Chapter 5 Sawyer Stark
Christian.
He moved like a storm, a thick wooden stick in his grip. Before the other man could react, Christian swung it with brutal force. The sickening crunch of impact echoed in the alley.
"Ah!"
"Fuck!" the men cursed, staggering back, but they weren’t down. They were used to fights. They recovered quickly, their eyes dark with rage as they advanced again.
Christian pulled Ivy up and, without looking at her, pushed her away. "Go," he ordered, his voice eerily calm. He pointed towards the exit. "That way. Now."
She hesitated, her body frozen with fear, but he pushed her again, his focus solely on the men closing in on him.
From the force of his push, Ivy stumbled forward, her feet carrying her away for a few steps. But something made her stop. She turned back, her eyes wide as she watched him fight.
Christian fought like a madman. His fists connected with brutal precision, breaking noses, splitting lips. The men reeled, blood staining their faces, but they fought back. One of them managed to snatch the stick from Christian’s grip and slammed it against his side.
Ivy gasped.
Ivy gasped as the wood struck his side with a sickening crack. But Christian barely flinched. If anything, the impact seemed to fuel something even darker within him. His eyes burned with a raw, uncontrolled fury as he launched another brutal attack.
Before she could think, Ivy found herself running back toward them just as Christian grabbed a brick from the ground, lifting it high, ready to brutally strike it against the skull of one of the men.
"Christian!" Ivy’s voice rang through the alley.
His hand froze mid-air.
His gaze snapped to her.
And in that split second of distraction—she saw something other than fury in his eyes—concern.
The brick slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a dull thud. But the momentary distraction cost him.
BAM!
The second man struck him from behind. The wooden stick cracked against Christian’s head.
The impact sent him staggering to the side, blood trickling down his face almost instantly.
"Christian!" Ivy’s shrill scream pierced the air. She rushed toward him, but before she could reach, Christian gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse yet firm.
"Stay there. Don’t come closer!"
Blood dripped into his eye, his vision blurring.
The second attacker tried to hit him again.
Christian caught his wrist, twisted it with bone-snapping force. With a sharp inhale, he grabbed the stick from the man’s hands, landing a brutal punch to his face before delivering a final, devastating blow with the stick.
The man collapsed, unconscious.
Ivy reached Christian just as he swayed, grabbing his arms, her fingers trembling as she looked up at his face.
"You’re hurt," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh God, you’re bleeding—"
Christian’s bloody hand lifted, brushing her cheek gently, his voice soft despite his injuries. "Don’t… worry," he murmured.
But the moment the words left his lips, his eyes fluttered shut, and his body went limp.
"Christian?" Her voice broke as she sank to the ground with him. His weight was too much, and she fell onto her knees, his face pressing into her neck, his blood warm against her skin.
Tears streamed down her face as she held him tightly.
A shrill ringtone shattered the silence. Ivy’s hands trembled as she reached into his suit pocket, pulling out his phone. Samuel’s name flashed on the screen.
Wasn’t this Christian’s secretary?
She answered immediately. "Hello?"
"Hello? Hi, sorry—who is this? Can you hand the phone to Mr. Evans?"
"Samuel? It’s Ivy. Christian’s hurt very badly. Where are you?" Her voice trembled.
"Ms. Watson?" Samuel’s voice sharpened with concern. "I’m at your hotel. Send me your location. I’ll be there immediately."
Ivy quickly navigated through Christian’s phone and sent their location through WhatsApp.
Her fingers moved swiftly, sending their location via WhatsApp. Within minutes, Samuel arrived, and Christian was rushed to the hospital. The police took the attackers away.
Three hours later, Ivy sat outside the operating room, her hands tightly clenched together. The white walls of the hospital felt cold and suffocating.
"Please be okay," she whispered, voice barely audible.
Her head dropped into her hands, fingers pressing against her temples as she fought against the rising panic.
A sudden commotion echoed in the corridor.
Sawyer Stark stormed in. His tall, commanding presence was impossible to ignore. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital, he exuded power. His jet-black hair, usually styled to perfection, was slightly tousled, as if he had run his hands through it in frustration. His sharp gray eyes, cold and unreadable, scanned the area with impatience and worry. Dressed in a dark shirt and tailored pants, the fabric clung to his broad shoulders, his lean frame radiating authority despite the gloominess of the hospital.
Three men followed closely behind him, their hurried steps echoing against the sterile floors. The moment he arrived, his sharp gaze swept the area with impatience and worry. He turned to one of his men.
"Find out how Christian’s doing," Sawyer ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "I want to know everything—the extent of his injuries, who’s treating him, and what’s happening in that operating room."
At the sound of Sawyer’s voice, Ivy lifted her head slightly, and looked up. She recognized that voice even before she saw who it was. She had seen him many times at Evans Holdings. He was Christian’s friend.
