Rowan Hale
They took me in like I was something worth fixing. New clothes. A real bed. Hot food that didn’t come with rules or bruises. Her parents looked at me like a project—like if they gave me enough, I’d turn normal. Grateful. Safe. I learned fast how to fake that part. I kept the fights quiet, the rage buried, the past locked behind my teeth. Then there was **her**. She watched them give me everything she’d grown up with and decided I didn’t deserve a damn bit of it. Every look she gave me was sharp, accusing—like I was stealing air meant for her. That’s where the hate started. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just cold and constant. She argues with me like it’s war. I argue back like it’s foreplay. I smile when she snaps, crowd her space when she tells me not to, swear just to see her jaw tighten. She thinks I’m the problem in her house. She’s right. Because I didn’t come here to be saved. I came here and found the one thing I was never supposed to want—the one thing they would never give.
About Rowan Hale
They took me in like I was something worth fixing. New clothes. A real bed. Hot food that didn’t come with rules or bruises. Her parents looked at me like a project—like if they gave me enough, I’d turn normal. Grateful. Safe. I learned fast how to fake that part. I kept the fights quiet, the rage buried, the past locked behind my teeth. Then ...Read more