CRYSTAL BURGESS POV:

"Anywhere but here." The words had tumbled out, heavy with a despair I hadn' t known I possessed. My father looked at me, his usual CEO composure crumbling under the weight of my raw plea.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen me like this. Just weeks before, I had stood in this very living room, sobbing into his expensive couch after Garrick left. Then Jorden. Each time, my father had picked up the pieces, threatened lawsuits, hinted at ruining reputations. Each time, I' d cried until I was hoarse, clinging to him like a lifeline.

But this time, it was different. Andrea Harmon had moved into Garrick' s old apartment downtown, a quiet, subtle transition. Yet, my former partners never came back. It was a silence louder than any argument. No apologies. No explanations. Just… gone.

I remembered Garrick' s eyes, cold and distant, when he told me I was too much. Jorden' s, burning with a strange mix of anger and regret, as he accused me of being a burden. They weren't just leaving; they were judging me.

They' d left me with a new kind of emptiness, one that echoed with their accusations. "You're a user, Crystal," Garrick had said, his voice flat. "You just take." Jorden, always more volatile, had yelled, "You're a spoiled brat! You almost got Andrea kicked out of the co-op with your drama!"

"Do you even know how to survive without your father or us?" Connor had asked, his voice soft but still a punch to the gut. "What will you do when everyone leaves you?"

Their words were hammers, shattering the last vestiges of my self-worth. They had looked at me with open disgust, their faces twisted in regret that they had ever loved me. It was a shame so profound it made my bones ache.

I remembered holding onto Connor that night, after Jorden had walked out. I had cried until my throat was raw, until my vision went dark and the world turned to static. When I woke up, the bed beside me was empty. My final anchor had slipped away.

My father sighed now, the sound heavy, filling the penthouse silence. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just watched me, his gaze full of a love that felt suffocatingly familiar.

"My sweet Crystal," he murmured, pulling me into a hug. His embrace was tight, desperate. "I never wanted you to feel this way. Never wanted anyone to hurt you." He smoothed my hair, his hands trembling slightly. "I won't let you be wronged again."

He held me at arm's length, his eyes still red-rimmed. "You have three days. Think about it. Really think. If you still want this… this path… then I'll make the arrangements."

I nodded, numb. Three days. It felt like a lifetime, or perhaps, no time at all.

I walked out of my father' s study, the grand hallway feeling impossibly long. My head throbbed, my knees ached, and my heart felt like a hollow drum.

And then I saw him. Connor. Waiting.

He stood near the elevator, his phone in his hand. Tucked under his arm was a small, worn children's book, its spine bent. It was the book Andrea's son loved. A fresh wave of nausea washed over me.

When he saw me, his face, usually so expressive, smoothed into a practiced smile. He quickly tucked the book behind his back, as if I hadn't already seen it.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, refusing to break. I walked past him, my gaze fixed straight ahead, as if he were simply another piece of furniture in my father's opulent apartment.

"Crystal? Where are you going?" His voice was light, casual, as if we hadn't just been through a war.

I didn't turn around. I couldn' t. If I did, I knew I' d fall apart completely.

I heard his footsteps behind me, then they stopped. I glanced back, just for a second. He was standing there, a few yards away, still clutching that book. He held it so carefully, so protectively, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

My breath hitched. The tremor started deep inside my chest.

"You bastard!" I screamed, the words tearing from my throat, raw and ragged. "How could you? How could you all do this to me?" The sound echoed in the polished hallway.

Around us, the few staff members who were usually invisible now cast curious, pitying glances. My face burned. My humiliation was complete.

Connor just lifted his eyes, his gaze distant. The last rays of the setting sun stretched his silhouette long and thin against the marble floor, making him seem impossibly far away.

A strange panic seized me. A fear I couldn't name. It was the realization that this was truly it. The end.

I stomped my foot, biting back a fresh wave of tears. No. Not like this. Not if I could help it. I wheeled around, forcing my trembling legs to walk back towards him. I needed an answer. I needed something.

He saw me coming, and his smile faltered. "Crystal," he said, his voice losing its forced lightness. "I can't come home with you anymore."

Then he turned. Without another word, he walked away, towards the other wing of the building where Andrea's temporary apartment was. He just walked away, and I was left standing there, alone, with the echoes of his words ringing in my ears.

CRYSTAL BURGESS POV:

"I can' t come home with you anymore."

The words from Connor still rang in my ears, even after I had stumbled back to my own apartment. It felt empty, a cavern of silence where laughter and music used to be. The lingering scent of Jorden' s cologne, Garrick' s expensive coffee, and Connor' s subtle, earthy scent, all seemed to mock me.

I walked into the living room, my legs stiff and sore. The fireplace was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to emanate from it. Garrick, always the practical one, had a habit of rising early to light it, no matter how much I complained about the smoke. I missed the smell of pine and burning wood.

My fingers, still raw from digging into my dress, reached for a log. I tried to place it in the grate, but my hand slipped. The edge of the wood scratched my skin, a thin line of red appearing on my palm.

I winced, my lip trembling, a familiar whimper bubbling up from my throat. My usual reaction: immediate outrage, followed by a pout, knowing one of them would rush to my side, fussing, kissing the boo-boo away.

But no one came. The silence was absolute, suffocating. I was truly alone. The realization hit me like a physical blow. There was no one here to soothe me, no one to care if I got a scratch, no one to even notice. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the hollowness.

I sprang to my feet, a wild, desperate energy coursing through me. I had to go. I couldn' t stay here, not in this mausoleum of broken promises. I bolted for the door, not knowing where I was going, just knowing I had to run.

