[Disclaimer] Everything Twilight belongs to Mrs. Stephenie Meyer

[A/N] I have no acceptable excuse for starting another story. This little plotbunny down there wouldn't stop shouting at me in my head, so I was forced to write it down. It's my first attempt at writing Rose and Leah together but I believe this pairing has great potential.

*1*

Rosalie King was dead. Royce King's beautiful young wife had irrevocably vanished from the surface of the earth.

Unable to keep my fingertips from trembling nervously, I pulled out my brand new driver's license. I needed to make sure it was still there.

Haley Lillian, it read on it. The guy who had faked it for me hadn't asked any questions as long as I paid cash him cash.

Haley Lillian.

I said it out loud for several times to get used to the unfamiliar sound. Checking my reflection in the mirror above the dirty sink, I forced my pale lips into a smile.

My tired face was still beautiful, the bruise underneath my left eye covered securely underneath a thick layer of make-up. I applied a fresh layer of lip-balm and brushed through the long blonde curls of my hair before twisting it underneath a plain black baseball cap. It would have been safer to cut if off, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I take too much pride in my hair.

For the thousandth time I felt like I was about to panic and turn around.

Try to stay calm. You can do this. I told myself as I felt a wave of tiredness and mental exhaustion washing over me. It had been four days since I left my home in New York to never look back.

Right now my best friend Vera was helping my husband to arrange a heartrending funeral service. The thought of her grief caused me pain. The two of us had been close and I wished I could have told her. But it's better that way. I don't want to endanger her safety and Vera has never been good at keeping secrets.

Banker's wife drowned on Sunday night. Police suspect a suicide attempt. It has been reported that Mrs. R.L. King has recently suffered from a miscarriage. The husband, a successful business man, is heartbroken. The funeral service is going to be held on St. Michel's Cemetery this Friday.

I read through the article I had ripped out of a newspaper on the train ride to Seattle. Everything was going like I had hoped it to. The police would most likely stop their investigations soon and just close my case as just another suicide, committed by a depressed Manhattan housewife.

My corpse would rest forever on the cold ground of the Hudson River, never to be found again.

I was finally free or at least something pretty close to that.

Some guy whistled after me when I made my way back to the cheap rental car on the parking lot. I cringed, quickly fumbling open the door to continue the last part of my journey.

Royce had called me the love of his life, his beautiful doll, and he would never, not in a hundred years, agree to let me go.

Yes, I knew that I could have filled for a divorce, I could have pressed charges against him the first time he raised his hand in anger.

I could have done a lot of things but I was numb, paralyzed almost and determined to keep the fairytale façade of my life intact at any cost.

People don't care what goes on inside you if you just smile enough and give them something pretty to look upon. According to my parents Royce was a great catch. He was polite and had good manners, plus he was richer than everyone else in Rochester.

Dad had tears in his eyes when he placed my hand in Royce's during our wedding ceremony. It was such a romantic event; the beautiful, virgin bride and her knight in shining armor.

Yes, I should be so lucky. Everyone expected me to be.

The truth was that Royce was an overly jealous control freak who was obsessed with me as if I was a toy. A toy, that a spoiled child would cherish and kiss, but throw against the wall in anger once it got tired of it. He got angry at me lot, especially when his so-called friends were drooling over me like dogs.

I slurped on the caramel latte in the cup holder, feeling its sweetness fill my mouth, the caffeine running through me to help me stay awake.

A sigh left my mouth when I finally saw the sign passing by that assured me I had finally reached my destination.

Forks

What a ridiculous name for a town, I thought when I pulled over to check the address of my landlady. It didn't take me long to find it and Mrs. Cope, the elderly woman greeted me overly friendly.

"So, what brings you into our little town?" she asked me, pouring me a cup of coffee. I added two spoons with sugar and some cream to it, stirring it carefully while I gave her the story that I had made up to cover the truth.

Officially I was starting over new after an ugly divorce and wanted to live in a small town since that had always been my dream. I was going to open a little café where I'd serve home-made cakes. Baking was one of the few things I was actually good at and it showed. During the six years of my marriage I had gained over fifty pounds. The extra weight around me somehow being the only kind of protection I had against my husband's nightly attacks.

The memory made me shiver in fear.

"Are you cold? You should better get used to the unfriendly weather over here, Miss Lillian. I bet you are going to miss the Californian sun."

"I'm probably just tired from the drive. Would you be so kind to show me the apartment now?"

Mrs. Cope nodded her head, guiding me over the white-painted house on the other side of the street.

"Let me know in case you need anything or I'm not home, don't hesitate to ask your neighbors. Everyone is very helpful around here. "