Lily’s POV. Shattered Illusions
880 Words
When Vivian suddenly dropped the charges against me, I knew deep down she had orchestrated the entire setup.
Still, with the accusations cleared, I decided to take a few days off to visit my parents — I hadn’t seen them in too long.
The tension at the Beckett mansion had become unbearable.
I needed distance.
I needed air.
The morning I was supposed to leave, Julian offered to drive me home himself.
But I insisted on going alone.
After lingering kisses and warm hugs, I promised him I’d call when I arrived safely.
I never made it home that day.
⸻
As I walked down the familiar streets, lost in thought, I didn’t notice the van pulling up beside me until it was too late.
Rough hands grabbed me.
A cloth, heavy with chemicals, was pressed over my nose and mouth.
I fought — I tried to fight — but my body betrayed me, growing sluggish, heavy.
The world tilted and spun before darkness swallowed me whole.
⸻
When I came to, the sun had long since set.
I was lying on a cold, unfamiliar floor, stripped bare.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
My head throbbed.
My body ached.
And terror clawed at my chest as memories flickered at the edge of my mind — broken images, flashes of hands and laughter and pain.
Panic gripped me.
I scrambled to find my scattered clothes, pulling them on with trembling hands, and stumbled out into the night.
Somehow, I found my way back to my parents’ house.
But when I walked through the door, I said nothing.
How could I tell them?
How could I explain something I didn’t even fully remember?
Shame burned in my veins, heavier than blood.
I pretended nothing was wrong.
For days, I smiled through the nightmare.
Until Julian called.
⸻
His name flashing across my screen should have brought relief.
Instead, a knot of dread twisted in my stomach.
“Hey,” I answered, trying to sound casual.
“Can we meet?” His voice was stiff. Formal.
Anxiety gnawed at my insides.
This wasn’t Julian.
Not my Julian.
“Sure. Where?”
He gave me a location.
No small talk.
No warmth.
Just a cold, abrupt end to the call.
Something was terribly wrong.
⸻
When I arrived, Julian was already waiting.
His posture was rigid. His eyes guarded.
I rushed toward him, instinctively reaching for a hug, but he stepped back.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and held it out to me.
I looked.
My heart stopped.
There, displayed on the screen, was a photo — me — unconscious and vulnerable.
Men around me.
Leering.
Laughing.
I staggered back, bile rising in my throat.
“Julian… I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I was terrified,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face.
“All this time,” he said quietly, his voice dripping with betrayal.
“I thought I knew you.”
“No, Julian! That’s not what it looks like — please, listen to me—”
He raised a hand, cutting me off.
“I’ve already spoken to the men in the picture. They claim they paid you. They even showed me the receipts.”
His voice cracked.
“I trusted you. I loved you.”
I shook my head desperately.
“They’re lying! I was kidn*pped, Julian! I swear.
“There’s nothing more to say.” His words were cold. Final.
“My family warned me about you. I should’ve listened.”
He turned away.
“Julian, please don’t do this,” I sobbed, reaching out.
But he was already gone.
I stumbled home, heartbroken and hollow.
My parents’ worried faces blurred through my tears, but I couldn’t find the words to explain.
How do you tell the people who love you most that you’ve lost everything?
Days passed.
Then weeks.
I stopped eating.
Stopped sleeping.
I wandered the house like a ghost, mourning a love that had been ripped away by lies and cruelty.
I was dying inside.
Eventually, my body gave out too.
My parents, desperate, dragged me to the hospital.
“We need to run some tests first,” the doctor said gently after seeing my frail condition.
“Please, do whatever you have to do,” my father urged, his voice thick with fear.
“We just want our daughter back.”
I barely heard them.
I moved like a puppet, allowing the nurse to draw blood and lead me back to the waiting room.
Minutes later, the doctor returned, holding a file in his hands — his face unreadable.
He looked at me.
At my parents.
Then he spoke the words that shattered my world all over again.
“Miss Lily… you’re pregnant.”
The room spun.
The floor dropped from beneath me.
Suddenly, I could remember.
The hands.
The laughter.
The helplessness.
It wasn’t just a nightmare.
It had been real.
I clutched my stomach, bile rising in my throat.
Pregnant.
With the child of my r****t.
My parents stared at me, their faces etched with confusion and heartbreak.
But I said nothing.
I simply closed my eyes and wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
- Writer