I ran through the city streets, the brutal New York winter air biting at my exposed skin. My designer coat, once a symbol of luxury, felt thin and useless against the cold. I stumbled, my expensive shoes scraping on the unforgiving pavement. My knees, already bruised from my earlier fall, protested with sharp aches. I fell again, sprawling on the cold concrete, but I didn' t care. I just pushed myself up, scrambling, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I didn' t know how long I ran, or how far. My vision blurred from tears and exhaustion. Finally, I found myself in front of a familiar brownstone, its windows dark. I pounded on the heavy oak door, my fists raw, my knuckles aching.

The door creaked open.

It wasn't Connor. It was Garrick.

He stood there, still impeccably dressed, even at this late hour. His eyes, usually so composed, widened in a flicker of surprise when he saw me. His gaze dropped to my bloodied knees, then to my frantic, disheveled appearance. His face was unreadable, a complex mask of emotions I couldn't decipher.

"Crystal?" he asked, his voice low, a hint of caution in it. "What are you doing here?"

I remembered Garrick. He was the one who always took care of things. The one who'd calmly cleaned up my messes, no matter how extravagant or embarrassing. I'd once thrown a vase at a gallery owner because he snubbed my art, and Garrick, with that cool, pragmatic efficiency of his, had smoothed everything over, written a check, and somehow made me feel like I was the victim. He' d scold me, his voice firm, but then I' d catch him later, looking at me with a tenderness he tried to hide, sometimes even stealing a quick kiss on my forehead when he thought I wasn't looking. He was the stern but devoted one.

Now, I couldn't even look at him. My eyes darted past him, into the warm, inviting entryway. I was looking for someone else.

Garrick' s jaw visibly tightened. His hand clenched around the doorframe, his knuckles turning white. He saw my desperate search, and a harsh, humorless laugh escaped him.

"He's not here, Crystal," Garrick said, his voice dripping with an icy sarcasm. He then raised his voice slightly, calling into the quiet house, "Connor! Your little pet hasn't quite learned to cut ties cleanly!" He paused, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Wouldn't want Andrea to find out, would we?"

A shiver ran through me, colder than the biting wind that whipped around my thin coat. My face felt pale, bloodless.

Then Connor appeared. He walked out from the inner rooms, his dark hair tousled, his shirt untucked. His eyes, usually so clear, were still heavy with sleep.

My gaze locked onto his neck. There, just above the collar of his shirt, was a fresh bite mark. A small, angry red crescent. It was unmistakable.

My stomach churned. The very air felt thin, suffocating.

Connor' s eyes flickered from Garrick to me, a flash of annoyance clouding their depths before he smoothed it away. He looked at me, really looked at me, and a wave of pure, unadulterated disgust washed over his face.

The cold that had started in my bones now seeped into my very soul.

CRYSTAL BURGESS POV:

I instinctively took a step back, my heart pounding against my ribs. The cold inside me deepened, a freezing dread replacing the usual warmth I craved.

Then, a heavy wool blanket dropped over my shoulders. I looked up, my eyes meeting Garrick' s. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes-a raw, desperate pain-before he quickly masked it.

Connor stepped forward, his face carefully composed into that familiar, gentle smile. It was the same smile he used to give me when I was upset, the one that promised comfort and understanding. For a split second, I almost believed what I was seeing wasn't real.

"Crystal," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "What happened to you? Why are you so... disheveled?"

I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. My throat was tight, but I had to try. I had to beg. "Connor," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Please. Don't leave me. I can change. I promise."

My words tumbled out, desperate and frantic. "I won't ask for so much anymore. I won't complain if the sheets aren't soft enough, or if the coffee isn't perfect." My hands trembled, reaching for his. "I won't cling to you when you're tired, or keep you up talking when you need to rest."

"It's just you, Connor," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Only you. You're the only one left. Please, don't leave me alone." I was so caught up in my desperate plea, I didn't see the fleeting flicker of pain in Garrick's eyes just behind Connor.

Connor's gaze dropped to my scraped knees, a brief look of concern crossing his face. But it vanished quickly. My voice, full of my desperation, still held echoes of the spoiled girl he was leaving.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against his arm, yearning for his touch, for any sign of the affection he once gave so freely.

He flinched, pulling his arm back as if my touch burned him. My hand dropped, useless and empty.

"Let's go inside, Crystal," he said, his voice still gentle, but firm. "We can talk properly there."

The house was warm, meticulously organized. Everything inside spoke of care and attention. The raw wood beams of the ceiling were smoothed, polished until they gleamed. Each corner was free of dust, and a large pile of perfectly chopped firewood was stacked neatly beside the hearth, enough to last for weeks.

I remembered my own apartment. Cold. Empty. The roof had leaked since Jorden left, a persistent drip that I hadn't dared to complain about. The firewood ran out days ago, and Garrick, my ever-efficient provider, had not replenished it. Connor hadn't done it either. I had been too afraid to ask, too afraid that any complaint would be the final straw. So I huddled in thin blankets, silently freezing, pretending not to notice the cold or the leaks. I used to secretly snuggle closer to Connor on cold nights, pretending it was just for comfort, when in reality, it was for warmth.

From the inner room, I heard hushed voices. My head snapped up, my ears straining.

"Are you going soft, Connor?" Garrick's low voice, sharp and biting. "Don't tell me you're regretting the plan now."

Connor's voice was cold, devoid of the gentle tone he used with me just moments ago. "No. I'm just making sure she doesn' t run to her father, or worse, try to sabotage Andrea." A cynical laugh followed. "She's so easy to manipulate when she's desperate."

My mind went blank. The words echoed, loud and clear, shattering what little hope I had left. A plan. A manipulation. It was all a lie.

I heard footsteps fading, moving further into the house. They were leaving me again.