A Sacrifice Hidden For Three Years

Hazel Sparks' POV:

Three years later, that day still feels like a fresh wound.

I walked into my small apartment after my night shift, the city lights blurred outside my window.

My body ached with the familiar weariness that had been my constant companion since the surgery.

I kicked off my shoes, eager to climb into bed and escape the echoes of Donovan's cruel words.

But sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford.

My phone buzzed, vibrating against the nightstand. It was my manager.

His voice was tight and urgent. "Hazel, you need to come back. Now. There's a situation with Mr. Gordon. A serious one."

My sleep-addled brain jolted awake.

A knot of dread formed in my stomach. What now?

I dressed quickly, my hands trembling as I buttoned my uniform.

Every fiber of my being screamed at me to run, to hide-but duty, and a morbid curiosity, pulled me back to The Sterling.

Jessica cut him off, her voice rising in pitch. "Missing? It's stolen! My three-million-dollar diamond earrings-Donovan gave them to me for my birthday. They're gone!"

She glared at me, her eyes narrowed. "And you were the last person in our room besides the cleaning lady-who's already been thoroughly questioned. She certainly wasn't playing maid in the middle of the night."

Jessica stood up. "Take off your clothes. We need to search you."

My breath caught in my throat.

I instinctively looked to Donovan.

He sat there, his face like stone, his eyes cold and unyielding-offering no defense, no flicker of doubt.

He believed her. He was allowing this to happen.

The realization was a devastating blow, a fresh wound reopening old scars.

I'd changed his sheets right in front of him-how could he possibly think I'd stolen anything?

Yet there he sat, watching silently as I was humiliated.

"Hazel, please," my manager whispered, his voice bordering on pleading. "Just cooperate. We can handle this discreetly."

I clutched my small handbag tightly to my chest, my knuckles white with tension.

I lifted my head, meeting Jessica's gaze. "No," I said, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. "I won't submit to a degrading search. If you think I stole something, call the police. Let them handle it legally."

Jessica scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Please. Donovan doesn't have time for your petty legal games! We want our earrings back, and we want them now. And don't pretend you weren't acting suspicious last night-sneaking in and out of the room, looking all flustered. You practically had 'thief' written on your face!"

Before I could respond, she lunged forward, her hand reaching for my bag. "Give that to me!"

I pulled back instinctively, clutching the bag tighter. "No! Get your hands off me!" My voice rose, raw with anger and humiliation.

But she was stronger, fueled by self-righteous fury.

With a powerful yank, she tore the bag from my grasp.

The zipper screeched open as she upended it, scattering my meager belongings across the polished floor.

My worn wallet, a few coins, a compact mirror, and a small, iridescent crystal moon charm clattered onto the expensive rug.

My eyes fixed on the charm.

It was a cheap trinket I'd bought years ago at a seaside tourist shop.

It shattered on impact, a delicate, tinkling sound that echoed in the sudden silence of the room.

A wave of sharp, unexpected pain washed over me.

I knew it was foolish, but that little crystal moon held a piece of my past-a memory of happier times.

Donovan's gaze, which had been distant and cold, suddenly sharpened.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes fixed on the broken crystal.

A flicker of something-crack in his icy composure-crossed his face.

He swallowed hard, his throat working, and when he spoke, his voice was low and strained. "Jessica, that's enough."

He stood up, towering over her. "We'll buy you new earrings. Better ones. Now, go back to the suite."

He turned to my manager with a sharp nod. "And you-make sure Ms. Cabrera is comfortable. I'll handle everything else."

His dismissal was final and absolute.

The door clicked shut, leaving just the two of us in the cold, silent room.

The air was thick with unspoken words, with the ghosts of our shared past.

A tremor ran through me as we stood facing each other-separated by the wreckage of my spilled belongings, by the shattered pieces of my precious little moon.

The silence was deafening, suffocating.