Angel's Redemption

The Prologue

Anastasia hovered on the ledge of the roof, knees drawn tightly to her chest, cradling them with desperate arms. Tears, mixed with smudged mascara, streaked down her cheeks as she gazed at the city lights glittering against the dark sky. The wind whispered through her long, wavy brown hair, as if trying to soothe her anguish.

"How did it come to this?" she thought, her heart heavy with despair. Her mind swirled with memories of pain and betrayal, each one cutting deeper than the last.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block out the storm of emotions threatening to consume her.

Tonight was supposed to mark a new beginning, a joyful milestone in her life. Graduation. A day filled with hope, celebration, and promises of a bright future. Instead, it had shattered into pieces, leaving her more broken than she'd ever been.

The betrayal had blindsided her. Walking into that room, seeing him tangled up with her, and hearing the cruel confession that followed-it had been too much to bear. Her stomach twisted as the memory surfaced, vivid and raw.

Anastasia replayed the scene over and over, the pain fresh and unrelenting. Her fingers trembled as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small bottle of sleeping pills and a half-empty flask of whiskey.

"Maybe this will help," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the wind. The pills were bitter on her tongue, but she swallowed them down with a swig of whiskey, the burn in her throat a welcome distraction from the ache in her heart.

As the alcohol dulled her senses, she let her thoughts drift to the past-to her first love, Bastian. The one person who had always made her feel safe. His name was a whisper in her mind, a flicker of warmth in the cold darkness surrounding her.

She stroked the bracelet on her wrist, the one he had given her all those years ago. Memories of him flooded her mind: his laughter, his touch, the way he had made her feel like the world wasn't such a terrible place after all. Losing him had nearly destroyed her, and now... now it felt like she was losing herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I wish I could've been stronger. Maybe if you were still here, things would be different. Maybe I..." Her words trailed off as tears streamed down her face.

The city lights blurred as her vision grew hazy. She lay back on the cold concrete, dangerously close to the edge, and closed her eyes. The pills and whiskey were taking effect, pulling her into a heavy, drowsy state. She welcomed the numbness, the escape from the torment that had become her reality.

"Bastian," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "If you're out there... if there's anything after this... I hope we find each other again."

A gust of wind whipped through her hair as she began to drift, her body swaying precariously. In her mind, she dreamed of falling-the sensation of weightlessness, the rush of air against her skin as she fell off the ledge.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1 – The very beginning

Before heartbreak, before betrayal, before she lost everything, Anastasia Goodwin had a perfect life.

Her father, Wyatt Goodwin, was a well-respected lawyer, his name spoken with admiration across Chicago's courtrooms. He was charismatic, intelligent, and dedicated-not only to his work but to his family. Her mother, Helena, was the heart of their home, her warmth and laughter filling every room. She had a way of making even the most ordinary days feel magical.

Then there were her younger brothers, Matt and Sean. Wild and full of energy, they were always dragging Anastasia into their mischief, whether it was sneaking extra marshmallows into hot cocoa or plotting against their unsuspecting babysitters.

They weren't rich, but they were happy. Summers were spent on road trips, discovering hidden gems across the country, while winters meant snowball fights and curling up by the fire. Her parents had taught her that love wasn't measured in wealth, but in the moments they shared together.

But even in the happiest stories, storms are always waiting on the horizon.

One ordinary afternoon, Anastasia's world tilted. It started with whispered phone calls behind closed doors, the tension in her mother's smile. Helena, who had always been the strongest woman Anastasia knew, began to look tired. The family still went on trips, still laughed around the dinner table, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken. Something dark.

The day her mother sat her and her brothers down, Anastasia already knew what was coming.

"I have cancer," Helena said softly.

The words landed like a blow. Anastasia couldn't breathe. Sean and Matt looked between their parents, searching for reassurance, but none came.

The fight had already begun, and it was a battle their mother would lose.

Anastasia didn't know what hit her. One second she was rushing down the hallway, late for class, flipping through her notes, and the next-BAM-she smacked into something solid. Like a goddamn brick wall. Only, walls didn't have arms that caught you before you could eat the floor.

Strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her. When she looked up, her breath hitched. Standing before her was a broad-shouldered, annoyingly gorgeous guy with tousled blonde hair and striking blue eyes that gleamed with amusement. The way strands of his messy middle-parted hair fell over his face made him look like he had just strolled out of a teen drama. His chiseled jawline and the smirk curling on his lips screamed trouble.

"Whoa, what's with the staring?" he teased, his voice dripping with mischief. "Did my dazzling looks just give you a heart attack, or are you trying to figure out how to handle all this perfection?"

Oh. Hell. No.

Anastasia rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own brain. "Nah, I'm just wondering if that ego of yours comes with an off switch."

He gasped dramatically. "You wound me, mystery girl."

