Chapter 3 Witnessing the Tragedy
Elodie's POV
I pulled myself together and left the hotel.
As soon as I got back to Columbia University, I went to the ice hockey rink I usually visit. Just my luck—I ran into Alex and Samantha making out right at the entrance.
Samantha saw me, pushed Alex away, and smiled like a smug bitch. "Well, if it isn't Elodie? Sobered up from last night?"
Alex looked at me too. Gone was his usual carefree smile, replaced by a hint of irritation.
"Elodie, who gave you permission to block me?" he demanded coldly.
I ignored them both and tried to walk past.
Alex grabbed my wrist, eyes wide with anger. "I'm talking to you!"
I stared at the hand on my arm and said coldly, "Let go."
Alex froze, clearly not used to seeing me this cold, which made him even angrier. "Who do you think you are? I'm doing you a favor by talking to you, and you dare act like this?"
"The bet's over, isn't it? Why are you still bothering me?"
A flash of surprise crossed Alex's face, followed by a cold laugh. His amber eyes were full of contempt. "Elodie, you humiliated me yesterday. You think you can just walk away?"
"Then what do you want?" I asked, frowning.
Alex looked around and noticed the abandoned fountain pool nearby. He picked one hockey stick from the bundle and threw it into the stinking pool water.
"What are you doing?" I was shocked. Those hockey sticks were ones I came to the rink every morning to carefully wipe down, over and over. They were precious to me.
Seeing my distress, Alex's lips curved into a satisfied smile. He pointed at the filthy water. "You said you wanted to leave me, right? Now jump in and get that hockey stick. If you can do it, I'll believe you're serious."
Students gradually gathered around to watch, whispering among themselves with gleeful expressions on their faces.
I looked at the hockey rink, and Lorenzo's image flashed through my mind again.
After practice, he would wrap my frozen hands in his warm, large palms and smile at me with such gentle warmth.
That's why after he left, I came to the hockey rink every day, touching each hockey stick, imagining how spirited he looked holding one.
Why? Why does everyone abandon me?
I looked at Alex, my eyes filled only with indifference and disgust. "I hope you keep your word and stop bothering me."
Alex froze.
I didn't give him a chance to speak. Under everyone's stunned gaze, I turned without hesitation and walked step by step toward the sewage pool.
The foul-smelling sewage instantly submerged my calves, the slimy sensation making me gag.
I endured the stench, fumbling in the water for a long time until I finally found the hockey stick.
The surroundings fell deathly silent.
Everyone was shocked, including Alex and Samantha.
These assholes had no idea why I cared more about a hockey stick than about Alex.
"It stinks!" Samantha pinched her nose and waved her hand in disgust. "Alex, she's filthy. Let's go."
She turned to leave, but noticed Alex hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed on me, covered in filth. She pushed him unhappily. "What are you doing? Why are you staring at that beggar?"
Alex ignored her and shouted at me instead. "Elodie, don't think this will get my attention! Look at yourself! Put that hockey stick down right now!"
I ignored him. The hockey stick in my hands was a hundred times more important than he was.
Dragging my soaked body, I walked away calmly with the hockey stick, under the silent and astonished stares of everyone.
Alex shouted a few more things behind me, but I didn't pay attention and didn't care to.
In everyone else's eyes, I might just be throwing a tantrum, but no one knew that Alex had touched my deepest nerve.
He wasn't worth a single finger of Lorenzo's.
Back at my rental apartment, I felt completely exhausted, body and soul.
I took a shower in the bathroom, changed into clean clothes, then took out the hockey stick and carefully wiped it clean before preparing to return it to the rink.
However, when I opened my door and walked through the dim hallway, I noticed the door to the neighboring apartment was half-open, with sounds of heated argument coming from inside.
"Mr. Nelson, please let me go... I really don't know where that shipment is."
It was the landlord Magnus's voice, trembling with fear.
Magnus was a notorious pervert who often looked at me with lecherous eyes, and once even tried to peek at me in the shower.
A person like that deserved to go to hell. I really didn't want to save him.
But it was still a human life, so I hesitated.
Fine, I guess I'm still a decent person.
I turned my head toward the crack in the door and saw a broad-shouldered figure in a black trench coat and fedora standing straight in front of the landlord, radiating an oppressive presence.
Magnus was kneeling before him, kowtowing and begging for mercy, but the man remained unmoved, casually playing with the gun in his hand.
Suddenly, the man raised the gun, aimed it at the landlord's forehead, and with a gunshot, the landlord fell into a pool of blood, motionless.
I was scared out of my wits and instinctively pulled out my phone to call the police.
But as I stepped back, I accidentally kicked an empty soda can in the hallway.
The crisp sound was especially jarring in the silent corridor.
The door next to me was yanked open, and a burly, fierce-looking man grabbed me and dragged me inside with such force I nearly fell.
"Mr. Nelson, there's a girl outside trying to call the police," the man who grabbed me said menacingly.
I looked up in terror to find myself in the middle of a smoke-filled room.
Several men in black suits with cold expressions stood on one side, while on the other side was a group of equally dangerous-looking people. I knew how terrifying the mafia was—they killed without mercy and represented the darkest corners of New York.
My gaze involuntarily fell on the man sitting in the main seat on the sofa. He seemed to be the leader of these suited men. Even with his back to me, his relaxed posture still carried an intimidating authority, a burning cigar held between his fingers.
"I'm sorry, I'm just a student... I didn't hear anything, please let me go..." My voice trembled, and survival instinct made me lower my head in fear.
"You saw everything and you want us to let you go?" The man in black beside me laughed coldly, grabbed my hair, and pressed a gun against my forehead.
On the edge of life and death, a hint of relief suddenly washed over me.
Whatever. I should have died a year ago anyway.
Just as I closed my eyes to accept death, a deep, magnetic voice rang out. "Let her go."
Hearing that familiar voice, my heart suddenly stopped.
The man in black seemed confused but obediently released me.
I slowly raised my head, my gaze traveling up from the shiny leather shoes before me, past the man's black trench coat wrapped around solid muscles, finally settling on that face.
Time seemed to freeze in that moment.
Before me was a face with sharp, defined features, handsome to the point of perfection.
He had a high nose bridge, thin lips pressed together, and those deep blue eyes like a pool of cold water—profound and captivating.
That face was almost identical to Lorenzo's—the Lorenzo who had left without saying goodbye five years ago!