Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight series. That right belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

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R&R

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Warning: If you are under the age of 18, I do not recommend you read this story. In some scenes, there will be mentions of rape and sexual conduct. I do not condone any of this.

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Sacrifice

Chapter One: The Price to Pay

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There are things we do in life,

We wish we never did,

Even if it was against our will,

There are situations that none can decline,

So in the end, we have this debt,

And living through our mistakes is the price to pay.

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She stared at herself in the mirror once more, her fingers lightly probing the bruise that marred her beatific face. Ringlets of pale gold cascaded down her back, like a princess in a fairy-tale story. This was no fairy-tale. She had known long ago that dreams were a mere figment of the mind. In the world she lived in, there was no room for happily ever after or prince charming.

She would know—she was married to a King. A malicious and spiteful King whose name she bore as her own. Only a year ago did she wed Royce King and ever since, her life crumbled before her very eyes. Everyone thought that they were the perfect match; even Royce had said so when he began to court her.

And they were the perfect match. Had they lived in that fantasy world of glamour, she and Royce would make the most congenial match. Everyone had their vices, however, and Royce indulged in the finer points of drinking. The aggression he held after he dozed into the expensive liquor led to severe repercussions. No one had known this, but she was not even chaste before her wedding. Royce had different plans while he was under the influence.

In front of the world, he was a loving husband, truly he was. Royce was never kinder once the sun rose. He tended to her ever beck and call. He would spoil her with a vast amount of gowns and jewelry. He whispered his undying love to her in their moments of privacy. But behind closed doors, when darkness fell and the scent of liquor coated the mansion, Royce transformed into a beast.

A different man emerged from the classy and well mannered man she once knew. A horrible man who would destroy whatever came into his path, including his most beloved wife. His indulgences in alcohol clouded his mind and she always seemed to blame herself. It was never his fault—even her mother had told her the same. It was her fault for being in his way. It was her fault for being appealing to other men. It was her fault that she could not give him neither son nor daughter.

That was how the fight started. She was brushing her fine hair, enjoying the sweet music that littered the streets, when suddenly he barged into the room with another woman. Of course she knew her husband was not faithful. He enjoyed receiving pleasure from whores in the burlesques of the slums. Her Royce had taste, but the monster before her eyes had no class. She did not take the injustice standing down. Her nostrils flared as she screamed at the harlequin the leave her presence.

Obeying, the half-naked woman stumbled out of the room. Royce's eyes were livid, clouded over with anger and intoxication. His breath was drenched in liquor, his soft platinum hair disheveled, and his trousers undone. He glared at his wife and screamed obscenities of how she was good for nothing. She yelled back at how he was nothing but a lowly drunk. As the words flew out, a slap was the result. Her body fell to the floor, as if she were a pitiful rag doll.

She did not stop there. If anything, she was the most obstinate woman on the planet. Her crystal, blue eyes smoldered with fury, every fiber in her being livid. She screamed out more insults, each one stabbing into his ego, and in return she felt the pain with every blow. Royce brought down her barriers with the one thing that truly disturbed her.

'You want to know how I can compare you to a whore? The whore is more superior—she can actually have a child.' He had said tersely.

In return, that was how the argument ended. Royce grabbed his unwilling wife and forced her onto the bed, his hands pinning her wrists above her head. She snapped her eyes shut, knowing what was to come. Every touch lingered on her skin, poking her battered body, kissing her bruised flesh. Just like every night, he raped her. She never wanted this life. She did not believe in fairy-tales.

And just like every night, he whispered to her, his breath reeking of gin and smoke. 'You put this unto yourself, Rosalie.' After he would finish his deed, he would roll over with a yawn, sleeping away the substances that poisoned his body.

She quickly dressed and refrained from sleeping. Her body would not rest; it could not. She was restless and yet she did not feel the need to dream for a better life. As tenacious as she was, her body could never put up with Royce's strength. She would submit, until another day brought her back to reality. In her mind, the night was just a horrible nightmare.

A golden ray of sunshine reflected off of her mirror, signaling a new day. She brushed through her hair once more, counting each stroke to pass the time. Her eyes darted to the stirring body of her husband, whom then arose and stumbled towards her. He bent down to her level and stared at his face in the mirror.

"I look like hell," he muttered dryly to himself. She turned to face him, scrutinizing his expression. He stared back at her, and then a gasp escaped his throat. His hands cupped each side of her face, his thumbs caressing the noticeable bruises. "Rosalie…"

"Stop," she whispered hoarsely, blinking away the tears that threatened her eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry," Royce croaked, kissing each bruise tenderly.

"I know," she replied. She could not speak anymore. She was a dutiful wife. "Get dressed. You have to go to the bank soon."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised, brushing his lips against her forehead. "I swear."

Promise me that you will stop this nonsense. She almost wanted to say. All his words were in vain, for she knew that promises, swears, and vows of any kind were made to be broken.

Rosalie Lillian Hale King watched as her husband walked off to prepare for another day. No matter how many sorry apologies, nothing could mend her broken heart. She stared into the mirror one more time, her blue eyes glistening with tears. The brush ran through her hair a few more times until she decided to pin it up, readying herself for a new day.

This is the price I pay. She thought to herself numbly, powdering her face to conceal the bruising. Another mask for another day. Oh how she hated to hide.

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Authoress Note: Alright everyone, here is the deal. I do not except that much hype from this story, but if I do get enough reviews, I shall update as soon as possible. If I do not get many comments on this particular story, then this will probably be a once to twice a month update. The story intrigues me and it is Emmett and Rosalie, so do not worry.

I also have a question—this is an Alternate Universe story meaning there are no vampires. Would you like me to include Bella in this particular piece as well? Thank you. Much love.