Chapter 4 The weight of being unwanted

Chapter 4

Crystal sat beneath the shadow of a crumbling statue, her back pressed against its cool, worn base. The heat of the sun baked the pavement, but she barely noticed. Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground, eyes hollow, heart heavier than the stone looming above her.

The city buzzed around her, honking cars, chattering strangers, the constant shuffle of feet but it all felt static and meaningless. Ian's words still echoed in her mind, slicing through her like shards of broken glass.

"I don't think this can work out anymore. You'll be a burden to me, Crystal."

A burden.

Like she wasn't already carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She had called Emily three times. No answer. Not even a text. She didn't know the new apartment Emily had moved into. Her phone sat lifeless in her lap, an extension of her rejection, of her solitude.

Sweat pooled at the back of her neck, but her insides were ice. Hours bled into one another, the light shifting above her like time mocking her paralysis. The sidewalk grew hotter, but her heart only grew colder.

Eventually, something inside her snapped. She couldn't sit here forever. She had to move. Go somewhere. Anywhere.

With numb legs, she dragged herself to her feet and let the city swallow her whole.

Her steps were directionless, like a paper boat caught in a storm drain. She passed people laughing, eating and living. Each smile was salt on an open wound. Couples strolled hand-in-hand. Families gathered around food trucks. Strangers basked in the simplicity of being seen.

She felt invisible.

Unwanted.

She ended up at the bar. The one place that felt familiar, even if it had never felt safe. As she approached the flickering neon sign, her boss stepped out, a cigarette between his lips. His eyes dragged over her from head to toe, and her stomach churned.

"Hey, boss," she called, voice cracking. "I was wondering if... maybe I could crash here tonight? I've got nowhere else."

The fat, middle-aged man exhaled a puff of smoke, his yellow teeth glinting like stained marble. "Crystal, you can't stay here. It's not possible."

Her heart sank. "Please," she begged. "I'll work extra shifts and clean anything. Just for tonight."

He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his boot. Then his eyes darkened, voice dropping with it. "You want a place to stay? I've got a room upstairs. But it comes with a price."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you and me. Tonight. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I've always treated you well. Think of it as... a favor."

The blood drained from her face. Disgust and disbelief twisted inside her. "No," she said firmly. "I'm not doing that."

His eyes went cold, voice turning to steel. "Then you're on your own."

He stepped back inside and slammed the door.

Crystal stood frozen, suitcase in hand, the click of the lock sounding like a final nail in her coffin. Shame washed over her, her skin crawling at what had just been suggested.

And then came the laughter.

Three men emerged from a nearby alley, their eyes bloodshot, their bodies swaying with drunken confidence like predators.

"Hey sweetheart," one slurred. "Are you lost?"

Crystal straightened, clutching her arms tightly. "I'm fine. Just waiting for someone."

They didn't stop.

Another man sneered. "You look kinda lonely."

"Leave me alone," she said, voice firmer this time.

They circled her like vultures. Her breath caught in her throat. One reached for her wrist. She yanked it away and bolted toward the bar, slamming her fists on the door.

"Please! Let me in!"

The security guards stepped forward. Relief surged-until they spoke.

"You're not on shift. Get lost."

"Please!" she cried. "They're following me!"

"You're not allowed back in."

One shoved her. She stumbled, falling hard onto the concrete. Pain shot through her elbow, but it was nothing compared to the panic clawing at her chest. The world tilted and her body froze.

The men were on her.

Then.....

"That's enough."

A voice, deep, commanding and icy.

Everything froze.

The men turned. Crystal looked up, vision blurred. A tall figure stepped forward from the shadows. Power radiated off him in waves. His eyes were sharp and merciless, and though she couldn't see his face clearly, the voice carved itself into her memory.

"Back off," he said again, slower this time, every syllable like a blade.

The men hesitated. One of them opened his mouth to protest, but the figure didn't need to raise his hand or step forward his presence alone made the threat clear. They backed away, muttering curses as they vanished down the street.

Crystal's knees buckled. She tried to stand, but darkness was already pulling her under.

The last thing she felt was strong arms catching her as the world faded to black.

---

When she stirred again, the night had passed.

Golden slivers of sunlight slipped through heavy curtains. The smell of lavender and something faintly medicinal lingered in the air. Crystal groaned, head pounding, her muscles stiff. She was lying on a plush couch, a soft blanket draped over her. The taste of medicine lingered on her tongue.

Memories crashed into her like a wave.

The alley, the men and their voices.

Her heart pounded as she scanned the unfamiliar room elegant, grand, marble floors, glass sculptures, a quiet hum of central air. Definitely not a hospital.

She sat up with effort. Her phone was nowhere in sight. Her suitcase was gone.

Panic twisted in her gut.

Then came the voice again.

"You're awake."

She turned her head sharply.

"Mr. Ryan?" she whispered, stunned.

Andrew stood near the entrance, dressed in a crisp black shirt, his expression unreadable. The same cold eyes. The same sharp voice.

It couldn't have been you... she thought. The CEO? The man who'd made her an offer she'd once declined?

"You... you don't seem like the type to save a stranger," she said quietly.

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching in something not quite a smile. "You were dying. I don't enjoy watching people die."

"Still... thank you. For saving me."

"You don't owe me anything," he said, voice clipped. "I don't expect gratitude."

She watched him as he turned away, moving with the same stiff grace he always had, like every step was measured. Her thoughts were a storm. About Ian, about Emily, about her broken life and now, about this man whose proposal she had once rejected.

She was still lost in that spiral when she got up too quickly, intent on stopping him, questioning him or anything to break the silence.

Her head bumped into his back.

She froze.

He froze too.

Her breath caught as she noticed him stiffen.