Heart Savior

Three events made Blythe Gibson wish she had never picked up an extra shift that night.

One.

“Is this some sort of freaking joke?!” Mr. Dawson's fists slammed onto the table, grabbing the attention of customers around.

“I specifically asked for the scallops to be replaced with salmon. I paid extra for these. Can't a man get his money's worth?!” 

Blythe's eyes went to the almost empty plate of oyster and scallop tartare, the fifth mistress he had brought in this week, then back at the bloodshot eyes of the older man fuming at his seat.  

It was obvious that such a high-end client wasn't doing this to get a free meal—heck no, he could buy the entire chain of restaurants if he wanted to.

It was for attention and power.

“I sincerely apologise, Mr Dawson.” she replied, putting her hand on the shoulder of the trembling chef that was close to having his career shut down. “The head chef isn't available at the moment, so we’re a bit short staffed tonight. We'll get your order ready. It's on the house.”

Her voice carried a certain calmness of someone who had dealt with such people all her life.

Except this was different. One slip up and he'd make sure that they never step foot into any restaurant again.

“You better do,” he scoffed, leaning back into the smooth suede seat. 

Blythe lifted the dish from his table, offering him a tight-lipped smile before turning away.

“By the way,” he called out, stopping her in her tracks. “Make sure you're the one who handles and serves my food. I won't tolerate any more slip ups tonight.”

“Certainly, sir.” She replied before disappearing behind the metal doors.

Her smile dropped as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Bloody bastard,” she muttered, slamming the entire dish into the trash can, startling her co-workers. “He's trying to ruin me.”

One foolish attempt to smooth things over and now, she was expected to conjure a meal way above her paycheck.

“What the hell am I to do now?” she cried out in despair, leaning against the wall while silently searching the eyes of her co-workers for help 

Darlene, who had witnessed the entire scene from the kitchen, tossed her spoon covered in tomato sauce into the sink and walked over to Blythe.

“Blythe darling, as much as we'd love to help, we all have a lot on our hands. Plus, I doubt anyone would want to get involved with…him.” She consoled.

Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She reached into the pouch of her apron and pulled out her phone to search for recipes online.

Darlene walked back to her station. “I'll leave you to it.”

Without leaving much time to wallow in self-pity, she mounted a station carefully mixing up ingredients as the lady in the video dished out instructions.

Minutes had gone by and the dish set before her was decent enough. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to not get any snarky remarks.

She took a deep breath, and braced  herself for the impact of  whatever was coming to her.

Mr Dawson's fingers tapped the table at a steady rhythm, while occasionally glancing at his screen lighting up.

She carefully carried the meal to his table, keeping her face void of any emotions. 

“Still here? I thought a girl like you would have given up and found a husband to make up for your poor self. I suppose no one asked.” 

Someone from the table behind snorted. It wasn't loud, but it was audible enough for her to hear. 

Blythe's jaw clenched hard. Her fingers gripped the plates and the glass of wine tightly, before setting it down. 

“Your meal, sir.” She gritted out. 

Before Mr Dawson could speak, she gently excused herself and disappeared behind the kitchen doors, not waiting a single second to be humiliated again. 

Just as Blythe was about to get herself together, and prepare for her next call, a scream came from outside. 

The woman seated with Mr Dawson burst through the kitchen doors with her tear stricken face. Her chest heaved up and down, while her eyes darted around like she had witnessed something diabolical—and then it landed on Blythe.

“You!” She screamed, pointing at her. “Mrs Dawson's dead. You poisoned him.!”

Two.

It took a moment before Blythe's voice found a way out of her throat.

“I'm sorry?”

The lady stormed up to Blythe, latching her nails onto her wrists 

“A low life like you couldn't handle a single joke, so you just had to-”

“I would never do anything like that!” She interjected, yanking her hand out of the lady's grip. “I didn't poison that old retard, and they know it. Right guys?”

Her eyes scanned the room, expecting some sort of back up. Instead, she was met with silence and suspicious gazes.

A harsh chuckle escaped her lips, as she tossed the tea towel she held on the ground.

“Y-you can't be serious,” she stammered. “Not one of you can stand up for me. Why would I want to end up behind bars knowing I have a terminally ill brother depending on me.”

Again…silence. No one replied.

That was all it took for something to snap inside Blythe. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she could feel the blood rush to her ears.

Before she, or anyone could stop her, her feet carried her out the back doors, her pace increasing with each step. 

The distant sound of sirens faded behind her as she kept running down the street. 

She hadn't poisoned him, but justice wasn't ever served to those who were used as pawns in the world of the elite.

An alley came into view and she took a turn to hide in it. With her back pressed up against the wall, her breathing slowly fell into a steady rhythm, but the stench of trash and something metallic made it hard to concentrate.

A noise she couldn't quite make out came from the far corner of the alley, making her heart rate pick up again.

Then she made one mistake. She shouldn't have, but she knew that now.

She turned on her phone.

The light caught the silhouette of a man crouched above a young woman. 

His head snapped backwards, connecting his line of sight with her, and what she saw made her wish she had stayed back and received her death sentence.

His eyes had an eerie gaze that sent shivers down her spine. Then her eyes fell on his lips…blood.

Before her head could connect the dots, her phone hit the ground the same time she did.

And that was freaking three.