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PROLOGUE

Eight years ago

Iris

I couldn’t have scripted it any more cliché if I had tried. The whole situation feels like a tired, overused trope.

Leaning against a tree, I quietly observe the ceremony from a distance. The rain taps against my umbrella, and my black clothes blend into the sombre atmosphere.

The sounds of cries and screams carry in the wind, reaching my ears from here.

None of them are genuine.

Nobody really knew her. Otherwise, someone would have offered help when she needed it.

I watch as my father leans on one of his friends for support, his tears blending with the rain while my mother’s favourite song fills the air.

I’m going to be sick.

The graveyard is filled with an unfamiliar crowd, all gathered around my mother’s coffin, adorned with vibrant orange tulips.

She hated tulips.

That shows how much he knew her.

Behind the coffin, a striking black frame holds a giant picture of her, with mine placed next to it.

Tears stream down my face, hidden behind my sunglasses, while the anger burns deep within.

The priest’s voice blends with the thunder, creating a deafening roar that mirrors the agony in my heart.

“Faith was loved by all. It was no secret that she had a special ability to bring a ray of sunshine into everyone’s day. Today, we gather to say our final goodbyes to a daughter who brought joy, a mother who nurtured, and a wife who loved deeply. Please pray alongside me, seeking justice to be served for Faith as we stand united in our plea.” He pauses, his eyes meeting my father’s, and assures him, “I am confident we will locate your daughter unharmed and alive. Hold on to hope, son.”

Waves of nausea surge through me as I hunch over and expel the contents of my stomach.

Seeking support, I lean a hand on the tree and wait for a few minutes until the sensation fades away.

Standing up, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and steal a glance back at the now-finished ceremony.

I watch as everyone hurriedly leaves, their umbrellas shielding their faces from the relentless downpour, while the thunder grows louder and more intense.

What a shit show.

I wait patiently until the sound of car engines fades away, the noise mingling with the pitter-patter of raindrops before I approach the coffin resting in the freshly dug earth.

What am I supposed to do? I’m 16 years old with no family, no money, and nowhere to sleep. The person who loved me unconditionally and sacrificed everything to keep me safe is no longer by my side.

Anger - Rage - Sorrow - Loneliness.

It feels like a tempest of emotions has taken hold of me.

Why?

Why her?

She was the best person in this world.

The only one who understood me.

“I’ll get justice for you, Mama,” I say, my voice cracking as I struggle to hold back sobs. “I promise you, I’ll get justice. It might take me years, but I will.”

I drop a white rose on the top of the coffin. Her favourite.

“She was a shining light in this cruel, unforgiving world.”

I am paralysed at the sound of this strange woman’s voice, unable to make a single movement.

“I won’t harm you. I’m on your side.”

How the fuck am I supposed to believe her? They tried to kill me once.

“I knew her,” she continues. “She was my best friend.”

“Why would I trust you?” My voice is shaking.

“You don’t have to, but I’m on your side, and I’ll provide you with all the necessary information to avenge her. We share a common goal.”

I turn my head to look at her. I can’t really see her face, but she seems pretty.

“She called me before everything happened, but I was too late.” Discreetly, she wipes away a tear that has escaped down her cheek. “I made her a promise to protect you and be there for you.” She hands me a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “And I’ll honour my promise. I couldn’t be here on time for her, but I’ll be here for you.”

“What is your name?”

She smiles sweetly through her glasses. “You can call me Miss Rose.” She glances at the white one I dropped earlier.

With a gentle kiss on my cheek, she gives me a longing glance before walking away, leaving me standing there alone.

“Should I trust her, Mama?” A gentle breeze touches my face as I look at the coffin.

I pause for a moment, studying the details on the card in my hand before finally tucking it away in my bag.

I guess my choice is made.