Rebel Girl, Vicious King

Alessia's POV

I never thought a single day could shatter my heart so completely. I still see it clearly-my wedding day. Not mine, but the day I gave up my own dreams to save my little sister, Livia. I sit in the quiet of my room, and my mind drifts back to that day as if it were a wound that refuses to heal.

"Alessia, please-look at me," my father barked, his voice rough as gravel. We stood in the dim light of the reception hall. I could feel the cold sweat on my arms as he marched me to the center of the room. I couldn't speak then; words felt heavy as chains.

"You know what you must do. This is for Livia," he said, his eyes burning with a fierce, unyielding fire. I nodded, but inside, my heart was a storm of fear and rage. I felt trapped in a moment I could not escape.

I remember the clink of the glasses and the murmurs of the guests. Every sound cut through me like a knife. I forced a smile as I walked down the aisle, my feet moving slowly, as if I were sinking into a dark, endless pit.

"Alessia," whispered the priest as he guided me, "repeat after me."

I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a small, broken sound. I felt the weight of every eye in the room. I wanted to scream, to tell them I did not want this life, but my voice was gone. I gave up my chance to live for myself to secure a future for Livia-a future that was promised in marriage.

Later that night, as I sat in my small room, I whispered to myself, "I did this for her." My heart pounded in my chest like a trapped bird. I stared at the faded mirror, my reflection a ghost of the girl I once was. I barely recognized the woman looking back at me-a woman who had sacrificed everything.

My father knocked on the door. "Alessia, come here," he said in a low tone. I hesitated, then crept to the door.

"Do you feel it?" he asked. His eyes were dark and hard. "That ache? That loss? It is the price of our future."

I kept silent. Instead, I let my eyes speak. "Yes," I finally said in a broken whisper. "I feel it."

He nodded. "Good. Remember, you gave up your dreams. You gave up your voice. And you gave up your freedom." His words sank deep. I knew I had lost more than a chance at love. I lost a part of myself that night.

The next day, I walked through the empty halls of our old mansion. The silence was heavy, and every step felt like a memory. I paused by the window, watching the rain blur the garden outside. I could almost see Livia's smile in the droplets on the glass. I missed her more than words could say.

At lunch, I sat with Aunt Mara in the small dining room. Her eyes were kind but tired.

"Child, you look lost," she said softly. "Is it the same heavy heart you carried yesterday?"

I lowered my gaze. "I gave up so much for Livia, Aunt Mara. I wonder if it was worth it."

She reached out and squeezed my hand. "We all make sacrifices. Some wounds take a long time to mend. But your sacrifice will light her path."

I managed a small nod, but the pain still stung.

That night, I returned to the reception hall, now dark and empty. I wandered among the silent tables and chairs, the ghost of that day echoing in every corner. In a quiet, empty room, I found myself speaking aloud, as if the walls could listen.

"Do you remember me?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I was your hope, your sacrifice. I did it all for you, Livia."

I imagined her face, her eyes full of trust. I wanted to cry out in anger at the life that had stolen my voice, my dreams. But no sound came out, only the soft patter of rain on the roof.

Later, I met with my closest friend, Mara. We sat in a little cafe on a rainy afternoon. The cafe was warm, a small haven away from the cold reality of my home.

"Mara, I feel so empty," I said, stirring my tea absentmindedly.

Mara looked at me, her eyes soft and questioning. "Empty? Or just lost? You gave up so much, Alessia. But you still have a fire inside. You just need to find it again."

I sighed. "But how? I gave up my chance to speak my mind. I gave up what made me me."

She leaned in, her voice quiet but firm. "You may have lost your voice in that moment, but you can find it again. You can speak with your actions, with your heart. You did it for Livia because you love her. And that love is a strong voice."

I stared at her, feeling a spark of hope. "Do you really think so?"

Mara smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "I know so. Just listen to your heart, and it will tell you the truth."

I left the cafe with a heavy mix of hope and despair. That night, in the dead of darkness, I stood on the balcony of our old house. The night air was cool, and the stars were hidden by the clouds. I spoke softly into the dark.

"Livia, I did this for you. I lost so much. But I will find my way back. I will find my voice again, even if it means breaking every chain that holds me down."

