Prologue .
1004 Words
Prologue: The Chaotic Meeting.
Dream Dauntson
The rain pelted the cracked sidewalk like angry tears from the sky. Dream Davina Dauntson—known to most as Miss Daunting Dream—clutched her daughter’s hand tightly as they dashed beneath a flimsy umbrella that barely held back the morning storm. Doreen Diora Dauntson, or Dorey as Dream fondly called her, giggled beneath the rain despite the chaos around them.
“Come on, Dorey. We’re late,” Dream muttered, trying to juggle her purse, the umbrella, and her daughter’s backpack as they neared the crosswalk.
The light blinked amber.
She looked both ways, then tugged Dorey toward the edge of the road.
On the other side, Devon Damien Drawson—known in boardrooms as the Drowning Demon for his cutthroat attitude and sarcastically as Dammy—slammed his car door shut, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear.
“I said email it again, Leo! I don’t care if your laptop exploded, I need that file!” he barked into the phone, flinging his briefcase into the passenger seat and starting the ignition with a single, frustrated twist.
The engine roared to life.
Dream stepped off the curb.
Dammy’s black luxury SUV surged forward.
Everything blurred in the storm.
“Dorey—!”
Tyres screeched. Horns blared. Rain splashed.
Dream’s heart launched into her throat as she yanked her daughter back just in time, barely missing the front bumper of the speeding car. Her heel slipped. She stumbled. Her umbrella went flying.
The SUV slammed to a halt, inches from her knee.
“What the hell?!” Dream screamed, banging her fist against the car’s hood. “Are you blind?!”
The car door flung open. A tall, sharply dressed man stepped out, his hair dripping wet but his expression thunderously dry.
“No, miss,” Devon growled, voice colder than the rain. “You're the blind one. Who crosses the road like a lunatic?! Are you trying to win a Darwin Award?”
Dream’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?! I had the right of way, you arrogant—!”
“Oh, you think you own the road because you’re dragging a child around? Try walking with your eyes open next time.”
Dorey whimpered and clung tighter to her mother’s coat.
Dream stepped in front of her daughter, fire blazing in her eyes. “Let me guess, you're one of those rich jerks who think a car gives them a crown? Newsflash—your money won’t wipe the blood off your tires if you kill someone!”
“Lady, you need a warning sign on your forehead: caution, high drama.”
“And you need a license to drive and a leash for your ego!”
He scoffed, brushing rain from his sleeve. “Typical. Blame the man because your life is a mess.”
Dream felt her hand twitch.
If murder weren’t illegal…
Before she could retort, Dorey tugged at her hand. “Mummy, please… let’s go. I don’t like the bad man.”
Devon blinked.
For a brief second, his gaze fell on the little girl peeking from behind Dream’s skirt.
He looked away.
Without another word, he turned, got in his car, and drove off—without an apology, without a second glance.
---
Four years earlier...
The cries of a newborn echoed through the run-down hospital walls. Her name was Doreen Diora Williams, and with her first breath came death—her mother’s, who died during labor.
Her father? Wilson Westley Williams.
An addict. A gambler. A womaniser.
Two days later, he sold his daughter for two hundred dollars to settle a fraction of what he owed at the casino.
The woman he sold her to, Mrs. Wilma Wonder Williams, ran an orphanage. A cold-hearted woman to some, but a savior to the ones no one wanted.
She took the baby and gave her a home.
She didn’t change Doreen’s surname. No need. “Williams” was hers too.
People assumed the baby was hers.
They were wrong.
And Doreen? She cried a lot. But she always stopped crying and smiled whenever she saw one person—
Dream Davina Dauntson.
Or as the children called her, Auntie Davey—a sweet twist on her name, Davina. The nickname stuck.
Davey volunteered often. She painted the children’s nails, braided hair, read stories, and laughed with them when no one else did. But Doreen—Dorey—was different. She crawled toward her. Followed her. Cried when she left. Giggled when she sang.
Davey couldn’t ignore it.
She begged Mrs. Wilma to let her adopt her.
“No. You’re too young, you’re too busy, and this child is not a toy,” Mrs. Wilma had said.
But Dorey cried every night. Sobbed like her heart had been broken since birth.
Eventually, Mrs. Wilma caved. “Fine. But don’t you dare break that child’s heart.”
Davey didn’t.
She raised her like her own.
And Dorey never cried again.
But the man who sold her?
He didn’t live to regret it.
A year after selling Doreen, Wilson Westley Williams was found dead.
The man who ordered the hit?
Santana Saleem Serpentson.
Known on the streets as The Satan or The Serpent, Santana was the ruthless owner of the casino where Wilson gambled—and the gangster whose wife Wilson slept with.
When The Serpent found out, he didn’t shout.
He killed.
No one mourned Wilson. No one even dared ask questions.
Not when the devil himself handed out the punishment.
---
Back to the Present...
As Dream and Dorey trudged toward the school gates, Dream turned back once, eyes narrowing.
“That man…” she muttered.
“Will you tell Mrs. Wilma?” Dorey asked innocently.
Dream sighed. “I’ll tell her he’s the definition of a disaster. A walking traffic violation with too much hair gel.”
She didn't know it yet...
But she would see him again.
Very soon.
And hate wouldn’t be the only thing burning between them.
- Writer
