A/N:

Hey loves, before we start this chapter, I want to give a little trigger warning here.

This chapter is not nearly as graphical as my other works, but I still thought it'd be better to tell some of you beforehand. This chapter contains themes of angst and abuse.

Hope none of you experience any type of abusive behaviour ever. If you need someone to talk to, I'll be there for you and I'll try to listen.

Wish you enjoy this chapter nevertheless. Don't forget to click the little star button and share your thoughts with me in the comments.

Lots of love - L

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Esmé stood in the middle of her father's office. Saying that she was frightened or nervous would be an underestimation. She shook from head to toe.

Her head pounded in her ears, her feet tapped anxiously on the floor, her fingers tightly around the edge of the wooden table that was placed centred in the room.

It was past noon. Alder Benson hadn't come to breakfast. He had been off to do some work very early in the morning - so early, Esmé doubted that he had gotten any sleep overnight - after he had threatened her in the dining hall.

She was afraid of what was to come. Last night had begun magically and had ended fatally - a roller coaster from beginning to end. Although her father's menacing ways usually kept her awake, she had been too exhausted not to fall asleep.

Leslie had stayed with her overnight, making sure that she rested well. It was refreshing and relaxing for Esmé to have such a caring friend around. But even she couldn't save her from her father at this very moment.

Mr Schubert had sent her to her father's office, and there she was. Esmé gulped, her eyes darting around the room. It was small, but it had enough space for her to walk up and down as she nibbled on her lower lip nervously.

A large wooden desk was in the centre, long shelves with numerous books dilated on the walls. Esmé's gaze travelled over the few antique clocks that decorated the racks, her eye coming to halt on a framed photo.

She stepped forward, feeling a stifling wave of nostalgia sweep over her. She remembered this picture - not the day it had been taken, but where she had seen it - a hundred years from now in the museum.

It was the Bensons' family photo that was displayed at the exhibition. A deep, heavy sigh passed her lips, an empty feeling growing in her chest. She had lost track of time. This is the first thing she had encountered out of this world. It was this picture.

"These are the Bensons." "This is the family whose house was burned down, huh?"

Emma's words echoed in her mind, constricting her chest. Shaking her head rapidly, Esmé tried to gather herself. She straightened her posture unwittingly - I'll survive this. I've come this far. She repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince her-

"Psst!"

Esmé jumped as a sudden familiar voice cut her trail of thoughts. She glanced at the door that stood ajar. Her eyes widened, her mind ringing alarm.

"Psst!!" Again.

She gritted her teeth, but when she noticed the person whose head popped through the small open gap, she rolled her eyes sorely.

"Wyatt? What the hell?!" She hissed, holding her chest. Her heart was frantic under her touch.

"What's going on?" He blurted out, curiously looking around, checking cautiously if she was alone or not. Esmé sighed in relief, her head falling into her neck. Her eyes tightly shut.

No matter how often she told herself that she was strong and that she'd get through this - She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to fight alone. 

But this was selfish of her, so she thought. In only seconds she was on edge again.

"You shouldn't be here!" She whispered.

Although they were the only ones present, they still lowered their voices. From now on, Esmé didn't trust anything and anyone. Even the walls in this house seemed to have their own eyes and ears.

"What happened last night?" Wyatt asked again, pushing the door open and walking inside. He stared at his sister worryingly. His hands were hidden in his pockets, his poise stiff.

"You shouldn't be here right now," Esmé repeated with a more demanding tone this time, but Wyatt ignored her completely.

Even if Esmé appreciated him worrying, she was scared of what her father would do to him if he found out that Wyatt knew about her sneaking out all along. He wasn't in good terms with their dad anyway. There was no need for her to add any more trouble on it.

And-

Esmé didn't want him to experience her father scolding her a second time. The first one had been embarrassing enough.

To put an end to his curiosity, she added, "He caught me yesterday when I returned."

"What?" Wyatt muttered, his brows scrunching in disbelief. "Shite!" He pressed his lips together, running his fingers through his hair.