I could almost hear her laugh, a sound so pure that it made my heart ache. But then a sharp knock at the door startled me. I spun around, my heart pounding.

"Who is it?" I called, trying to steady my trembling voice.

A low voice replied, "It's me, Marco."

I opened the door to find Marco standing there, his eyes filled with concern. "Alessia, you look tired. Please, come with me. There is something I need to show you."

I hesitated but followed him into the dark corridor. He led me to a small room I rarely used-a room filled with old photos and memories of happier times.

"Look at these," Marco said, handing me an old album. I flipped through the pages, my eyes catching on images of my younger self, smiling, carefree. I stopped on a picture of me and Livia, laughing under the sun.

"I remember when we dreamed together," I whispered.

Marco's eyes were kind. "Dreams change, Alessia. Sometimes, we sacrifice one for another. But remember, dreams can be reborn."

I closed the album slowly. "I fear I have lost my dream forever."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe. But sometimes, loss is the start of a new beginning. Hold on to that thought."

My mind wandered back to the wedding day again. I could still see the cold light in the hall, the heavy silence as I walked down the aisle. I recalled the faces in the crowd-pity, admiration, and something darker. I recalled the sound of my father's voice, commanding and unyielding, as he whispered, "For Livia." I recalled the taste of bitter tears and the numbness that followed.

I sat on the edge of my bed and began to write in a small journal I kept hidden. I scribbled short, choppy lines, trying to capture the moments that had shattered me.

I walked alone.

I saw hope die in my eyes.

I gave up my voice for her.

But I will speak again, someday.

I paused, and a tear slid down my cheek. I didn't wipe it away. It felt real, like proof of a life once full of dreams.

That night, I dreamed of the wedding hall. The long, dark corridor stretched out before me, and I heard the soft murmur of voices. I saw myself standing in the middle, a lone figure surrounded by shadows. I turned and saw Livia standing on the other side, her eyes full of love and sorrow. I reached out to her, but the distance between us seemed vast, like an ocean of regret.

Suddenly, I awoke with a start. The room was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp by the bed. My heart raced, and I sat up, trying to catch my breath. The dream felt like a warning-a sign that the sacrifice I had made was only the beginning of a deeper, darker path.

"Alessia!" a voice cried out from downstairs. It was my father. His tone was sharp, laced with anger and urgency. I knew I could not hide from him forever. I took a deep breath, wiped away my tears, and stepped into the corridor.

In the living room, my father stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the night. I hesitated at the doorway.

"Come here," he ordered, not turning to look at me. His voice left no room for protest. I stepped closer, each step heavy with dread.

"Tonight, we dine with the family," he said. "And I expect you to be your best self."

I bowed my head, my throat tight. "Yes, Father," I replied softly.

He paused, his gaze suddenly shifting to me. "You will not forget why you made this sacrifice, Alessia. You did it for Livia. Never forget that." His tone softened just a fraction, but the warning in his eyes remained.

I nodded, though my heart was pounding with a mix of anger and sorrow. As I walked away, I could hear him murmur, "For Livia... always for Livia."

At the dinner table, the atmosphere was tense. The extended family gathered in the grand dining room, the table set with lavish dishes and silverware that gleamed under the chandelier. I sat at the far end, my hands folded in my lap, trying to be invisible.

My cousin, Elena, leaned in with a hushed tone. "Alessia, you look so lost. What weighs on you so?"

I forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "It is nothing, Elena. I am just tired."

She frowned. "You must talk to someone. You have given up so much. Your dreams... your voice."

I looked at her, then quickly shifted my eyes to my plate. "I must do what I did for Livia. She needs me."

The conversation continued around me-snippets of gossip, quiet jokes, and strained laughter. Yet every word felt like a reminder of my sacrifice. I could feel the eyes of others on me, pity and respect mingled in their gazes, but I could not meet them.

The sound of clinking cutlery and the low murmur of voices filled the room, but my thoughts were a distant echo of that fateful day.

After dinner, I stepped out into the cool night air. The garden was dark, the only light from the moon casting eerie shadows. I leaned against the stone wall, trying to steady my breathing.

