A/N: Trigger Warning: assault, domestic abuse

The remnants of the cold April rain sloshed past her sharp heels as they clicked against the pavement. The wind whipped at her cheeks, turning them bright and rosy in the dull light of the street lamps she passed. She huddled her large tan fur coat closer to her body, trying to stop the shivering as she picked up her pace.

The faster she walked she felt as though she were leaving the hurtful truth behind her, escaping back into the lie she had so carefully constructed for herself- Royce loved her. He loved her just as much as anyone had ever loved anyone before. She wasn't some pitiful pick me girl drowning in doe eyes and fine clothing; she was Rosalie Hale. She was marrying Royce King II this upcoming Saturday. And that was enough.

She huffed and saw her breath disperse in front of her. Shivering in the cool nighttime that was New York in April, she crossed her arms trying to squeeze the warmth back into herself. She breathed in sharply through her nose, out through her mouth in a loud sigh. Her eyes stared ahead of her, not entirely seeing her path and unable to focus. She would be home soon, it was only a couple blocks.

After dinner, she would lie awake and stare at the wedding dress hanging on her closet door. She would remind herself of the fairytale wedding she would soon have, the large house with room for her entire family should they want to plan a weekend trip to the upstate mansion. A bitter smile spread on her hips as she thought of the little boy with blond curls and blue eyes- the perfection of a flawless match personified. Something akin to happiness started to creep through her heart as she kept her mind's eye transfixed on her future son.

She closed her eyes, blocking the tears that started to come. Behind her eyelids, she saw those blond curls morph into brown and she saw Henry in her mind's eye.

Aren't you the most perfect little boy?

No, her own son would be the most perfect. He and Henry would play and grow together as the best of friends- just as she and Vera had. If they started trying immediately after the wedding, she would undoubtedly have her little boy within the year. That would bring her the happiness she so desired.

Still, what was the cost of happiness? Was it really so steep that even Royce King II couldn't buy it? Rosalie found that quite hard to believe.

She opened her bleary eyes as a sniffle of snot ran across her upper lip. She wiped it away with her leather gloves. It stung.

She laughed bitterly to herself. Tears now burned at her cheeks that were still a little raw from the ever dropping temperature. Here she was all arranged to have everything money could buy but yet money could truly not buy happiness. But it would.

"Hey, Rose!"

Rosalie jumped, looking around for the familiar voice as she hurriedly wiped away any trace of tears. There, emerging from the dark alleyway was Royce.

Oddly enough, she wasn't comforted by his presence. The trademark chill she felt around him shivered its way down her spine. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Come over here!" He swayed on his feet. Rosalie frowned, taking another step forward- away from Royce.

She looked behind him, noticing four other men dressed in fine suits.

"Hold this," he muttered to the nearest one. She squinted through the darkness and didn't recognize him, but her eyes flashed to the next man beside him laughing loudly. He wiped his chin, seeming spitting something out through his laughter. Tom.

Tom from Royce's birthday party last year. He himself also held two bottles of liquor in his hand, like the man holding Royce's drink. He looked at Rosalie the same way he did that night a year ago with unabashed appreciation, but his posture still just as sinister as she remembered it. Rosalie took another few steps away from them.

"Hey, come over here," Royce rushed towards Rosalie and she smiled nervously up at him. He held out his hand and she took it, he pulled her closer to him as they approached the small group of men waiting for Royce to return. "We've been waiting for you," Royce gushed at her, his smile a bit too wide.

How had he known where she was? He couldn't have possibly known she would've been out this late, it had been a careless mistake- one that she had been hurrying to rectify.

She looked him over, his eyes were dazed as he stared lazily down at her mouth. He answered her unsure smile with a returning clumsy grin as he pulled her in for a sloppy kiss before spinning her out to face their group.

"There she is!" He gestured proudly to her before returning to another wet kiss, dipping her so deep that he very nearly dropped her.

"Royce." Her hands pushed at his lapels as his kiss became too rough. "Royce." She pushed again when he pretended that he didn't hear. She opened her eyes to see his open eyes staring back at her, unfocused and bloodshot. Immediately, she pulled away from the kiss with wide eyes. "You're drunk," Rosalie spat out of the corner of her mouth, trying not to embarrass him in front of the other men. The men laughed. The whole lot of them folded in on themselves, sniggering stupidly at their friend.

"Ah," he swayed on his feet, grabbing at his fiancée for balance. She held on to his arm tightly, her fingernails digging into his arm, but she doubted he could feel it through his thick three-piece suit and winter jacket. Rosalie tightened her grip on Royce, an anxious smile as she looked between her fiancée and the other men. As she looked at them, she realized with an alarmed acknowledgment that she knew all of these men, save one stranger. Rosalie was good with faces; she recognized these as the groomsmen to her wedding. She started to address them, to tell them that she must be on her way, but suddenly Royce squeezed her face between his thumb and index finger.

"Isn't she lovely, John? I told you she was a looker."

Rosalie blinked in astonishment. Abruptly filled with white hot rage, her mind went numb as Royce forced himself on her again, sloppily kissing her cheek, then the corner of her mouth as she leaned away as far as she could. Her stomach rolled with revulsion at the overwhelming smell of liquor that permeated his breath.

"It's hard to say with all those clothes on."

Royce spun her around to face his friends as he licked down her neck in a drunken attempt at more kisses.

"What do you say, Rose," he tugged at her coat, his rancid breath close to his ear. "Why don't we take off a few layers?"

