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.

CRYSTAL BURGESS POV:

Connor knelt before me, his eyes cast down, his movements slow and deliberate. He picked up a soft cloth, carefully dabbing at the blood on my knees. His touch was light, almost tender, the same tenderness he' d used to clean my scrapes when I was a clumsy child, before I became his partner.

"Crystal," he said, his voice still that familiar, soothing balm. "I'm with Andrea now. Truly with her." His words were a polite, final stab. "You should find someone else. There are many other excellent men who would adore you."

He even managed a small, sad smile. "You always used to say you'd leave us for a better partner if we ever annoyed you. You'd joke about finding someone who catered to your every whim."

My mind screamed. It was just talk! Empty threats! The words caught in my throat, choked by fresh tears. Why are you taking it seriously now?

I looked at him through my watery vision, shaking my head, desperate to deny the truth he was laying bare.

His gaze lingered on my tear-stained face, a shadow of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, slowly, he reached out, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. He even ruffled my hair, a gesture so familiar, so intimate, it felt like a cruel joke.

He stood up, turning to fill a glass of water, his back to me. "I'll get some antiseptic for your knee," he said, his voice distant.

Suddenly, something heavy hit my back. I cried out, startled. I spun around, my eyes widening. Standing there was Andrea' s son, his small face contorted in a furious scowl. In his hands, he clutched a steaming kettle.

"You' re a bad lady!" he screamed, his voice high-pitched and angry. "Leave my mommy' s house! Go away!"

He raised the kettle again, aiming it at me. I instinctively threw my arm up to shield my face. Boiling water splashed from the spout, a few drops flying back, landing on his arm.

A piercing shriek tore through the air. Andrea' s son dropped the kettle, clutching his arm, his wails echoing through the house.

Just then, the front door burst open, letting in a blast of icy air.

A hand, strong and cold, clamped around my throat. My breath hitched, my vision blurring.

Jorden' s face was inches from mine, his eyes glowing with an eerie, predatory green. His teeth were bared, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "You… you dared to hurt him?" he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You really are a monster, aren' t you?"

He laughed then, a bitter, humorless sound. "You never change, do you? Always the selfish brat, hurting everyone around you."

Jorden. My passionate Jorden. He was the one who had once promised to write songs about my eyes, who would stay up all night just to watch me sleep. He had left me for Andrea, telling me she was brave, strong, a woman who didn't 'need' him in the same suffocating way I did. He' d even taken on dangerous, long-term assignments to prove his loyalty to her, or so I' d heard. When he left, his eyes had been filled with cold disdain, and he' d told me he regretted every moment he' d wasted pampering me. He said I was a weakness, a distraction he could no longer afford.

I remembered his words. My weakness.

I couldn' t breathe. My hands clawed at his wrist, my strength rapidly draining. Tears streamed down my face, blurring everything into a kaleidoscope of pain. I looked into his eyes one last time, searching for any glimmer of the man I' d loved. There was nothing. Just empty, gray desolation.