They Left Me, He Claimed My Heart

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.