Chapter 3: Everyone had choices

Later on, Harley and Ana went to the hospital

The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, a sterile shroud that clung to Harley's senses as she followed Anastasia down the stark, white corridor of the hospital.

Each step felt like wading through molasses, her heart a reluctant companion thudding solemnly against her chest.

"Here we are," Anastasia murmured her voice a soft intrusion into the silence that had enveloped them since they left the apartment.

Harley barely registered the door before them, its cold metal handle an unfeeling sentinel to the room beyond. With a gentle nudge from Anastasia, she stepped into the morgue, a final threshold separating her from Ivana.

The chill of the room was immediate, seeping into her bones, and there, on a table draped with a clinical sheet, lay the still form that once bubbled with life. Harley's breath hitched; her sister, her sweet Ivana, was reduced to this motionless echo.

"Hey, sis," she whispered, reaching out a

trembling hand to pull back the sheet. Ivana's face, pallid yet peaceful, greeted her, a visage of rest that belied the turmoil churning within Harley.

A dam broke within her, tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. "I'm so sorry," she choked out between sobs, "I should've,"

"Harley." Anastasia's voice cut through the fog of grief, her hand warm on Harley's back. "You did everything you could."

But had she? The question bore down on Harley, the weight of her failures, debts, and now loss, bearing down on her like the skyscrapers outside that scraped the heavens yet were rooted in foundations of stone and steel.

"Miss Williams?" The voice of an attendant sliced through the moment, formal and detached. "The bills for your sister's stay need to be settled promptly. We can't delay charges for the morgue services."

Harley flinched, the reminder of reality a jarring contrast to the raw wound of her sorrow. She wiped at her eyes, trying to muster a semblance of composure. "I don't have it right now. Please, just give me some time."

"Harley," Anastasia interjected, her tone resolute, "I can cover the fees for a week. It'll give you breathing room." Harley turned to her friend, her blue eyes wide with a mix of protest and relief. "Ana, I can't let you,"

"Stop."

Anastasia held up a hand, firm yet gentle. "You're not letting me do anything. I'm offering because I want to help. Because you would do the same for me."

A small nod was all Harley could manage in response, the words lodged in her throat. In the reflection of her sister's eternal slumber, she saw the flicker of possibility. Maybe not all bridges were burned.

Not while Anastasia stood by her side, unwavering. "Thank you," Harley finally managed, her voice a fragile whisper. She turned back to Ivana, kissing her forehead softly. "I'll figure this out, sis. For both of us."

As they left the morgue, the burden of the world still rested on Harley's shoulders, but now, she carried it with the hint of resolve. Anastasia's kindness was a beacon, guiding her through the darkness, one step, one breath, one moment at a time.

The sun hung low, a smudged orange against the steel-gray backdrop of New York's skyline. Harley stood by the window, watching as the city stirred to life, her hand tracing the cool surface of the glass.

"Ana," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil that raged within, "I don't know how to thank you enough."

Anastasia, who was busy fluffing the pillows on the couch, paused and offered Harley a soft smile. "You don’t have to thank me, Harl.

That’s what friends are for." Harley's lips curved into a half-smile, a silent acknowledgment of the lifeline Anastasia had thrown her way.

"Still," Harley insisted, "you've been more than a friend; you've been my anchor." The words felt small, and insufficient, but they were laden with truth. "Anytime, Harley.

We're in this mess together," Anastasia replied, returning to her task. With a sigh, Harley turned from the window, her gaze sweeping over the modest apartment that now felt emptier than ever. Three days.

It had been three days since she watched Ivana slip away, since the world had demanded she keep moving when all she wanted was to stop.

She needed to get out, to breathe, to feel something other than the numbness that clung to her skin. Groceries. She'd start with something simple.

Something normal. "Going out," she murmured more to herself than to Anastasia, grabbing her jacket. "Be careful," Anastasia called after her, worry etched in her tone.

The streets were a living organism, pulsating with energy that Harley couldn't quite absorb. Her steps were mechanical, driven by necessity rather than will.

She made it to the store, filled her basket with items she hardly registered, and paid with the few crumpled bills she had left.

Exiting the store, her breath caught in her throat. Across the street, two men scanned the crowd, their gazes hungry, predatory. Loan sharks. She recognized them instantly, the vultures circling her ever-growing debt.

Panic surged, her heart thundering. She bolted. "Hey, there she is!" one shouted, his voice slicing through the hum of traffic.

