Saving Selena

Cole Hart wasn’t expecting anything remarkable that afternoon. He had settled into a quiet corner of the café’s outdoor patio, his journal open, a cup of coffee growing lukewarm by his elbow. The cafe sat across the street from the upscale condominium he had just moved into—a decision he’d made in search of inspiration, although nothing about the sterile glass facade had sparked anything yet.

He let out a quiet breath, absently turning his pen between his fingers, lost in thought—until something, or someone, pulled him out of his haze.

A woman had stepped out of the building, pausing on the sidewalk like she wasn’t sure where to go next. Her eyes were downcast and her expression was unreadable but heavy.

She couldn’t have been more than her mid-twenties, dressed in a brown dress that skimmed her ankles. Her dark hair was loosely tied back, a few strands brushing her cheeks. The air was still far too warm and humid for layers, yet she wore a thin jacket and kept tugging at the sleeves, pulling them down as if to make sure her arms stayed covered.

Cole couldn’t look away. Her obvious beauty caught his eye, but it was the mysterious aura she carried and the sadness in her eyes that truly held him captive. As a writer, he had always been drawn to raw human emotion, finding inspiration in the unspoken stories people carried. For the past ten months, he’d been stuck, searching desperately for the spark that would ignite his next book. Now, watching her, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just found his muse.

Another figure emerged, yanking Cole’s focus away from her. A man strode out of the building with sharp, deliberate steps. There was an urgency in his approach, his voice cutting through the space between them.

She stiffened but didn’t turn, her shoulders locked in quiet resistance.

Then he grabbed her, his fingers digging into her forearm in a forceful yank. His jaw was clenched, his words spilling through gritted teeth, while she winced, her face twisted in pain.

Cole pushed back his chair, every instinct telling him to move, to interfere. But before he could take a step, a car pulled up to the curb. A valet stepped out, and the man practically shoved the woman into the passenger seat. He then climbed into the driver’s seat, and within seconds, the car peeled away, its tires shrieking against the pavement.

Cole stood frozen, his hands curled into fists. He barely knew her, yet something about that moment burrowed under his skin. The way she refused to meet the man’s gaze. The way she winced when he touched her. The way she had hesitated on the sidewalk, as though, for a brief moment, she had considered running.

He raked a hand through his hair, his jaw tight.

Maybe it was nothing...

But maybe it wasn’t.

* * *

Later that evening, Cole sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop casting sharp angles across his face. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words wouldn’t come. The cursor blinked expectantly, but his mind was elsewhere, circling the same image over and over.

Her.

The quiet despair in her eyes kept haunting his consciousness, and the way her fingers trembled as she tugged at her sleeves…

Cole exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He had spent years crafting stories—stringing together words to make sense of emotion, to give depth to characters. But for the first time, he was at a loss—because this wasn’t fiction. This was real.

A sharp slam from the door across the hall shattered the silence, yanking him from his thoughts of her. Then came the voices—muffled, but not enough.

“What do you mean you didn’t mean to?” a man’s voice growled. “You knew exactly what you were doing!”

A woman responded, her voice soft, broken, and strangled by tears.

Cole exhaled through his nose, staring at the wall between his suite and the neighboring unit. This was supposed to be a high-end building—the kind of place where people paid for discretion and quiet. But now, late-night arguments were bleeding through the walls, drilling into his skull.

He clenched his jaw, pushing back from his desk. He needed air.

With a sigh, he shut his laptop and grabbed it along with his notebook, deciding to continue his work on the roof deck instead.

When he reached the rooftop, he paused, letting his gaze sweep over the city. Augusta stretched out quietly below, a Southern city caught between tradition and modern gloss.

He found a spot near the entrance, sank into a lounge chair, and let his head rest back, his eyes briefly shutting against the weight of his thoughts. The roof deck was quiet, the cool night breeze brushing against his skin, loosening the tension in his chest.

Almost two hours later, he was finally lost in the rhythm of typing when the soft sound of footsteps broke the stillness. It was slow, hesitant… each step accompanied by the faint hitch of muffled sobs.

A young woman emerged from the stairwell, her face glinting with tears. She didn’t seem to notice him, but he watched her walk towards the other side of the deck. She moved like a shadow, silent and shaky, heading straight for the edge of the roof.

Cole’s stomach dropped as he watched her climb onto the ledge.

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa!” His voice cut through the night as he bolted toward her.

She startled, her foot slipping on the ledge.

His body moved before his mind did, his instincts overriding thought. He lunged, grabbing her arm just as she lost her balance. With one sharp pull, he yanked her down, sending them both sprawling onto the cold concrete.

She scrambled back, her eyes wide and glassy with shock.

Cole’s breath caught when he realized it was her—the young woman from earlier. Up close, he could see it—the bruise darkening along her cheekbone, the small split on her lip.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, hugging herself as she trembled.

Cole stood slowly, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. “What were you thinking? Were you seriously about to—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

She dropped her gaze, her silence heavier than any answer.

Cole exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “Come on,” he said, gentler this time. He offered his hand. When she didn’t take it, he reached out carefully, guiding her away from the ledge, back toward the safety of his spot near the entrance.

He eased her into one of the chairs, then crouched in front of her, searching her face. “What happened?” His voice was quiet now, careful.

She shook her head, her gaze locked on her lap, refusing to meet his eyes.

He hesitated before reaching out, brushing his fingertips beneath her chin to lift her face. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he felt himself drawn into her gaze.

Her eyes were breathtaking—striking emerald with flecks of gold, like sunlight piercing through dense foliage. The sheer intensity of them caught him off guard, sending a strange, unsteady feeling through his chest. But it wasn’t just their beauty that held him captive—it was the emotion swirling within them.

Pain.

Fear.

A silent plea she wasn’t voicing.

His gaze dropped to her lip, where a faint cut marred the softness of her mouth. His voice came out lower, rougher. “Your lip… what happened?”

She tensed, her lashes lowering as she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she whispered.

“That’s not nothing. Who did it?”

Her breath hitched, but she turned away, brushing his hand aside with trembling fingers.

And then, without another word, she bolted.

Cole remained where he was, the night air pressing against his skin, as the sound of the stairwell door slamming echoed in his head.

He ran a hand down his face, frustration curling deep in his chest. Her shattered expression burned into his memory, the sight of her on the ledge an image he wouldn’t soon forget.

He had seen enough.

And he wasn’t letting this go.