Sofia's POV:

The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of the single bulb casting long, eerie shadows across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of old cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey, and it clung to everything—the worn-out furniture, the peeling wallpaper, even my skin. The house creaked around me, groaning as though it, too, was burdened by the weight of the tension that always lingered in the air.

I stood in the corner, small and frightened, my back pressed against the rough wall. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest that it was all I could hear. The noise from the other room—the yelling, the crashing of something heavy hitting the ground—had stopped for now, leaving behind an unsettling silence. But I knew it wouldn't last. The calm always came before the storm.

I was holding my breath, as though if I stayed perfectly still, I could make myself invisible. As though if I didn't move, he wouldn't notice me, wouldn't remember that I was there. But deep down, I knew better. There was no hiding from him. 

There never was.

The door to the room creaked open slowly, and I tensed, my little hands trembling as I gripped the hem of my dress. A hulking figure appeared in the doorway, his shadow stretching long and dark across the room. He was tall—so much taller than me back then—and he filled the doorway, blocking out the light from the hallway behind him. 

My father.

His footsteps were heavy as he entered the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted into an expression of barely contained rage. He was drunk again, just like every night. I could smell the alcohol on him, could see the way he swayed slightly as he walked. And I knew—oh, I knew what was coming.

"Sofia," he growled, his voice slurred and dripping with venom. "Where the hell are you?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My voice was caught in my throat, trapped by the fear that wrapped itself around me like a vice. I pressed myself harder against the wall, willing myself to disappear, to become nothing. But it was no use.

He spotted me, his eyes narrowing as they landed on my small figure huddled in the corner. I flinched, instinctively shrinking away from his gaze. I could see the anger simmering beneath the surface, could feel it radiating off of him like a heatwave, ready to explode.

"There you are, you little brat," he sneered, taking a step toward me. "Think you can hide from me, huh?"

I shook my head, my heart racing so fast that I thought it might burst. I wanted to scream, to run, but my legs felt like they were glued to the floor, my body frozen in place by the terror that gripped me.

"You've been nothing but trouble since the day you were born," he spat, stumbling closer, his words becoming more incoherent as he raged. "You think I want you? You think I want some useless, whiny little girl?"

I knew better than to answer, but even in my silence, I could feel the weight of his anger bearing down on me. I could see it in the way his hands clenched into fists, in the way his jaw tightened as he glared at me. I had seen this look before. 

It was the look he always got right before—

Without warning, he lashed out, his hand striking me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground, my cheek stinging with the impact. My vision blurred as I hit the floor, the world spinning around me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Get up," he snarled, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me to my feet. His grip was tight, too tight, and I winced as his fingers dug into my skin. "Stop sniveling. I'll teach you to disrespect me."

I whimpered, the sound barely escaping my throat, but he heard it. His eyes darkened, his rage growing more intense. He shoved me backward, and I stumbled, my legs barely able to hold me up. I felt the wall behind me, cold and unforgiving, as he advanced toward me once more.

"I'm your father!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small room. "And you'll do what I say. You'll respect me, or I'll make you wish you were never born!"

I tried to brace myself for the next blow, my small hands coming up to protect my face, but it was no use. His fist collided with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over, gasping for air, my vision swimming with tears. The pain was overwhelming, consuming every part of me, but I didn't cry. 

I wouldn't cry.

"Worthless," he muttered, kicking me hard in the side as I crumpled to the floor. "You're nothing but a burden. Just like your mother."

The mention of her made something in me snap, a flicker of defiance sparking inside me despite the pain. My mother—she had tried to protect me, had tried to shield me from him, but in the end, she had been just as helpless as I was. She wasn't here anymore, but I remembered her words. 

"Stay strong, Sofia. Don't let him break you."

So I bit down on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, and kept my mouth shut. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give him what he wanted.

But the blows kept coming—one after another, until the world blurred into a haze of pain and darkness. I could feel myself slipping away, retreating into the only safe place I had left: my mind. I let myself drift, let the numbness take over. 

I was six years old again.

I was no longer a scared little girl lying on the floor, no longer the target of my father's rage. I was floating, untouchable, somewhere far, far away.

I woke with a start, my body jerking violently as I was ripped from the nightmare. My heart was racing, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps, and for a moment, I was still there—still that terrified six-year-old girl, trapped in that house, trapped in that nightmare. The pain, the fear, the helplessness—they all rushed back to me in an overwhelming wave.

But then the haze began to clear, and I realized where I was. I wasn't in that house. I wasn't in that room. I wasn't a child anymore.

I was in my apartment, far away from the horrors of my past. The cool night air drifted through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of the city outside—cars passing by, distant voices, life moving on as if nothing had happened. My room was dark, the familiar shadows of my furniture offering a small comfort.

I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remind myself that it was just a dream. It wasn't real. Not anymore. But no matter how many years passed, no matter how far I had come, that nightmare always felt real. It always felt like it could reach out and pull me back in, dragging me into the past where I was powerless, where I was nothing.

I sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the edge and planting my feet on the cold floor. I pressed my palms into my thighs, grounding myself in the present, forcing myself to focus on the here and now. The pain in my chest began to ease, but the lingering fear—the dread that had followed me my entire life—remained.

My father was gone. He had been dead for years, buried six feet under in an unmarked grave. I had made sure of that. But even death hadn't freed me from him. He still haunted my nights, still whispered in my ear during my darkest moments, reminding me of who I used to be, of the girl I had once been. The girl who had been too weak to fight back.

I clenched my fists, feeling the tension in my muscles, the familiar anger bubbling beneath the surface. I wasn't that girl anymore. I had clawed my way out of that life, out of the hell he had tried to trap me in. I had become someone stronger, someone who could never be hurt like that again. But no matter how strong I became, there was always that shadow, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting to drag me back.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my body still trembling slightly as the remnants of the nightmare clung to me. My father's voice echoed in my head, his words wrapping around me like chains. You're worthless. You're nothing but a burden.

No. I wasn't worthless. I had control now. I had power. I had a plan.

Antonio.

His name surfaced in my mind, a lifeline pulling me out of the darkness. He was my future, my chance at erasing everything that had come before. He was the key to the life I deserved, the life I had fought for. He didn't know it yet, but he would be mine. I would make sure of that.

I stood up, my legs shaky but determined. The nightmare might still have its hold on me, but I wasn't a scared little girl anymore. I was a woman who knew what she wanted, and I wouldn't let anything—or anyone—stand in my way.

Not even Antonio. Not even the ghosts of my past.