MELANIE MILBURNE - Ravensdale's Defiant Captive

But unfortunately her mother had not been as strong, or maybe it had just become too hard for her to try to protect Holly as well as herself. Holly had never doubted her mother’s love for her. Her mother had done everything she could to protect Holly from her stepfather but eventually it had become too much for her. She had become drug-and alcohol-dependent as a way to anaesthetise herself against the prison of her marriage to a beast of a man who had exploited her from the moment he’d met her.

Even though she had only been four at the time, Holly remembered the way Franco Morales had charmed her poor, grieving mother a few months after Holly’s father had been killed in a work-place accident. He had taken control of her mother as soon as he’d married her.

At first he had been supportive, taking care of everything so she no longer had to worry about keeping a roof over their heads. He’d even been kind to Holly, buying her toys and sweets. But then things had started to change. He’d begun subjecting her mother to physical and verbal punishment. It had started with the occasional blow-out at first. One-off losses of temper that he would profusely apologise for and then everything would return to normal. Then a week or two would pass and it would happen again. Then it was every week. Then it was every day—twice a day, even.

And then he’d started in on Holly. Insisting she be brought up according to his rules. His regulations. The slaps had begun for supposed disobedience. The back-handers for insolence or often for no reason at all. Holly had got so stressed and wound up by the anticipation of his abuse she would often trigger it so it was out of the way for that day.

Although he’d no longer smacked her once she got a little older, his verbal sprays had worsened as she’d got to her teens. He’d called her filthy names, taunting her with how unattractive she was, how unintelligent she was, how no one would ever want her. All of which had been confirmed when her mother had died. Holly hadn’t known what to do, where to go, how to manage her life. During that awful, anchorless time she had done things she wished she hadn’t and not done things she wished she had. She had mixed with the wrong people for the right reasons and mixed with the right people for the wrong reasons.

But things were going to be different now.

Holly was determined to get her life heading in the right direction. Once this community service was over, she was going to go to England, as far away as possible from her stepfather, back to the country of her mother’s birth.

Then, and only then, would she be free.

* * *

Holly walked back towards the villa via the gardens. There were hectares of them, both formal and informal. There was even a swimming pool set on a sun-drenched terrace that overlooked the fields where some glossy-backed horses were grazing. The summer sun was fiercer now than earlier. The clouds had shifted and the bright light sparkled off the swimming pool like thousands of brilliant diamonds scattered over the surface. She bent down and trailed her fingers in the water to test the temperature. It was deliciously, temptingly cool. Not that she was much of a swimmer, but the thought of cooling off was irresistible.

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