"It's fine," Esmé mumbled, stepping forward to shove her brother out of the office. "Now, you need to go."

"You're screwed."

"No, I'll handle this." She spun him around.

"There's nothing to handle anymore, Esmé." Wyatt shook her hold off. "You're definitely screwed. Dad hates the White Shore. He hates the twins, and he detests Dean, too. This is a bloody mess."

"Thank you for reminding me," Esmé remarked sarcastically.

"This is not funny." Wyatt was sincere. He stared at her, pouting almost.

"Never said it was."

He huffed, propping his arms on his hips, "What are you going to do?"

"Be honest and get this over with."

"Goddamnit, Esmé!" He cursed under his breath, grabbing her by her shoulders. He shook her vigorously. "Be honest?!" He mocked her tone, "That is the stupidest thing you can do."

He was right, but Esmé was out of excuses and ways to escape. She felt fed up - all these secrets were heavy on her - her being Rose Davies being the worst out of all.

Knowing what was to come, what ending she would have to face - she didn't know what to do, and there was not one bloody human that led her the way.

The siblings peered at each other in silence. Wyatt's last words still hung in the air suffocatingly, his grip on her sister tight, entrapping her. Then a sound of a door falling shut echoed through the corridor behind them.

Wyatt took a step back, letting Esmé go. "Act along. Tell him what he wants to hear, and he'll leave you alone."

