003: EVICTED

Yara’s POV

I stood there staring at the apartment door like if I looked hard enough, it would unlock itself.

It didn’t.

The brass knob had been changed.

The deadbolt too.

I noticed the black trash bags were stuffed with everything I owned.

For a second, I just stood there.

My ripped gown clung to my thighs. My mascara had dried sticky beneath my eyes. My chest still hurts from screaming Jeriah’s name.

Now this.

“Looking for something?”

I turned sharply.

Mr. Huxley, my landlord, leaned against the building wall with a smirk that made my skin crawl. He was in his mid-fifties with greasy hair and a wedding ring yet his eyes always lingered too long where they shouldn’t.

My stomach twisted.

“You changed the locks?” My voice came out hoarse. “Is there a problem?”

He shrugged. “You’re behind on rent.”

“I was three days late.”

“Still late.”

My throat tightened so badly I nearly couldn’t breathe.

“You can’t do this. You can’t evict someone like this. There’s a legal process.”

He laughed.

“Save the law school speech for somebody who cares.”

My hands curled into fists. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He pushed off the wall and came closer. “You think I don't already know what happened? Crying over that hockey boy. Gotta know when someone doesn't want you, beautiful.” His gaze dragged over my torn dress. “Shame. Real shame.”

I stepped back instantly.

“Don’t.”

He lifted both hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just saying, maybe if you’d been a little friendlier to me, I could have worked with you.”

There it was.

The thing he had been circling for months.

The reason every time I was short on rent he acted like my body was another payment option.

Rage flashed so hot through me it cut right through the humiliation.

“You disgusting pig.”

His expression hardened.

“Careful.”

“No, you be careful,” I snapped. “Changing locks without notice, dumping my belongings on the sidewalk in trash bags, propositioning a tenant, that’s harassment. That’s illegal. I’m a law student, remember? I know exactly what this is.”

His mouth twisted.

“And I know exactly what you are. Broke. Alone. And too damn proud for your own good.”

I swallowed hard.

He wasn’t wrong about the broke part.

Or the alone part.

But I would rather sleep in a gutter than let a man like him think I could be cornered into giving him what he wanted.

“If one thing goes missing out of these bags, I’ll report you.”

He burst out laughing.

“What things do you have exactly that's worth missing? And report me with what money, sweetheart? You can barely pay rent.” His eyes dipped again. “But if you change your mind… my offer still stands. One night. I might even let you back in.”

For half a second, black rage blotted out everything.

Then I lifted my chin and said, very clearly, “Touch me and I’ll make you regret remembering my name.”

Something in my face must have reached him because he stopped smiling.

Good.

I bent, grabbed the handles of both trash bags and started dragging them down the sidewalk.

My arms screamed immediately.

My whole body felt like one giant bruise.

Behind me, he called out, “Don’t come crying tomorrow when the city gets cold.”

I didn’t turn back.

If I did, I might actually kill him and after tonight, I was fresh out of saving men from the consequences of their own cruelty.

The city bustled.

New York didn't care that your heart had been ripped open in public. It did not slow down because you were humiliated, exhausted and carrying your life in two garbage bags while your dress flapped open at the thigh where another woman had sliced it.

Cars kept moving.

People kept laughing.

Light spilled from restaurants where women in fitted dresses sat across from men who looked at them like merchandise.

I dragged my bags past them all and kept walking.

Seven years.

That was what kept circling in my head.

Seven years of cheap takeout split in half because Jeriah had to eat more before training.

Seven years of me staying awake to edit his sponsorship emails because he hated writing them.

Seven years of washing his jerseys in laundromats at midnight.

Seven years of pep talks when he got cut.

Seven years of rubbing his shoulders when he thought his dream was dying.

Seven years of hearing, When I make it, baby, we make it.

My eyes burned.

I remembered one winter night so clearly it almost knocked the breath out of me.

We had been nineteen.

Cold enough to see our breath.

He had wrapped me in his coat outside the rink, kissed my forehead and whispered, “One day I’ll give you everything.”

I had believed him.

God, I had believed him with my whole stupid heart.

A laugh escaped me then, broken and ugly.

Everything.

He had given me nothing.

No. That wasn’t true.

He had given me debt, humiliation and a dress with a slit cut into it by his billionaire fiancée while people laughed.

My grip tightened on the plastic handles until they bit into my skin.

I made it three more blocks before I had to stop.

I set the bags down near a bus bench and bent over, sucking in air.

My feet throbbed, even my shoulders burned.

I reached into the side pocket of one of the bags and found my phone.

Three percent battery.

No missed calls from Jeriah.

Of course not.

I stared at Tessa’s name for a second before pressing call.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Yara?”

The familiar softness in her voice made all the strength holding me upright crack at once.

“Tess…” My voice broke so badly I barely recognized it. “I… I don’t have anywhere to go.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “What happened?”

I laughed again, but this time it came out like a sob.

“What didn’t?”

“Are you safe?”

I looked down at my trash bags, torn dress and the darkness all around.

“No.”

“Okay. Okay, breathe.” I heard movement on her end, maybe a door swinging shut. “You’re coming to me. I’m on shift at the Langford right now. I have the spare key to my place in my locker. Come to the staff entrance, I’ll bring it out to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are literally my best friend. Shut up.”

Despite everything, my mouth twitched.

Tessa rushed on, “Stay with me as long as you need. I mean it. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

My eyes stung fresh.

Tessa might be the gossip hub herself but she was really sweet when it came down to it.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just get here. And screw Jeriah Hart.”

That almost made me cry harder.

The call ended.

I looked at the route on my dying phone, then at the miles between me and the hotel.

I was too broke to call for a cab yet too proud to call anybody else.

Guess Mr. Huxley was right. I was too damn proud for my own good.

I picked up my bags again and started moving.

By the time I reached Midtown, the night had deepened, towering buildings glittered above me.

Luxury cars purred past.

The Langford Hotel rose ahead of me like some fantasy.

I slowed near the side alley, dragging the bags behind me.

The staff entrance was supposed to be around the back.

I wiped under my eyes with the heel of my palm and turned the corner into the dimmer stretch behind the hotel, where expensive black SUVs lined the private parking lane.

It felt like I could get kidnapped here and no one would notice.

I decided to walk fast, I was almost to the door when a sharp cracking sound suddenly split the night.

A gunshot.