Chapter One: Obey No Matter What
I grew up with one sentence I had to follow—whether I liked it or not.
Not that any of the rules I was made to live by were ever enjoyable.
But those words? They haunt me. Control me. Torture me. Guide me. How can something I despise so deeply have so much power over my life? I guess some things are better left unsaid.
And yet, my mind echoes with those very words—the ones I hate most:
"Obey no matter what."
That was it. My only principle. My only law.
I suppose you want a story—how I came to live like this. A story I don't even know deserves to be called one. Because even a tragic story has a flicker of happiness. But mine? Nothing. No happy memories. Just a trauma that clings to me like a shadow, haunting every second of my life.
You want to know who I am?
Well, here's something about stories: they depend on who's reading them. My pain might look like hell to one person and like a paper cut to another. It's like the saying, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." But in my case?
Pain is reshaped by the feeler.
I don't know if there's a cure for what I feel. But let me tell you this—when you think you're about to die and realize you're still breathing? That's the worst pain. It's the sharpest reminder that even death won't take you in.
Why is this my life?
Am I too pretty? Or too ugly?
Why do men use me like I'm nothing?
Fifteen years ago, I believed I was beautiful. Mama always said, "My damsel, you're so beautiful, even Cinderella's prince would chase you instead."
I have eyes, but I don't think they see anymore. When I look in the mirror, all I see is trash—a worthless, broken thing.
Why do I speak so harshly about myself?
Don't I feel emotions anymore?
No. I don't. I'm not angry. Not sad. Not happy. Not even numb. I'm just existing—wasting away, especially my body.
And if it hurts this much, why can't I stop? Don't I own my own life?
Maybe this will explain things...
My Name Was Once Aria
My full name is Meena Rose Alasdair.
I used to be called Aria—a name that meant "song" or "melody." But what's the point of a melody when your life is nothing but silence and darkness?
I can't change my name now, even if I want to. I'm stuck with Meena Rose.
"Meena" in Hebrew means peaceful and quiet. In Islam, it means starling, heaven, or glass. I don't know why Mama chose it, but I gave it my own meaning:
A disastrous melody. Quiet. Shattered glass. A rose picked straight from hell.
And then there's "Alasdair"—my father's name. It means "defender of man." Funny, right? Because no one ever defended me.
I lost my mom. No—I killed my mom.
Not with my hands, but with my silence.
Flashback
"Vincenzor, you have to stop. Aria is growing, she's watching us. You gamble, you smoke, and now you kill for no reason."
"Bella," my dad spat, his eyes glowing red with rage, "Don't teach me how to run my family."
He hated being corrected. Especially by her.
Mama had renamed him Vincenzor because she didn't like his real name—Azazel—which meant "fallen angel." She called him Vincenzor, meaning "victorious angel."
"Aria is your daughter! She's too young for this!"
Then—SLAP!
I gasped. They turned toward me. I'd been caught watching from behind the curtain.
"Mama..." my little voice whispered.
"Meena, go to your room!" Dad shouted.
"Papa..."
"Aria, go please," Mama pleaded, tears in her eyes.
I hugged my teddy tight and turned to leave.
"She only listens to you now?" Dad growled. "You've turned her against me!"
"It's not like that, Vincenzor! She's a child. She's scared!"
That night changed everything.
That was the beginning of my nightmare—a nightmare that became my reality.
What started as slaps turned into kicks. Then fists. Then full-on beatings.
And finally... death.
Mama died.
And I did nothing. I obeyed, just like she told me to.
Life After Mama
After Mama's death, Papa became a demon in human skin. We left our cottage in Mexico and moved to Italy—his so-called homeland.
Italy, the place of romance and beauty, became my personal hell.
Papa lost everything—money, power, respect. Karma? Maybe. But Mama wouldn't punish him. She loved him too much. Even in death.
So, I paid for his sins.
I became his protector, his pawn, his sacrifice.
My 11th Birthday
I remember it vividly. The day my soul broke beyond repair.
Papa threw a party. I was stunned. He never remembered my birthday before. Why now?
"Aria," he said.
I blinked. He hadn't called me that in years.
"Yes, Papa?"
"Happy Birthday."
"Thank you..." I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.
"Go with this man. Do as he says. Don't be bratty. Tomorrow, you'll get your gift."
"Okay, sir."
"And Aria... what's the law?"
I hesitated, then whispered,
"Obey no matter what."
And that's how I lost myself.
That was the day I became a toy. A product. A slave.
Present Day
RIIING.
The telecom buzzed.
"Meena!"
It was Papa. Azazel. The monster.
"Dress up and meet me downstairs."
"Simple, formal, or business?" I asked.
"Just wear something. I want to talk."
My heart raced. Papa never talks.
"Okay, sir."
I threw on a T-shirt and shorts. Moments ago, I was just lying on my bed in my underwear, waiting for an order.
Now... something's different.
I walked downstairs.
Papa was sitting on the couch.
Strange. He never sits like that. Never waits for me. Never talks.
What could this be?
Chapter Ends