He hurried towards the door, taking a last glimpse of his sister before disappearing. His voice low and shaky, he muttered, "Please."

~~~

"Why don't you sit down?"

Alder gestured his daughter to take a seat across him. He had settled down on the black leather chair on the other side of the desk. Hesitantly, Esmé followed his motion.

She watched Marie, Leslie's mum, step inside the office, placing a tray down. She took her time, slowly filling a cup of tea for her father. Then she handed a second cup to his daughter.

"Thank you," Esmé mumbled, her throat feeling sore. Marie nodded, the corners of her lips slightly curving up, a commiserating look in her features.

Esmé watched her father take two spoons of sugar, filling half of his cup with milk. He stirred it slowly, the sound of his metallic tea spoon clanged - the only audible sound in this small, smothering room. Her hands were tightly intertwined on her lap, her gaze avoiding his.

Alder sipped at his black tea before finally speaking up, "What is it that made you go out late last night?"

Esmé debated how she should answer his questions. She had always believed that she was someone good with her words until she came to this world. Her tongue felt twisted, her mind was a blank page with no coherent phrases for her to make use of. It was mainly the man in front of her that set her into this messy state.

"I needed some fresh air."

"Who did you meet up with?"

"Friends."

He sighed, resting his face against his open palm, his arm steadied on the desk. He examined her face, his ageing hair fell to his eyes, which held a strange emotion in them that Esmé had difficulties to decipher.

"Is there someone you're seeing?"

Esmé froze hearing his question. She knew he'd ask this. Just not this soon.

Why did he undeviatingly assume that it was someone? Why couldn't it be her solely going out?

Esmé hated how miserable she was at pulling a face to cover up the truth. Anybody would know from observing her stiff state.

"Esmé," Alder began with a soft voice. He took a long pause, staring at her meticulously.

"I want you to be happy with whoever makes you happy. I let you and Jack engage because I genuinely thought that you loved him. You had asked for it to happen." This had to be before Rose had woken up in Esmé's body.

Alder delayed again when his daughter finally met his gaze. She tried to detect whether he lied or not, but it seemed as if he spoke the truth - or he was just masking his lies impressively.

"If there's someone else that makes you happy, then I want to know. I don't want you to keep it a secret from me." Esmé remained silent, her lips glued to one another. This part - she didn't trust.

"Tell me who it is."

"There is nobody that I'm seeing." She lied.

"Esmeralda," He sighed, "You can tell me."

"Dad, there is no-"

Alder slammed his fist onto the wood, cutting her mid-sentence. The cups clinked, Esmé's tea slopped over. So, his patience lasted for less than a minute only.

He eyed her intimidatingly, "Don't lie to me." He spat almost, "Why won't you tell me? Is it someone I won't be fond of?"

"It doesn't matter to me what you think of him." Esmé murmured, fighting the urge to break their locked gaze. She kept her back straight, not wanting to flounder in front of him. There was no point in serving him lies that he wanted to hear when he played with her mind nevertheless.

His brows quirked up, "So, there is someone." He leaned back in his seat, sipping his sugar-drenched tea, "Have you met them? The Twins?" Noticing how he jumped to the Walkers, Esmé realised that he probably knew who she was seeing.

"No." She lied, however.

"Do you remember meeting them when you were younger?"

"No." This was the truth but-

"You're lying to me, Esmeralda," Alder stated as if it was a matter of fact. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, studying her attentively. His eye solid on her as if he'd read her only if he observed her intensely enough. 

After moments of smothering hush and oppressing stares, he burst out laughing. Loud, malign jolts of laughter echoed as Esmé gawked at him bewildered, knowing this was not a good sign. Still, she hadn't expected him to say the next few words that caused her heart to stop beating then and there.

Everything shattered around her. A queasy feeling expanded in her belly, her stability wavering when her father spoke with the most guileful look there was:

"I know that Dean is Everett Walker."

Her heart churned.

"I knew all along. Did he think I'd forget how my friend's favourite son looks like?"

And her facade fell.

"It took me a while to figure it out," Alder continued, "I've been looking for them for years, and when they finally came to surface as the Walker Twins, I sensed something odd. Ellis was good at what he did - acting. But it's only acting after all, and a caring uncle like me knows who the real Everett is."

Esmé couldn't hide her shocked expression. The smirk tugging at his lips was frightening.

"I guess, now we're on the same level?" He chuckled, but his daughter could only stare to the front, her mind emptied.

What would be the apt way to react? What was she supposed to do? Was this meant to happen? He found out so soon.

It was in that time, it hit her.

Esmé never came to this world to find happiness or anything else for that matter. She arrived here, knowing what the ending was. Yet she behaved stupidly, and let someone conquer her heart.

She was always aware that the man she now longed for was her family's enemy. She never ended up here to find the love of her life, and remain a happily ever after.

Of course, this was meant to happen-

Since history was only repeating itself, and she was in the midst of it with no clue of how to fix it.

Esmé swallowed down the heavy knot in her throat, looking up to watch her father stand up from his chair. He slowly walked around the desk, coming to a halt next to his daughter.

"When did you find out?" Her father asked, studying her. "Or better: How did you gain his trust for him to tell you?"

Esmé turned her head, gathering the courage to speak up. She wouldn't let him run her over. If he knew everything anyway, she had nothing to lose.

She lifted herself from her seat with a straight poise, matching his eye with a locked jaw.

