Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Hazel Sparks' POV:

A sharp sting on my ankle drew my gaze downward.

A shard of the crystal moon, glinting innocently on the carpet, had pierced my skin, a small bead of blood welling up.

Donovan's eyes flickered to the wound for a microsecond.

Was that a hint of concern? No, it couldn't be.

It must have been my imagination-a trick of the light, a desperate wish.

He didn't care about me anymore. Not after everything.

I knelt down to gather my scattered belongings, my fingers trembling as I picked up the larger pieces of the broken charm.

My throat tightened, a bitter ache blooming in my chest.

He stood there, his expensive, polished shoes just inches from my face-an imposing, silent wall blocking my path.

The weight of his presence pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.

"Still collecting cheap trinkets, Hazel?" His voice was cold, edged with cruel mockery. "Didn't your sugar daddy leave you with enough nice things? Or is this just a pathetic attempt to hold onto some memory of me?"

He scoffed. "Still clinging to things from your exes, I see. What, did Becker not buy you anything worth keeping?"

I stood up abruptly, meeting his gaze.

Despite the storm raging inside me, my voice remained calm and steady. "We broke up, Donovan. It's called moving on."

A muscle in his jaw clenched.

Then, a short, humorless laugh escaped him. "Moving on? You call this moving on? Working a dead-end front desk job, still pining for men who toss you aside? You picked the wrong side, Hazel. You always have. It's a shame you couldn't keep a man with actual power."

His words were like a whip, lashing at my already raw emotions.

I couldn't listen to this anymore.

I turned to leave, a desperate need to escape consuming me.

But his hand shot out, grabbing my arm and spinning me around.

He slammed me against the wall, his body pinning mine in place, his face just inches from mine.

His grip on my jaw was brutal, forcing me to meet his eyes.

His eyes were like a turbulent ocean-dark, fathomless, swirling with a storm I couldn't comprehend.

For a moment, his gaze dropped to the small cut on my leg, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

Then, he tore his eyes away, turning his head sharply.

"Get in the car," he said, his voice clipped, almost a command. "I'll take you home. There are bandages in the glove compartment."

I stared at him, bewildered.

His sudden shift, this unexpected offer, left me reeling.

It was just a small cut-insignificant.

But for some reason, a reason I couldn't name, I found myself walking toward his sleek black car, my legs moving without conscious thought.

It was the faint softening in his tone, the unexpected hint of concern, that pulled me in.

A desperate part of me-a part I thought long dead-still craved even the smallest crumb of the tenderness he used to offer.

I was a fool.

The car's engine purred to life smoothly.

"I didn't take your earrings," I blurted out, a desperate need to make him believe me-to see me as something other than a thief, even for just a moment.

He didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He rummaged through a leather briefcase on the passenger seat, his movements precise and deliberate.

He pulled out a small first-aid kit, extracting a band-aid.

He tossed it onto my lap without a word. "Take care of it."

As he closed the briefcase, something small and worn tumbled out, falling onto the floor mat.

It was a small, red fabric charm, faded with time, intricately embroidered with golden threads.

A safety charm-a "ping an fu."

My breath caught in my throat.

I had given this to him years ago, when he was sick.

It was a silly, superstitious gesture, but I had poured all my hopes into it-all my desperate prayers for his survival.

I had thought he would have thrown it away, along with all the other reminders of me.

But there it was, tucked away in his car, still safe and sound.

He bent down, his hand reaching for the charm.

He picked it up, his fingers brushing against the worn fabric, then tossed it back into the briefcase with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Funny, isn't it?" His voice was laced with chilling sarcasm. "This thing was supposed to keep me safe. It almost worked. Some might even say it saved my life."

He chuckled, a bitter, hollow sound. "You begged me to keep this charm to protect me, and then you were the one who betrayed me. The irony isn't lost on me, Hazel."

My nails dug into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the agony in my chest.

So many words, so many truths, clawed at my throat, desperate to escape.

But I couldn't let them. I couldn't risk it.

The consequences were too dire.

Cold, unyielding logic forced the words back down, choking me.

I swallowed them, each one feeling like a burning coal in my throat.

The car pulled up to my small apartment building.

And then I saw him. Kyle.

He was standing by my door, his hands in his pockets, a worried frown on his face.

My gaze flickered to Donovan.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

His eyes, fixed on Kyle, hardened into chips of ice.

He slammed on the brakes, the sudden stop jolting me forward.

Kyle looked up, his expression shifting from concern to alarm as he saw us together.

The air inside the car crackled with dangerous tension.

"Still playing the field, Hazel?" Donovan's voice was a low snarl, laced with brutal accusation. "Can't stay away from your ex-boyfriends, can you?"

I didn't answer.

I just unbuckled my seatbelt, my hands trembling. "Thank you for the ride, Donovan."

My voice was flat, forced. I reached for the door handle.

He locked the doors with a sharp click. "Not so fast."

A mocking smile played on his lips, completely devoid of warmth.

"What's the matter? Did your other lover not give you enough cash? Or were you just not good enough to earn it from him? Didn't perform well enough to be worth his time?"

His words were a venomous attack, hitting me with full force.

A wave of pure, unadulterated rage surged through me.

Fueled by years of unspoken pain, my hand shot out and slapped him across the face.

The sharp crack echoed in the confined space of the car.

Kyle, outside the car, his face pale with alarm, started pounding on the window. "Hazel! Are you okay? Let her out, Donovan!"

Donovan didn't flinch.

He just pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, his gaze burning into mine-filled with raw, wounded fury.

"Get out," he hissed, his voice lethal. "Get out of my car."

I fumbled with the door, and the locks finally clicked open.

I practically fell out of the car, and Kyle rushed to my side, pulling me under his arm like a protective shield.

The car window rolled down smoothly.

The faded safety charm was hurled out, landing with a soft thud in the puddles on the street.

The black car roared to life, its tires squealing as it sped away-leaving behind a trail of exhaust and shattered emotions.

I knelt on the damp asphalt, my fingers closing around the mud-stained charm.

I brushed away the dirt, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

Hot, heavy tears streamed down my face, landing on the worn fabric.

Kyle knelt beside me, his hand gentle on my back. "Hazel," he said, his voice thick with concern, "you should have told him. Told him everything."

He paused, a bitter laugh escaping him. "He deserves to know the truth."