Hi, my name is Vivian Ray, and I'm a twenty-two-year-old medical student studying medicine.
My boyfriend, Andre Lacoste, is twenty and currently in his second year of law school, while I'm almost done with my first year.
As you probably know, every main character has their own story—and so do I.
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Past
I was five years old when I truly became aware of the world around me.
My parents, Mirian and Jacob Ray, were never really there for me. I could count the number of times they acted like parents on one hand. They were more devoted to alcohol and meaningless flings than they ever were to their own daughter.
Eventually, things got worse. They started smoking weed with the same useless people they called friends. And you know what they say—a house where weed does the talking never has a happy ending.
By the time I was seven, I knew I had to escape that hellhole. I promised myself I'd study hard and make something of my life—all thanks to Aunt Taylor, who opened my eyes to what life could be.
Aunt Taylor had a young son who was twelve the last time I saw him. He was five years older than me, and his name was Jay—something. I've forgotten his surname over the years.
When I turned ten, my parents came rushing home one afternoon with several large briefcases and one small one. They told me to hurry up and pack the things I'd need. I didn't understand what was going on, but I did as they said, grabbing whatever my small hands could hold.
Once I was done, they pushed me into a taxi with Aunt Taylor's younger brother and handed me the small briefcase. My mother bent down and whispered, "Keep it safe," while my father told Aunt Taylor's brother, "Take care of her. We'll come back for her."
Then they left—each boarding a different taxi.
As I watched them drive away, I had a strange feeling deep in my heart.
That was the last time I ever saw them.
The taxi I was in drove endlessly, passing through roads that seemed to change the world around me. I watched as the blue stretch of sea turned into endless trees, and the bright morning faded into night. The view outside kept shifting—new sights, new skies, new fears.
We traveled for three days straight until we finally reached New York City. Our car stopped in front of an old building on a quiet, unfamiliar street.
If you had been there, you would have hated that street as much as I did. It felt eerie—like the air itself carried secrets. There was a strange heaviness, a thuggy energy that made my skin crawl. I could almost sense that the people living there were no different from my parents—the same kind of broken souls hiding behind locked doors.
I was only ten years old—alone, scared, sitting beside an uncle I barely knew. But I told myself, He's Aunt Taylor's younger brother. He can't be that bad.
If only I knew how wrong I was.