Suddenly, footsteps approached. I turned to see my younger sister, Livia, emerging from the darkness. Her eyes were bright, but a sadness lay beneath them. She reached out and grabbed my hand.

"Alessia," she whispered, "I am scared. I feel trapped."

I squeezed her hand. "I know, Livia. I gave up everything for you. I did this so you could have a chance at love, to have a life that is free."

Her eyes widened. "But at what cost? I see the pain in you. I feel it every time you look away."

I swallowed hard, fighting back the rising lump in my throat. "I did not choose this, Livia. It was done for us. I had no say."

She shook her head. "Maybe you did. Maybe you had a choice, and you lost it."

I looked down at our intertwined hands. "I lost more than my choice. I lost a part of me that could have been. And I see that pain in you too."

Livia's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want this life, Alessia. I want to be free, to choose my own path."

I pulled her close, my own tears threatening to spill. "Then we must find a way, Livia. I promise you, I will fight for your freedom. Even if it means burning everything down."

Her grip tightened, and she whispered, "I believe in you, Alessia. I always have."

That night, as I lay in bed, the weight of the day pressed on me. The sacrifice I had made was no longer a distant memory-it was alive in every silent moment, every regretful tear. I turned over and closed my eyes, but sleep was elusive. My mind replayed every moment of that day, each one a sharp jab in my heart.

I remembered the moment the priest tried to guide my voice. I remembered my father's stern words. I remembered the silent vows and the broken promises. And I remembered Livia's trembling voice, pleading for freedom.

In the quiet, I promised myself one thing: I would not let this be the end. I would find a way to reclaim my voice, my dreams. I would fight for Livia, for us both. Even if it meant facing every dark secret, every hidden betrayal in this cursed life.

At dawn, I rose with the first light, the pale glow of morning barely warming the cold room. I dressed slowly, each piece of clothing a reminder of the role I had been forced to play. As I tied my hair back, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror-a woman with haunted eyes, a silent scream in her gaze.

I heard a knock at the door. "Alessia, are you ready?" It was Marco, his tone gentle yet urgent.

I opened the door to find him waiting with a small bag in his hand. "I know you have much to do today," he said softly. "But there is something I must give you."

He handed me a small, worn photograph of a young girl laughing in a sunlit garden. I stared at the image, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Who is she?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Marco's eyes softened. "That was you, before all of this happened. Remember your smile, Alessia. Hold on to that. It is still there, somewhere inside."

I clutched the photograph to my chest, feeling its warmth spread through my cold heart. "I will try," I said, my voice trembling. "For Livia, and for me."

Marco nodded. "Today, we start a new journey. One that may be dangerous, but you are not alone."

I managed a small smile. "Thank you, Marco. I need all the strength I can get."

As the day wore on, the memories of that terrible night and the vows made in silence followed me like shadows. Every step, every whispered word in the corridors of our home reminded me of my sacrifice. I was a living reminder of a choice made under duress-a choice that would shape the rest of our lives.

In a rare moment of solitude, I found myself in the old family library, a room filled with dusty books and faded letters. I sat at a large oak table, the silence around me deep and solemn. I picked up a letter addressed to me in my late husband's hand. The ink was smudged with tears, and I could barely make out the words.

"Alessia, my love..." I murmured, my finger tracing the worn edges of the paper. The letter spoke of hope, of dreams that once burned bright. It told me to never lose sight of who I was. "Find your voice, even in silence," it said. Those words, so simple and pure, stirred something deep within me.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the musty scent of old paper and memories. I vowed then that I would not let my sacrifice be in vain. I would find a way to reclaim my lost voice. I would fight for Livia, and maybe, just maybe, I would find a sliver of happiness again.

Later that evening, the house grew dark and the storms outside raged like the anger inside me. I sat by the window, watching the rain pour down in heavy sheets. Each drop felt like a tiny hammer, striking at my fragile soul. The wind howled, and I could almost hear it echo the cries of my past.

Suddenly, a loud knock startled me from my thoughts. I jumped, heart racing, and went to answer it. Standing on the porch was a stranger, clad in a dark coat and a hat pulled low over his eyes. He looked out of place, yet his presence carried a weight I could not ignore.