He yanked at her clothes again, his mustache tickling her ear. "Stop," she ordered. He chuckled and the stench of gin on his breath fanned across her face as he held her tighter. He tugged at the buttons on her overcoat, but she fought back using her sharp elbow to hit directly into his gut. "Stop," she spat. He grunted in pain, his eyes watering as he hunched over, releasing her as she stumbled back into the street away from him. The disgust twisted her face as she readjusted her clothing and stared daggers back at him.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Sober."

With a dark look back at the rest of the men, and an even more venomous one for Royce, she briskly walked away back towards the direction of her family's home.

"Hey. Where do you think you're going?"

Her heart violently spluttered in her chest and felt as though it would leap out of her mouth. As she started to let out a scream a sweaty hand closed over her mouth. Her scream died in her throat.

Royce's firm grip clamped around her arm and whirled her around to face him. "I said, get…" His arms moved to pull at her middle. She trashed against him, pushing his arms down in a desperate attempt to break his stronghold. She very nearly got free, taking two sprawling steps forward. "Come back," just like that he had his strong arms around her chest, then her hips. She hit at her fiancée's forearm again, attempting to break it with a sharp hit from her elbow. The blow loosened his grip for a moment again. "Hey," he shouted at her, eyes screwed shut in his drunken rage. "You'll do as I say!"

"Stop," she grunted. "Stop! Get off me!"

He twisted her arms behind her, pressing himself to her from behind.

"Let go of me! Stop!"

She aimed a swift punch at his face, missing by less than an inch as he dodged her through his intoxicated stumbling.

"Let go! Stop!"

He shoved her to the ground, her head smacking against the concrete and a steam of red trickled into her eyes as her vision faded to black. She knew no more.

xXx

"So much for her, I guess you'll need to find a new fiancée."

They stumbled away, bottles aloft as they swayed unsteady on their feet.

Her vision went black again.

xXx

She wasn't alone. Rosalie felt gentle hands working over her, her body numb with cold. Every shiver that ran down her spine ached with a dull pain of a fresh bruise. She was sure she had many.

"I know my hands are cold. I'm very sorry."

Her eyelids fluttered open and in a haze of softly falling snow was a blond angel there above her.

Her mouth opened, trying to speak, but a sharp pain in her throat stopped her short.

"Bruised the carotid artery," a male voice hissed. He moved downward, applying pressure on her ribcage with his chilled hands. Rosalie gurgled up a cough, feeling a warm liquid splutter out of her mouth and down her chin. She moved her arm to try to wipe it away, but she met his eyes and lowered her hand immediately.

"Please," he insisted gently. "Don't move. I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

The pressure disappeared for a moment as he looked away and moved to retrieve something. Rosalie couldn't look downwards to follow him. Instead she let her head loll to the side, her raw cheek brushing up against the snowy concrete. The snow was a deep crimson. Like the color of the roses in her wedding bouquet.

"There's too much blood. Multiple compound fractures of the ribs. Perhaps a pulmonary contusion. Most likely. Definitely a severe concussion."

He was talking to himself, but the words made no sense in Rosalie's ears. He sounded like he was speaking to her from another room. Or from underwater.

"Good God," He mumbled, "Monsters."

She felt his cold hands inspect each tender spot. She flinched each time, closing her mouth tightly. The pain pulsed down her spine and into her lower extremities. The taste of iron was thick and wet on her tongue. Again, she felt the blackness envelop her and just as she had before, she did not fight it.

When she awoke, she was in a bright room.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but she was sure she was at the end of it.

"Too much waste," he muttered. "Not like this. It's too much waste."

The angel was still here with her, but she could barely see him in her murky vision. She frowned as she recognized him from elsewhere, buried deep in her muddled mind. As her head drifted to the side again, this time her cheek met the smooth coolness of a wooden table instead of rough concrete. They had moved.

The pristine whiteness was too intense, it obscured everything in her sight with a cloud of milky pallor. Rosalie squinted into the brightness, trying to decipher where she was. This couldn't be death yet, she deducted, she was still in a deep, resonating pain that echoed down to her very bones. Through her narrowed gaze, she saw him again as he paced back and forth to her side. He looked back at her in between each lap before starting another. The blond angel.

In a fraction of a second, he was immediately at her side. He leaned down close to her. The echo of fear presented itself at another male presence so close to her, but ultimately she was not afraid. She had nothing more to lose. Perhaps he was the angel of death. She smiled, if that were so, he would be most welcome.

She sighed, waiting for death to take her. Her body was heavy and dead already, she was only hanging on by a tenuous thread that would sever at any moment. She couldn't find it in herself to feel anything at this point; she fully embraced the creeping certainty that this would all be over soon. Every moment she drew another half-breath out of her heavy lungs was a miracle itself.

The angel pressed a pale fist tightly to his mouth, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. Such concentration on his face, an unspoken soliloquy was there in his golden eyes full of pain. It seemed wrong that a creature so beautiful suffer so greatly. Rosalie wanted to reach out to comfort him, but couldn't find the use of her lifeless limbs.

The pain had finally started to fade, leaving behind it an out of place sense of deadness that weighed down her limbs as she felt herself slowly slipping away. She couldn't find it in her heart to be scared now; in fact, she was happy. Genuinely happy to die as an escape from this torment.

She closed her eyes, her face relaxed in a thick stupor.

Then, a unexpected blaze of white hot new pain, sharp and sudden, branded her throat, wrists, and ankles in rapid succession.

Her eyes snapped open and Rosalie Hale screamed.