A Dangerous Passion (COMPLETED)

Chapter 1

TRIGGER WARNING AGAIN: I have said this in the description and I will say it again since some of you don't see it. If you are sensitive to triggering subjects, please do not read this. I also do not romanticize this in anyway at all. This is not something that should happen in a relationship and I do not support it at all.
Also, I will not tolerate the hate of readers reading this book. You are more than welcome to be upset with the characters and such, but I WILL NOT tolerate the hate you have towards I as an author. I have worked hard on both my books, and yes, I know they are not the best.
Again, if you get upset easily by books with sensitive subjects do not read this.
And enough with the hate comments and how it's all a waste of time. If you are the type of person that likes to leave hateful comments for sport, then kindly exit the book.
Also...
I was very stupid and screwed up one of the antagonists names. Her name was supposed to be Amelia but because I have so many antagonists in other books that start with the letter A, I started using them too out of habit.
So if you could kindly highlight any Addisons or Amelias you find that would be awesome and I can correct them! Thanks!
Skylar's POV

150 million people. There's 150 million homeless people in the entire world and sadly, I'm one of them.

Nearly a decade ago, my family of 5 (not including me) was killed in a bombing while I was sent out to the market to retrieve our Saturday breakfast of fresh, chocolate, croissants. When I came back, our small apartment building was just dust and ashes on the once beautiful street we lived on.

We lived a simple, yet vibrant life in Colmar, France. My father, Victor was a mechanic for a repair shop just a few blocks away from our home, while my mother, Charlotte stayed home and watched the children most days. Since we could just barley afford living in the apartment we did, my parents could not afford proper schooling for us and decided homeschooling was the best option for us.

Even though we struggled with money, my parents always made sure our bellies were warm and full, even if it meant theirs were not. My parents would do anything to make us happy. But now, I would do anything to get them back.

"Skylar, dear.." I hear an old woman croak and I feel her boney hand latch gently onto my worn-out jacket. I turn around and see Mrs. Bisset clutching change in her hand shakily. "You're getting awfully thin," she states with her thick French accent. "Go to the bakery down the street and get yourself a brioche au café et à la cannelle."

I smile kindly back at the elderly woman and wrap my hand around her stone cold hand. "Merci, Mme Bisset, but you take it. I will make sure I feed myself today, don't worry," I assure and the woman nods uneasily as she continues to shiver. I frown to myself at the sight of her having to be this cold, especially in this kind of weather. She has no one other than me on occasion. I remove my jacket from my apparently 'thin' body and wrap it around her. At first, she is taken back, but I insist she keeps it so she mouths a, 'thank you' to me and I continue on my way.

Rubbing my arms up and down, trying to keep blood flow going, I make my way down the alley while also looking for any spare change that was left on the ground. The last time I ate was when I luckily found some uneaten fries on a plate in a restaurant; that was nearly 3 days ago now.

Everywhere I look in these back allies, I see stolen shopping carts filled to the brim with things such as sleeping bags, canned food, old clothing, and other stolen goods. Some people living out here on the streets own musical instruments from when they once had a home. These people will almost always be out on the streets playing for spare change, just to get some processed canned food at market.

The broad daylight begins to creep it's way to the tips of my run-down shoes as I near towards the end of the alley and to the busy street; cars zipping by and people speaking loud and clearly into their mobile devices. Rich people are EVERYWHERE.