Her lips parted. And then she answered without looking at him.
"He hurt his head," she said quietly. "The doctors are stitching him up."
Sawyer froze mid-stride. His head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing.
"Ivy?" Disbelief flashed across his face.
Ivy wiped away the lingering traces of tears and met his eyes. "Yes."
Sawyer exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. His head tilted back, frustration rolling off him in waves before a string of curses left his lips.
"God-fucking-damn it!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing furiously. His eyes burned with barely contained anger.
"I fucking knew it," he muttered under his breath, voice filled with venom. “There could never be any other woman he’d throw his life away for. Of course, it’s Ivy Watson!"
Sawyer paced back and forth, agitation burning through him. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to rein in his anger. Across from him, Ivy sat in silence, her face unreadable, cold, and emotionless.
He finally stopped, exhaling sharply as he turned to face her, hands resting on his belt. Though still tense, he had regained some control over his emotions. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge to it.
“I don’t understand your relationship with Christian. What goes on between you two, or what has happened between you and him in this… unknown relationship. But Ivy—” he said firmly, locking eyes with her, “Christian might be impossible to handle for every other person in this fucking world. But for you, he lays down everything he has. Even his damn life. He’s never treated you badly, even though his own life is hell.”
Sawyer exhaled sharply as frustration clawed at him. The girl remained completely indifferent, as if she didn’t care that Christian was lying in a hospital room, fighting for his life because of her. Samuel had called him about the attack, but he hadn’t mentioned that the woman Christian had risked his life for was Ivy.
Sawyer took another breath, trying to steady himself. Taking a seat beside Ivy, he leaned forward slightly. His voice was quieter, "You don’t know how terrified he is of being anywhere near the street people or even alone on an empty street. But for you, he walked into one without hesitation, fought off some sleazy bastards he wouldn’t have even spared a glance at otherwise, and got hurt—without a single thought for his own life."
Ivy turned her head to him, confusion flickering across her face. Sawyer noticed it immediately and frowned.
“He hasn’t told you?” Sawyer asked, brows knitting together.
When Ivy remained silent, Sawyer exhaled sharply, rubbing his face in frustration.
“That damn idiot! It’s been so long since he’s known you, and he still hasn’t mentioned it? He’s probably too worried about how you’d react.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Christian might care about your feelings, but I don’t. I see how cold and indifferent you are toward him, and it pisses me off. If I leave it to him, he’ll probably never tell you everything he’s done for you.”
Sawyer looked her dead in the eye and said bluntly, “When Christian was a kid—maybe five or six years old—his mother fell into depression because she had fallen in love with another man during her pregnancy with Christian. One day out of the blue, she left the Evans estate with Chrisitan and disappeared. She abandoned him in the middle of an unknown city, on a random street, and vanished.”
Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. A small child, left alone in the streets… The very thought sent a shiver down her spine.
“He was alone. Hungry. He roamed the streets for two months,” Sawyer continued, his voice dark. “He had no idea where his home was or how to get back to Mr. Evans. His mother left no trace behind, and his father was searching for him everywhere. Christian was out there for so long that he was beaten, starved, and nearly… abused. He barely managed to escape. He went through fucking hell, all alone. A child.” Sawyer’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “By the time his father found him, he was completely traumatized. And since then, he’s suffered from psychosomatic paralysis.”
Sawyer let out a heavy breath, folding his hands over his knees. "His body physically reacts to emotional overload by shutting down completely, leaving him paralyzed."
Ivy’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. A strange panic seeped into her veins. Her eyes darted toward the closed hospital room door.
Is Christian really that sick? Her mind raced.
Sawyer studied her for a moment before speaking again. "I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty," he said calmly. "I’m telling you because... maybe if you were just a little kinder to him—if you let him be around you, let him chase you instead of getting angry at him—he wouldn’t be so obsessive. But the more you push him away, the more you reject him, the worse it gets. You’ll only make him more obsessed with you."
Ivy remained silent. Every word felt like poison, sinking deep into her. Her heart pounded, each beat echoing in her ears. But then, she forced herself to push it down.
She stood up abruptly, gripping her bag tightly, her knuckles white. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, but her voice came out sharp, filled with unrestrained fury. “Why should I let him have his way in my life? Why are you asking me to give up everything to make things easier for him? Why should I give him what he wants?” Her voice rose with every word, unhinged, raw with emotion. “Why should I be stuck with him just because he’s too stubborn to let me go?”
Sawyer stiffened, then he sighed deeply, nodding in resignation. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he stood. “It’s fine. It’s alright,” he told her, his voice calm. “I shouldn’t have asked you that. Nevermind. I’ll take care of Christian. You should head back to the hotel now. It’s getting late.”
At once, Ivy turned and walked away, leaving the hospital behind.