They Left Me, He Claimed My Heart

I was the luckiest woman in New York, with three devoted, successful men catering to my every whim.

Then, they left me. All three of them, for the same woman-a self-made CEO who was everything I wasn't.

They called me a spoiled brat, a user, a burden. When I ran to them, broken and bleeding after a fall, they pushed me away. One of them even put his hands on my throat, his eyes filled with a hatred I' d never seen, all while the others watched.

Their disgust was a physical blow, shattering the last piece of my heart. I was nothing to them anymore, just a mistake they were desperate to erase.

So, in my darkest moment, I made a choice. I ran to my father and demanded he arrange my marriage to the one man our circle feared-a reclusive Scottish heir they called the "Sea Lord."

It was a life sentence, but it was also my only escape.

Chapter 1

CRYSTAL BURGESS POV:

They called me the luckiest woman in New York. Three men, all successful, all devoted, bending to my every whim. I thought it was real, until it wasn't.

My closet was a showroom of designer labels, my jewelry box overflowing with pieces from Cartier and Tiffany. I' d once thrown a fit because my morning latte wasn' t frothed to my exact specifications, and Garrick, bless his patient soul, had personally gone to three different cafes to fix it.

Jorden, my passionate musician, often bore the brunt of my moods. One evening, he was late for dinner, and I ripped into him, accusing him of caring more about his band than about me. His face, usually so vibrant, just dulled.

I didn' t know any other way. My father, Hubert, a CEO whose empire seemed to stretch forever, had always indulged me. My partners picked up where he left off. Why wouldn' t I expect the world to cater to me?

Then Andrea Harmon walked into our lives. She wasn' t just new to our elite circles; she was a storm. She captivated everyone, not with lavish spending, but by simply being herself.

Andrea was all sunshine and self-made grit, her smile genuine, never forced. I, on the other hand, had become a perpetual cloud of entitlement, my own smiles feeling brittle even to me.

She was a wellness brand CEO, built from the ground up. She talked about business deals and market strategies, not which boutique had the latest collection. It was a language I barely understood, but everyone else seemed to hang on her every word.

And she was a single mother. Her son, a bright-eyed boy, was always impeccably cared for, his existence seamlessly woven into her demanding schedule. She didn' t need anyone to underwrite her life; she wrote her own checks.

Garrick, my pragmatic architect, was the first to change. His once adoring gaze now held a flicker of something colder, something that felt suspiciously like judgment. He started pointing out my 'needs' as 'demands' .

One Tuesday morning, after I' d complained about the endless renovations on our penthouse, he simply said, "Crystal, I can' t do this anymore." And he left. Just like that. The first crack in my carefully constructed world.

Jorden raged, "How could he abandon you like that?" Connor, ever the gentle one, held me close, whispering, "He' ll regret this, Crystal. He doesn' t know what he' s losing."

Jorden even confronted Garrick, a scene I only heard about later, full of heated words and accusations. "You' re making a mistake," he' d yelled. "You' ll come crawling back."

But Jorden didn' t crawl back. A month later, his passionate fury turned cold. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of their usual fire, and said, "You' re too much, Crystal. Too much drama, too many expectations." He walked away, taking with him the vibrant music that used to fill my life.

I clung to Connor, the last pillar in my crumbling world. "I don' t understand," I sobbed into his shirt. "What' s wrong with me? Am I really so awful?"

He stroked my hair, his touch so familiar, so reassuring. "No, baby. You' re perfect. They just don' t see it. I' ll always be here for you."

Then I saw it. I saw him. Connor, my safe space, my steady anchor, walking hand-in-hand with Andrea. His head was tilted towards hers, that same gentle smile he used to reserve for me now fixed on her.

He laughed at something she said, a clear, open laugh, utterly unlike the strained smiles I' d been getting. He even bent down to pick up a scarf she' d dropped, his movements almost... deferential. The Connor who' d once moved mountains for my slightest whim was now a puppy begging for a treat.

My breath caught like a knife in my chest. The world spun. I ran. I just ran, my heels clicking frantically on the pavement, tears blinding me. I stumbled, fell, grazed my knees, but I didn' t stop until I reached my father' s penthouse, pounding on the door like a madwoman.

My father, Hubert, opened the door, his face a mask of concern. Before he could say a word, I gasped, "Dad, I want to marry Jules Mcintosh. Arrange it."

His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, widened in disbelief. He looked at me as if I' d spoken a foreign language, or perhaps, lost my mind.

"Crystal, what are you saying?" he asked, his voice low and strained. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Jules Mcintosh, the Scottish heir? The one whose family is practically reclusive, shrouded in ancient traditions and whispers of strange customs? The one they call... the 'Sea Lord' ?"

"No one wants that marriage, Crystal. No one from our circle would ever consider it. It' s practically a life sentence, away from everything you know."

My fingers dug into the silk of my dress, tearing the delicate fabric. The pain was a dull throb, nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest.

The Mcintoshes live on a remote Scottish island, their business empire built on centuries of maritime trade and guarded secrets. They seek partners not just for alliance, but for... continuation. They have certain traditions, Crystal. Very old, very binding traditions.

Jules himself is a powerful man, ruthless in business, with a reputation for being fiercely possessive. Once he claims something, he holds onto it with an iron grip.

"No woman, especially not one raised like you, would willingly go there. It' s an isolated, cold existence, far from the glittering life you' ve always known."

He saw my tear-streaked face, my trembling body. "Did they hurt you again, Crystal? Those men? Was it Connor?" His voice, usually so calm, was laced with fury.

He started to rise, his eyes dark with a dangerous glint. "I' ll make them pay. I' ll ruin them, Crystal, I swear."

I grabbed his arm, my strength surprising even myself. "No, Dad! Don' t!"

I shook my head so hard my vision blurred. "Please, just let it go. Please, don' t do anything."

"I don' t want you to fight my battles anymore," I choked out. "Just... get me out of here. Marry me off. Anywhere but here."

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.