment. He was still asleep, oblivious to her internal turmoil.

Rosslyn lay back down, the sheets tangled around her legs. She closed her eyes, trying to force the nightmare out of her mind, but the images lingered, a dark stain on the canvas of her happiness. She knew she couldn't hide from the truth, from the fear that gnawed at her. She had to face it, to understand it.

But how could she when the man beside her was still asleep, his presence a comforting weight, a reminder of the night before, something real, something beautiful? She wished she could rewind time, relive the night, savor every moment, every touch, every stolen glance. But time, like a relentless river, flowed forward, carrying her towards an uncertain future.

Rosslyn sighed, her breath a soft whisper against the cool air. She knew she had to talk to him, to share her fears, to understand what this meant, what they meant to each other. But for now, she would simply let the silence envelop her, a comforting cocoon of shared intimacy, a fragile hope for a future that was yet to be written.

Rosslyn reached for her phone, checking the time. It was only 3:00 AM. Exhausted, she drifted back to sleep, her body heavy with weariness.

But a cold splash of water jolted her awake.

"What the—" she began, but a stinging slap landed on her face, fully rousing her from her slumber. The hand belonged to her sister, Vivian, whose tear-filled eyes blazed with anger.

"How could you?!" she shrieked.

"Babe, I don't know how I ended up here, or what happened. I was drunk last night," Damian stammered, his voice laced with panic.

"How could you do this, Damian? She's my sister!" Vivian cried, collapsing onto the floor, her sobs echoing through the room.

Damian, his face pale with panic, quickly gathered his scattered clothes. He approached Vivian, reaching out to hug her. "I'm so sorry, Viv. I don't know how to explain it. I... I don't know how I ended up in Rosslyn's room."

Rosslyn watched, her heart twisting in her chest as she saw the man she had dreamt of countless times holding her sister in a comforting embrace. The pain cut deep, a searing wound that threatened to consume her. She picked up her clothes, her hands trembling as she put them on, feeling as though she was putting on a mask to hide the devastation within.

"What happened here?" Travis, their older brother, entered the room. He was the same age as Damian, and his expression held a mix of concern and confusion.

"Bro, I don't know how in the hell I ended up here. I'm so sorry," Damian said, his voice tight with distress.

A stinging slap landed on Rosslyn's face, the force of it sending a wave of shock through her. "You bitch!" Travis roared, his finger jabbing towards her. His eyes, filled with a volcanic rage, were locked on her, his fury a tangible presence in the room. He saw his precious little sister in tears, and it ignited a firestorm within him. "Why did you go after Damian? If you're in need, look for someone else. Slut!" he spat, his words dripping with venomous disdain. He seemed oblivious to the pain he was inflicting, not even acknowledging that she was his sister too.

Rosslyn stared at Damian, still holding Vivian in a comforting embrace, his words of apology a repetitive mantra that seemed to offer no solace. Their eyes met, hers brimming with tears, his emotionless and cold, as if she were nothing more than a speck of dust on the floor.

She lowered her head, defeated. Trying to explain herself felt futile; they all accused her as if this were something she had deliberately sought out. The truth was, she had no recollection of the night after she retreated to her room, exhausted and drunk. She'd chalked it up to a dream, nothing more, until she was abruptly awakened at 3:00 AM seeing Damian by her side.

Too tired to defend herself, and knowing no one would truly care for her explanation, she picked up her purse, her heart heavy with heartache and tears. She left the room, her shoulders slumped with a crushing sense of despair.

Tears streamed down her face as she walked away from the mansion, her steps heavy with grief. She walked, sobbing, until she reached the main gate, her heart a shattered mirror reflecting the pain of a love that had never truly been. She hailed a taxi, her sobs muffled against the back of the seat, and drove back to her condo.

Once inside, she collapsed on her bed, her body racked with sobs that echoed through the empty room. She curled up, seeking solace in the familiar comfort of her bed, and finally, as exhaustion claimed her, she drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams filled with the ghosts of a love that had once seemed so real, but now felt like a fading echo of the past.

Three months later, Rosslyn found herself deeply engrossed in her work, her focus laser-sharp. A sudden buzz from her phone startled her, pulling her out of her concentration.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice a little strained, not bothering to check who was calling.

"Come home," the voice boomed over the line, a familiar authority that sent a shiver down her spine. "There's a family dinner later. You must come." Before she could respond, the call abruptly ended. She recognized the voice instantly, her father's, a man who had always favored her older sister, Vivian.

"What occasion could warrant a family dinner?" she wondered, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. Since the incident, she had avoided returning home, her heart still heavy with the pain of that night.

Time ticked by, and when she finally glanced at her watch, it was already 6:00 PM. She quickly hopped on her motorbike and sped home, heading straight for her condo. She took the elevator to her floor, and once inside, rushed through a quick shower.

Emerging from the bathroom, she blow-dried her hair, pulling on a pair of gray jogger pants, a black t-shirt a little too big for her, and a black baseball cap. She finished off her outfit with a pair of white sneakers, then grabbed her black backpack and headed out.

She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of her family’s sprawling mansion.

The imposing black gates with their gilded accents swung open after a twenty-minute drive, and as Rosslyn entered the sprawling grounds, a wave of heartache washed over her. She had never thought this day would come, especially after the incident. If not for her father’s insistence, she would never have stepped foot in this mansion again.

A maid, her face impassive, held the door open, a respectful gesture that was entirely foreign to Rosslyn. She had always been treated as an outsider by the family's servants, an invisible presence in their world. "Welcome home, miss," the maid said, her voice laced with a politeness that felt almost forced.

"Don't act," Rosslyn snapped, brushing past her.

The dining table was already buzzing with conversation, the family clearly well into their meal. Rosslyn felt a surge of resentment, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She refused to show it, unwilling to start another argument that would only leave her feeling more isolated and alone.

"Vivian was hungry, so we started," her mother said, her tone clipped and unwelcoming. "Have a seat." Rosslyn felt the weight of her family's indifference, their lack of genuine warmth making her feel even more unwelcome.

After taking her seat, Rosslyn glanced at the spread of food on the table—all of Vivian's favorites. A wave of nausea washed over her, the food suddenly feeling like a physical embodiment of her family's favoritism.

She spotted the maid standing nearby. "Excuse me," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Do you have soup?"

The maid seemed flustered, her eyes darting between Rosslyn and the table laden with food.

"You don't like the food that was prepared here?" her mother’s voice, dripping with icy disapproval, cut through the air. "Don't you feel embarrassed to our visitors?"

"It's not that I don't like the food," Rosslyn said, her voice carefully controlled. "It's just a little too heavy for me. I haven't had lunch yet, and I thought a soup would settle my stomach."

Her mother's hand shot out, placing a bowl of sinigang shrimp in front of her. "It's a soup with shrimp," she said, her tone clipped and unsympathetic.

Rosslyn's heart plummeted. She was severely allergic to shrimp, and her mother knew it. A wave of anger surged through her, but she clenched her fists under the table, forcing herself to remain calm.

"Eat a lot, Sis," Michelle, her adopted sister who was only a year older, said, her voice brimming with a warmth that stung Rosslyn even more. Michelle, her parents' biological daughter, was showered with affection and love—a stark contrast to the icy indifference Rosslyn received.