"Move," she deadpanned, trying to sidestep him.

Instead of letting her go, he grinned wider. "You got a name, or should I just keep calling you 'Trouble'?"

"I have a name. I just don't give it to random dudes with hero complexes."

"Hero complex?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I think you mean 'fate.' You were about to faceplant, and I saved you."

"Oh please," she scoffed, pushing past him. "If fate looked like a cocky football player with too much time on his hands, I'd rather take my chances with gravity."

But before she could get too far, his voice rang out again. "Oi!"

She turned, thinking she might've dropped something. Instead, she found him on one knee, hands clasped over his heart. And then-

"Don't break my heart, my achy, breaky heart..."

Her face burned as people started laughing. Without another word, she bolted.

The next morning, she was ambushed near her locker.

"Hello, my beautiful lady," he greeted smoothly, leaning way too close for comfort.

Anastasia groaned, resisting the urge to smack him. "First of all, I am NOT your lady. Second, don't you have anyone else to annoy today?"

"You enjoy it," he continued, flashing a cocky grin. "Who doesn't love a handsome football player singing to them?"

"Oh my god," she muttered, shoving past him. "Go away."

"You still haven't told me your name!" he called after her.

She smirked over her shoulder. "Nice try, but I'm not that easy."

His eyes gleamed. "Challenge accepted."

In the following weeks, Bastian Webber was EVERYWHERE. He did ridiculous stunts on the football field, flipped off lunch tables, even made a damn school-wide announcement over the intercom looking for the "mystery girl" who stole his heart. Each time, detention. Each time, zero regrets.

"She is really making me work for this-so worth it," he muttered, lazily doodling on his detention slip.

Then, finally-

"Anastasia Goodwin!"

She flinched so hard she nearly dropped her books. Slowly, she turned, dreading what she would find. And of course, it was him. Smirking like he just won the lottery.

"Do you have ANY idea how much effort I had to put in just to get your name? I don't even have to work this hard to get a date!" he groaned.

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Oh, I'm sure. Since some girls practically worship the ground you walk on."

He placed a hand over his heart. "Tragic, isn't it?" Then, leaning in with a devilish grin, he whispered, "Saw you at the office earlier. Should really learn to be more careful, Nasa."

"Ah, come on, Nasa, don't be like that," he drawled.

She glared. "Are you stalking me?"

"Gosh darn it! I wouldn't have to if you'd stop running away," he said dramatically, rolling his eyes.

She scoffed, but her lips twitched. Wait-Nasa? What kind of name is that! "Nasa?" she echoed, raising a brow.

"Yeah. Since I spent so much time trying to get your name, I decided it's too long. You're now Nasa. Like the cool space thing."

"Absolutely n-"

"Have lunch with me," he interrupted, smirking.

"Not a chance."

"If you don't, I'll sing again... on the intercom."

"NO!" she screeched, slapping a hand over her mouth as heads turned their way.

"Great," he grinned. "See you at lunch, Nasa."

One lunch became two. Two became three. Eventually, it became routine. He called her Nasa. She called him Bass, just to annoy him. Playful arguments turned into deeper conversations. He became her best friend. Her safe space.

And then, life happened.

Her mother started to get very sick. At first, it was little things. Fatigue. Headaches. But soon, hospital visits became routine, and words like "aggressive treatment" and "late-stage" became part of their daily conversations.

Anastasia tried to be strong. She smiled, she reassured her brothers, she pretended like everything would be okay. But at night, when the house was silent, she would crawl onto the roof of the Drake Hotel-their secret place-and let herself break.

Bastian always found her there.

"I've got you, Nasa," he whispered one night, wrapping his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest. "You don't have to do this alone."

Anastasia withdrew. Bastian refused to let her. He walked her home every day. Held her hand when she was too drained to speak. When she tried to push him away, he stayed.

The day her mother died, she called him.

"Bass..." her voice cracked.

"Nasa? What's wrong?" His sleepy voice immediately sharpened.

"Mom, she... she-"

"Are you home?" He was already up, yanking on his jacket.

"Yes," she sniffled.

"Don't move. I'm coming."

He flew down the stairs, startling his mom.

"What on earth-"

"I think Ana's mom just died. I need to be there." His voice was firm, no room for argument.

His mother's face softened. "Oh, sweetheart. Go. And take care of her."

By the time he got to her house, Anastasia was curled up on the couch, shaking. The moment she saw him, she launched into his arms, sobbing into his chest.

Bastian held her tight, rocking her slightly. "I got you, Nasa. I got you."

And for the first time that night, she believed everything might be okay.

The silence in Anastasia's house was suffocating. It wasn't the usual calm silence of a home winding down for the night, filled with the occasional hum of the television or the distant clatter of Ana's mother moving around the kitchen. No, this was different. It was the kind of silence that sat heavy in the air, thick and unnatural. The kind of silence that swallowed everything whole.

