Eva's POV
"Get off her," he said. I'd never had anyone stand up for me before—especially not a stranger. And he didn't look like just anyone. Dressed in a sleek black suit under a long coat that nearly swallowed him whole, he looked important. His polished shoes were now stained with blood from repeatedly kicking my abuser.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with genuine concern.
I couldn't answer. My body trembled in fear as I clutched my crying 10-month-old son. I was bruised and battered, but I didn't care about myself—I was only worried that none of the blows had landed on my baby, who was crying and holding on to me for dear life.
I had tried to escape Chad, my husband, but he caught up with me and dragged me into the corner of the street. After that, it all became a blur—punches, kicks—I could hardly remember anything. He didn't even care that I was holding our child. I was nearly unconscious when this stranger stepped in and saved me.
"Look at me," the man said, crouching down so he was eye-level with Chad. "What kind of man hits a woman—especially one carrying his child?" He followed the question with another brutal punch that sent Chad crashing to the ground again. At this point, I wasn't sure who was in more pain—me or Chad.
"Stay out of this," Chad choked out, trying to stand. "She's my wife, not just any woman. That's my kid. I do what I want with both of them. What, you gonna put a man on his knees over some whore?"
"No," the stranger replied coldly. "But I am going to let my very mean friends here beat you to a pulp."
That's when I noticed them—other men in suits, standing around us. I hadn't seen them before; my vision was blurred with tears and pain. All I could hear were Chad's screams and the harsh thuds of fists meeting flesh.
A hand touched my arm, lifting me gently and guiding me away. I didn't know where I was going, but I trusted the man who had just saved my son and me from a nightmare. We got into a car—luxurious, almost too comfortable—and for a second I feared it wasn't real.
What if I was still in Chad's bed, dreaming? "God, I hope not," I whispered, holding my baby tighter.
I should've listened. My parents, my brother—they all warned me about Chad. But I was seventeen, fresh out of high school, and too blinded by what I thought was love to care. He was older—24—and charming in a way that made me feel seen for the first time. Two months in, he proposed, and I didn't even hesitate. I was young, naive, and completely swept away. He was my first everything, and in my heart, I believed he was my forever.
But my family saw the truth. They knew he wasn't with me for love—they saw the way he eyed my father's money, the inheritance I hadn't even thought about. They told me I was too young to make that kind of decision, but I didn't want to hear it. I married him anyway—a week after the proposal—and I didn't even tell them. I thought love was enough.
It wasn't.
I told Chad my father had cut me off for going behind their backs,He kept it together for a few weeks—thinking my dad would eventually forgive me, and let me back into the family. But my dad was firm he had turned his back on me he didn't care anymore and so did Chad it was like something inside him snapped. He wasn't the man I married—he became cold, violent, inhuman.
I can't go back i'm too ashamed. I had everything handed to me on a silver platter and now I have nothing, I am nothing. My father, he probably thought marriage is an adult decision and since I made it I wasn't his little girl anymore. I broke his heart. And now, here I am, a teenage mom, bruised and broken, in the car of a stranger, with no idea where he's taking me.
An hour passed, and we pulled up to a building. It wasn't a house, but it didn't look like a hotel either. I wanted to ask questions, but I stayed quiet. What if he hated women who talked too much? Chad trained me to stay silent—unless he needed me, for food, for my body, or for convenience.
"I'll be back in thirty minutes," the kind stranger said.stay in the car, and if you need anything, just ask one of these gentlemen." His tone was firm, his face serious, and with that, he shut the door.
Even if I wanted to run, I couldn't. Not with those men standing guard, eyes sharp and unreadable. And truthfully, I had nowhere to run to. The sun was setting, and the streets were no place for me and my baby. Staying right here was the safest choice I had.
Over thirty minutes had passed—perhaps even an hour—but I couldn't say for sure. I fumbled in my pocket, attempting to retrieve my phone in order to call my best friend, Maria. But when I couldn't reach it, it dawned on me that I must have dropped it during the altercation. Maria had always been there to help me financially, offering what she could when I was in need—something Chad had never bothered to do. She was a true friend, and our families also has been close friends for years; we had known each other since we were six, even planned to attend the same college before I met Chad, whose presence altered the course of my life entirely. When Maria shared the news of her college acceptance, I couldn't help but cry—her success reopened a wound that felt as though it would never heal. Chad had come home drunk, accompanied by a woman, and forced me to play maid. I obeyed to avoid a beating or, worse yet, the loss of my phone privileges. I couldn't afford the latter; I needed to stay in contact with Maria, or else my baby and I would surely starve. Although I had little concern for the phone itself, I had committed Maria's number to memory, just in case.
After several more minutes, I saw him approaching the car. I shifted closer to the window, still cradling my baby as he entered the vehicle. He sat in silence for a moment, as though carefully selecting his words. "What's its name?" he asked with a smile. "It?" Was he truly referring to my baby as it? "HIS," I corrected firmly, emphasizing the word. "His name is Naveen." "Hmm, Was it inspired by something?" he inquired further. "Yes, it's from my favorite childhood cartoon—The Princess and the Frog," I replied, offering the first genuine smile I'd had in a long time. "Ah, I see. That's lovely." He smiled back. "You're bruised. I'll take you home and arrange for a doctor to check on both you and the baby, just to ensure there are no complications. I mean …if you are okay with that…" He extended his last sentence , as though prompting me to offer my name. "Eva, Eva Carson" I answered, nodding slightly, still smiling. "Great, Eva. I'm Harrison Wales, though you may call me Harry," he said, still smiling. His warmth was disarming, though unsettling, and yet there was something undeniably charming about him. But I knew better than to entertain any notions of pursuing anything further with him. How foolish of me to think that I could have any chance with a baby on my hip.