Harley's legs pumped faster, her grocery bag swinging violently. She could hear the rapid footsteps closing in, could almost feel their breath on her neck. "Leave me alone!" Her voice was a hoarse cry, lost in the cacophony of the city.

She dodged through a group of tourists, nearly tripped over a dog leash, and rounded a corner. Her thoughts scrambled, a jumbled mess of fear and desperation. She couldn't outrun them forever. "Get back here, Williams!"

She pushed harder, lungs burning, eyes stinging with unshed tears. This wasn't how her life was supposed to go.

She was supposed to be strong, to rise above it all, not run scared through the streets like a frightened animal. "Harley, stop!" But she didn't. Couldn't. The thought of stopping was worse than the burn in her muscles, worse than the ache in her chest.

"Please," she whispered to no one, to everyone, to the city itself. "Please." And then, salvation, a car door ajar, an opportunity.

Without hesitation, without thought, she slipped inside and collapsed against the cool leather, her breath coming in ragged sobs. "Drive," she begged the universe. "Just drive."

The leather of the seat clung to Harley's skin, cool and foreign. Her chest heaved as she tried to shrink into the shadows of the car's plush interior. The door was still ajar, an accidental invitation she had accepted without a second thought.

"Please," Harley's voice cracked, her eyes clenched shut to hold back the terror threatening to spill over. "Don't let them find me."

The owner of the car shifted in his seat, the rustle of his clothes barely audible over her ragged breaths. A moment stretched, heavy with her plea hanging in the air.

"Alright," came a calm, measured voice that didn't match the turmoil roiling inside her. She heard the door open and braced herself for confrontation, but instead, a silence followed, punctuated only by low murmurs she couldn't make out.

The anxiety that gripped her formed a tight knot in her stomach, threatening to unravel her entirely.

There was the sound of footsteps receding, then the crisp shuffle of paper, money changing hands, her mind supplied. Her fingers dug into the seat, knuckles white, as time passed with excruciating slowness.

Then, the door closed with a soft thud. She dared to lift her gaze, heart in her throat. "Thank you," she whispered, lifting her head, her blue eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

Her breath hitched as recognition dawned. Sean Tennessee's emerald gaze met hers, piercing and unreadable.

The man from the glossy magazines, the tycoon whose name was synonymous with power in New York, sat inches away. He asked for her name, and she replied instantly.

"Miss Williams," he said, voice devoid of the warmth she desperately needed. "Seems you're in quite the predicament." Harley's mouth opened, but no words came out.

This was Sean Tennessee, her unexpected savior. Harley's heart thundered against her ribcage, a stark contrast to the composed figure before her.

Sean Tennessee, whose very presence commanded boardrooms, seemed out of place in the confines of his sleek, black car, addressing her with a detachment that felt like a slap.

"Mr. Tennessee," she stammered, the words tangling in her throat. "I didn't realize, I mean, I had no idea"

"Clearly," he cut her off, his tone sharp like the cut of his tailored suit. He adjusted the rearview mirror with a precise flick of his wrist.

The city blurred past as he took control of the vehicle, the engine purring like a caged beast eager for release. Harley’s fingers gripped the luxurious leather seat beneath her, its coolness a balm to her frayed nerves.

"Your situation," he started, glancing at her through narrowed eyes, "it's dire, isn't it?" Her heart skipped, and she wondered how much he knew, or guessed.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of traffic and the faint ticking of the car's console clock. "More than you can imagine," she finally confessed, voice barely above a whisper, her gaze dropping to her lap where her hands twisted the hem of her cheap dress, a stark reminder of her plight.

Sean's mouth formed a hard line, and she could feel his analytical gaze dissecting her predicament, weighing her worth. "Running from loan sharks is a dangerous game, Miss Williams."

There was a hint of reprimand there, or maybe it was curiosity; with Sean Tennessee, it was hard to tell. She swallowed, her pride a bitter pill. "I know. But I had no choice."

"Everyone has choices," he retorted, the green of his eyes hardening into emerald ice. "Easy for you to say," she snapped, regretting her words as soon as they left her mouth.

But it was too late; the sparks of defiance had already flown. He remained silent, letting the tension swell. Finally, he spoke, "Perhaps I can offer you a choice, one that might benefit us both."

Would Harley Williams find safety, or had she merely escaped one danger to find herself ensnared in another?