The walls that had once been filled with warmth and laughter felt cold, foreign. He had spent so many days here that it was practically his second home, but now... Now, it felt like a graveyard.

Wyatt stood at the kitchen counter, his hands steady as he chopped vegetables for dinner, but Bastian could see the tremble in them, the barely restrained grief that threatened to break through. The man had lost the love of his life, and yet, he was still standing, still trying to hold everything together for his children.

"I can help," Bastian offered, his voice softer than usual. Wyatt merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Bastian busied himself with dinner preparations, trying to fill the unbearable quiet. Every now and then, he glanced toward the staircase, expecting to hear the familiar sound of Anastasia's footsteps, but nothing. She hadn't come down all day.

"Go check on her," Wyatt murmured after a while, eyes still fixed on the cutting board. "She won't listen to me."

Bastian didn't need to be told twice.

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart heavy, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He had never seen Ana like this. She was always the firecracker, the one who laughed in the face of trouble, who never let anything shake her.

But when he reached her room and pushed the door open, what he saw made his chest ache like someone had driven a knife straight through it.

Anastasia lay curled up on her bed, a trembling ball of grief. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her face buried in her pillow. She looked so small. So fragile. It didn't seem real-this wasn't the girl he knew.

Bastian didn't think. He didn't hesitate.

He crossed the room and climbed into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her without a word. Normally, she would have shoved him away, called him a dork, laughed and told him to quit being so dramatic. But not tonight.

Tonight, she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Her hands fisted in his shirt, and she sobbed against his chest, the sound muffled but broken.

He held her tighter, pressing his chin against the top of her head, feeling the way her body trembled against his. He wanted to say something-anything-to make it better. But there were no words big enough to fix this. So he just held her.

Minutes turned into an hour. Her sobs eventually quieted, though every once in a while, a shudder would go through her. When she finally pulled back, her face was a mess of tear-streaked devastation, her normally bright eyes dull and red-rimmed.

"She's gone, Bass," she whispered, voice hoarse.

"I know, Nasa..." His own voice cracked, thick with emotion. He ran his fingers up and down her back, a small, soothing motion. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Something inside her seemed to shatter at his words. The strongest girl he had ever known-the girl who never backed down, who always stood tall-had finally broken. And damn it, it broke him too.

His own tears slipped free before he could stop them, hot and unchecked, but he didn't care. He didn't wipe them away. He just held onto her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He didn't leave her side that night. Even as exhaustion pulled at him, he stayed awake, watching over her as she drifted into a restless sleep, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear.

And as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he whispered the words he had never dared to say out loud. "I love you, Nasa. And I always will."

The next few months were a slow, painful blur. His parents did what they could, bringing over food, offering quiet condolences. Bastian spent every second he could with Anastasia, doing everything in his power to make sure she never had to face the crushing weight of her grief alone. But she recovered and started being her own self again thanks to Bastian. He managed to make her laugh, start normal routine and she became the girl he first fell in love with when they were 14-years-old.

But then, life had a cruel way of hitting her with another punch.

Wyatt remarried.

It wasn't just the fact that he moved on-it was how fast it happened. A year after Ana's mom passed, Beth Thompson stepped into their lives like she owned the place. She came with a bright, practiced smile and a daughter who looked like she belonged in a Disney movie.

Britney Thompson was everything Anastasia wasn't-sweet, bubbly, blonde, and perfect. And she was determined to make Ana's life a living hell.

Beth played the perfect stepmother in front of Wyatt and the boys. She cooed over them, acted like the world's best parent. But the moment they weren't around? She turned into something else entirely. Cold. Controlling. Cruel. And Britney followed her lead, a wicked stepsister straight out of a nightmare.

Anastasia became their personal servant. Scrubbing floors with a toothbrush, washing their clothes, doing their chores on top of her own. Her once-bright spirit dulled, and Bastian saw the change immediately.

She stopped laughing. Stopped fighting back.

She came to school exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden. Bastian asked her about it, over and over, but she brushed it off with forced smiles and tired excuses.

Until he finally snapped.

"Nasa, what's going on?" he demanded as they walked home from school one day.

"What do you mean?" she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"You're different. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore. Is it your mom?"

"No, no. I've just been busy," she said flatly. "I'm fine, Bass."

"Bullshit." The word slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn't regret it. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. "Talk to me."

Her eyes flickered with something-anger, exhaustion, maybe both. But then she wrenched her arm free. "I don't need this, Bastian!" she snapped, her voice sharper than he'd ever heard it.

He took a step back, stunned. Hurt.

He watched as she stormed ahead, her hair whipping around her face. For the first time in years, she was walking away from him. And for the first time in his life, Bastian was truly afraid.

Something was wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

And if he didn't do something soon, he was going to lose her.

For good.