"Who are you?" I asked, voice shaky.

He paused, then replied in a low, measured tone, "I am here to help, Alessia. I know of your pain, your sacrifice. I know the truth of that night."

I frowned. "How do you know my name? What truth?"

The man stepped closer, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "There is much you do not know about what happened, about why you had to give up so much. But know this: the past is not set in stone. The sacrifice you made was not in vain-it is the seed of something greater. And you will have the chance to reclaim what you lost."

Before I could ask more, he turned and vanished into the darkness, leaving me with more questions than answers. I stood there, my mind racing, a chill running down my spine. Was he a friend or a foe? And what did he mean by reclaiming what I lost?

I closed the door quickly, heart pounding, and sank onto the stairs. The silence that followed was deafening. I knew one thing for sure: my journey was just beginning, and the path ahead was dark and uncertain. But within me, a spark of defiance had been lit.

"Someday, I will speak again," I whispered to the empty hall. "Someday, I will find my way back."

And so, with that silent vow echoing in my mind, I took my first step into a future that promised both danger and hope-a future where my sacrifice would be the beginning of my redemption.

In the days that followed, I carried the weight of my past like a cloak. Every interaction, every whispered conversation in the halls of our home, reminded me of that fateful day. Yet there was a growing ember within me, a quiet determination that began to push against the darkness. I found solace in small acts-a kind word from Livia, a shared laugh with Elena, even the silent nod of understanding from Marco. These moments were fleeting, but they were my lifelines.

One rainy afternoon, as I sat in the garden watching the storm lash at the old stone fountain, Livia joined me. She sat beside me without a word, and for a long time, we just listened to the rain together.

After a while, she said softly, "Alessia, do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?"

I turned to her, my eyes searching hers. "Every day, Livia. Every single day."

She frowned. "I see you in your dreams, lost and alone. I see the pain in your eyes, even when you try to hide it. I wish you could find your voice again, not just for me, but for yourself."

I reached for her hand. "I want to, Livia. I want to be more than the sacrifice. I want to be a fighter. I want to speak, even if my words come out as actions."

She squeezed my hand. "Then fight, Alessia. Fight for us both. Fight until you reclaim every piece of yourself that you lost that day."

Her words, so simple and full of hope, stirred something deep inside me. I knew then that I could not remain silent forever.

As night fell again, I sat by the flickering light of a candle, writing in my journal. My hand moved quickly over the pages, the words tumbling out in a raw, unfiltered stream. I wrote about my fear, my regret, and my desperate hope. I wrote about that day-the cold, sterile hall, the empty vows, the weight of my father's expectations. I wrote about the love I had sacrificed and the future I hoped to build, not just for Livia, but for myself.

I wrote until the candle burned low, until the dark seemed to press in from all sides. And as I wrote, I felt a small shift within me. The pain was still there, sharp and unyielding, but it was slowly giving way to a fierce resolve.

I knew the journey ahead would be long and filled with peril. I knew I would have to face old ghosts, harsh truths, and relentless enemies. But I also knew that I could not let the sacrifice I made define me forever. I would find my voice. I would rise from the ashes of that day and reclaim the dreams I had once lost.

And as I closed my journal and blew out the candle, I made a silent vow to myself: No matter how dark the road ahead, I would not be a prisoner of my past. I would fight. I would speak. I would live again.

In that quiet, desperate moment, as the night swallowed up the last flicker of light, I felt a strange mix of sorrow and hope. I was Alessia-a woman broken by sacrifice yet driven by the promise of a future reclaimed. My journey had only just begun, and with each step, I carried the memory of that dark day, a constant reminder of the price of love, duty, and the freedom I still yearned to find.

I knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new faces, and perhaps even more sacrifice. But I also knew that within me lay a power I had yet to tap-a power that could shatter the chains of my past and light the way to a future filled with possibility.

This is the start of my story-a story of loss, love, and the relentless pursuit of a voice that refuses to be silenced. And as I walk this dark path, I hold on to one truth: the sacrifice I made was not the end. It was the spark that would ignite a fire capable of burning down the world that tried to keep me silent.

I will speak again. I will fight for Livia. And I will never forget the night I lost everything so that one day, I could find it all again.