"What is it that you want, dad?" She huffed, feeling frustrated. "Why did you call me here today? I don't think it's to discuss the obvious."

Alder seemed to be surprised by her briefly, but he quickly veiled it.

"Oh, there's a lot that isn't obvious to me." He clicked his tongue, resting his hand against the table to shift his weight.

"Like what?"

"Like on what side my daughter is standing." His words suffocated the air around Esmé, her hands balling into clenched fists.

"On nobody's side," She stated firmly, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"That is such a naive thought," Alder laughed, throwing his head back. When he stared back at her, he looked more vicious.

"Let's go through all possible scenarios then, Esmeralda." He folded his hands, his head tilted to the side, his eyes hidden behind a daunting shade of darkness. After a strung-out pause, he concluded, "There is no untroubled possible outcome of the conflict. It's either them or us."

"Why does there have to be a conflict?" Her voice was pleading almost. "Why can't we find a way to avoid that conflict?" Her voice rose, "Why can't you take some considerate steps to avoid it to escalate?"

Her chest heaved up and down, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. Esmé felt how her hands trembled on her sides, the surge of adrenalin in her blood fluctuated her. Her throat felt scratchy, her eyes began to tear up unwillingly.

What a mess everything is. She tried to sustain, but this was all too overwhelming.

Alder glanced at her with a confounded look. 

"So, you genuinely like him?"

Esmé's tongue dried, feeling flustered the more her dad examined her, but deep inside she hoped her feelings would make him step back. Maybe, if he loved her, he'd consider changing his ways for her. It was a flicker of hope.

"Do you know why they are after me-"

"They're not after you." Esmé said softly.

"They are. They want me dead."

"No," Esmé groaned, "They only want you to stop corrupt the pe-"

"Is this what they told you?" His sharp voice cut her off. Irritation flashed his vision, his eye twitched momentarily.

The words had slipped her tongue. This hadn't been where Esmé wanted the conversation to turn to, but it was too late. She backed away, hitting the desk behind her when she sensed her father moving closer.

"Dad, I-"

"Is this what you think I do? Did they tell you that I'm corrupt?" Alder didn't allow her to respond in any way to his question when his hand found her throat. Cold fingers grasping her hot skin, scratching it, shaking her vehemently.

Esmé's eyes widened, reaching for his wrist to stop him, but his long digits hugged her fragile neck tighter, squeezing it enough to frighten her, and cause her whole reliance to falter.

She struggled against his hold, hitting his chest, fidgeting, but he was solid as a rock. It was her own father that had her in a stranglehold. What absurdity. 

A hot tear rolled down her cheek.

"Why are you doing this, dad?" She brought out with a raspy voice. Black dots appeared in her vision, draining her soul. Her knees began to sag, weighing her down.

But Alder was utterly emerged in what he was doing. His glassy eyes didn't percept her, biting down his lower lip mere moments away from tearing its skin. His hair was messily, casting dark shadows onto his features. His voice was low when he murmured, "Do you know why they are after me? Do you believe that they are being altruistically nice?" 

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, his hold loosening and giving Esmé a second to take a deep breath, fighting for air. But his nails were quick to dig into her skin again.

His voice seemed to come from a distance, slowly redacting from her auditory awareness. Her neck and shoulders ached from the impact.

"Do you know what I did?" He let his question sink in, but Esmé had difficulties following his words, sensing how her consciousness was about to fall numb, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"I killed that friend."

What?

Esmé was alarmed again, but unable to comprehend what he said. All she could bring out were sounds of choking and gasping for air, her muscles losing strength to fight against his hold.

Alder gritted his teeth, hissing as if spitting venom. "I killed my friend. Lawson Walker. Do you want to know why?"

His question hung in the air. 

Though, she didn't want to hear his answer.

Esmé's cheeks were wet from all the tears streaming down her face unwittingly - she was incapable of feeling any sort of emotion. Her mind was numb, her vision seemingly turned black, lacking focus.

Her father's voice was shallow in her ears, but every word he uttered caused her chest to constrict stronger. It was only his tight grip around her throat that retained her up, and she didn't know how much longer she could withstand the urge to let the loss of consciousness take over her body.

She didn't know what Alder had said last when he squeezed her neck one more time with a sudden force - before he let her go.

Esmé's legs gave up under her, falling onto her knees as she tried to hold herself up by reaching for anything to grasp. But she failed miserably, collapsing face front on the floor.

Her heart hurtled in her chest, her throat was burning from his touch. Her whole body trembled, fear pumped through her veins. She pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning her back against the table behind her, not attempting to look up. Her eyes were tightly closed, afraid of not being able to see anything if she dared to open them.

"Choose."

Alder spat, kicking the desk, causing a cry to escape Esmé's lips. Her tremulous hands covered her ears, holding her head. Her fingers were knotted in her hair, feeling how her scalp began to sweat.

Help.

She needed help.

She needed someone to come save her from him. From here. From this place.

"Choose!" He roared, "You either work for me, and look for the correct timing to kill them. Or you never see them again.

"I don't want my daughter that I've loved more than anyone else to be the one to betray me. This is not what I want to do to you."

Esmé would have laughed if she had been by her senses. 

But she wasn't. Her vision was a complete blur. Her head