Dreadful

DREADFULNYSSA WINTERS Copyright © 2023 by Nyssa WintersAll rights reserved. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, businesses, incidents or places are fictional and a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or other real events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, used, or transmitted in any form, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the copyright owner, with the exception of quotations in book reviews. For any information please contact [email protected] First Edition Cover by: Shepard Originals Edited by: Celtic Edits Paperback ISBN: 979-8849281018 Copyright © 2023 by Nyssa Winters.PlaylistAuthor’s NoteNine Years Ago12345678910111213141516171819202122232425262728293031323334EpilogueAcknowledgementsAbout the authorAlso by Nyssa Winters For Dani.My bestest friend. My partner in crime. My little sister. Playlist Heavy in your arms - Florence and the Machine Breve - Diogo Piçarra Lovely - Billie Eilish Vengeance - Zack Hemsey Love is a bitch - Two feet Who (feat. BTS) - Lauv I feel like I’m drowning - Two eet You Should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish Radars - Alina Libkind Do It For Me - Rosenfeld Blue & grey - BTS Falling - Harry Styles Heaven - TaeminOr listen on Spotifyhttps://open.spotify.com/playlist/1Vx8UZ9ZWaSioEddZtyi1o?si=5e1e1054ca704cfb Author’s Note This book contains strong language and several topics that may be sensitive to some readers. The content includes, but is not limited to: death of a child (off-page), cheating, homophobia, and harassment. Please read responsibly. Nine Years Ago People do not tell you how painful or fucked up life is. When I was a teen, I used to think my parents had my entire life paved for me. I used to think that, no matter how well I did, I would never live up to their expectations. It was one reason I ran away from home. From them. You cannot grow wings in a place where you feel weighed down. You cannot chase after what you want when you are in someone else's bubble. Life is a funny thing. It's also complicated, emotional, and overall messy. There are lucky people in this world. Those who never had their life turned upside down and struggled to figure out their next move. I was never fortunate in the same way. Not even when I was a child. Father, or my mother's husband as I prefer to refer to him since the first time he laid his hands on me, was one of those men to whom women don't matter. They taught me, from a young age, that I had to cater to my future husband's needs. How men were more important and would bring more meaning to the world than I ever would. He even had me serving drinks to his associates during business meetings. The old bastard did not care if I was not comfortable in a room full of middle-aged men. I was not there to be at ease. I was there as a maid. Some of those people were often inappropriate in how they talked to me. They expected me to suck it up. At fourteen, I knew very well how I didn't want a man to look at me. Not since he was going to look in a way I deemed inappropriate, as my father’s colleagues did. So I ran away to the other side of the country. I wanted peace. I wanted to live. I wasn't expecting to meet someone who would interest me enough. Let alone for the person to be a man. The same man who now I keep stealing glances at. It is day six of him riding the bus with me and I still haven’t told him my name. Not because I don't want to, but because I don’t understand why he keeps coming along. “So let me get this straight,” I say, shifting in my seat and turning my back to the bus window. “You have a car?” “Yes.” “But you've been riding the bus this whole time, despite it?” He nods. “Why?” “I took the bus the other day because my car was at the mechanics. It’s been ready for three days, but I keep coming here because I don't think you should ride the bus alone,” he admits and I raise a brow. “Call it a precaution.” “Why do you have a car if you live in the city?” “I am expected to have one. It also helps in my line of work.” His accent thickens around certain words. I wonder how my name will sound coming out of his lips. I try to not admit it, but it is sexy as hell. “You don’t sound American.” He smiles. “I was born in France. My family suggested I study abroad. The plan was for me to go back, but I think I’ll stay. I like the city.” He looks at me as he speaks. His brown hair falls in front of his eyes and his mouth turns up as if smiling is second nature. Green eyes borrow mine for a second before he continues. “How about you?” “Sort of the same thing.” I tilt my head, not wanting to get into details about my past. If I keep the conversation about him, then we don't have to talk about me. “I have a feeling you are on the stubborn side. It’s been what? Five days?” “Six. I told you, I will take this bus for as long as you take it. You would make my life easier if you told me your name, though.” My cheeks burn and I am pretty sure they are pink because he bites his bottom lip, gazing at me as if it's the first time he sees someone blushing. “So what will happen when I stop taking the bus?” I ask him as the said vehicle comes to a halt. “Well,” the stranger says, sitting by my side, leaning closer, and again, his perfume invades me. It takes me only a second to realize why I like it so