It was a crisp, sunny Saturday in late autumn.
The air was still warm enough for comfort, but just cool enough to require a light jacket. Across New York, the season had painted the landscape in amber and gold. The trees lining the roads had begun shedding their leaves—some pale and withered, others blazing red like fire. Only the maple trees still clung to their vibrancy, adding a splash of scarlet to the city's concrete palette.
Central Park, nestled in the heart of Manhattan's towering skyline, looked like something out of a postcard. Known as the green lung of the city, the sprawling park buzzed with quiet weekend energy. Families strolled past the boating lake, joggers zipped through winding trails, and music drifted from buskers by the fountain. The grassy open areas were dotted with couples, tourists, and picnickers soaking in the rare slice of peace.
At one such spot beneath a large maple tree, Bella and Angie had spread out a thick, red-and-white checkered picnic blanket. The setup was pristine—plush cushions, folded napkins, and a neatly arranged spread of food. Homemade sandwiches, roasted chicken, a fresh salad tossed with vinaigrette, fluffy muffins, warm soup in thermos flasks, and slices of apple pie dusted with cinnamon.
Most of it had been prepared by Bella herself.
Angie had made a valiant effort with the salad, but even she admitted she couldn't match Bella's culinary magic.
In fact, she often joked about it—especially when eating something particularly delicious.
"Seriously," Angie said, biting into a perfectly crisp piece of fried chicken, "we're living together after college. There's no way I'm letting you get stolen by some dude."
Bella gave her a dry look while sipping lemonade. "So I'm property now?"
"No, you're just irreplaceable," Angie said with a grin, then dramatically flopped onto her side. "Ughh, I ate too much…"
Angie had just wrapped up her midterm exams, which had buried her under stress for the past two weeks. The moment they ended, she dragged Bella out—half demanding, half pleading—for a celebration picnic. And Bella, despite pretending to be reluctant, had agreed. The weather was too perfect to stay inside.
Also present, sprawled lazily beside the basket, was their fat blue British Shorthair cat, Nina.
Her fur had been brushed until it gleamed, her ears twitched contentedly in the breeze, and her entire body radiated pampered confidence.
She looked like royalty.
Together, the trio painted quite the picture.
Bella, dressed casually in a jacket with a soft lambswool placket, short leather sleeves, a fitted shirt beneath, and dark joggers, exuded an effortless charm that made heads turn. Her golden-blonde hair—tipped subtly with burgundy—caught the sunlight like a halo.
Angie, by contrast, wore a cropped hoodie, gold hoop earrings, and a stylish plaid skirt. With her rich brown skin and soft curls, she was equally captivating. Though she joked about being the "backup dancer" next to Bella's "main character energy," they were clearly a power duo wherever they went.
And people noticed.
Passersby, whether strolling or lounging, stole glances at them. A few young men hesitated, clearly tempted to approach, but thought better of it. No one wanted to be that guy interrupting two women enjoying lunch in peace.
Almost no one.
Across the path, three men in baggy hip-hop streetwear wandered by, laughing and exchanging banter in loud voices. One wore a red bomber jacket over dreadlocks. His companion, short and pockmarked, tossed out crude jokes with every step, while the third—taller and silent—mostly nodded along.
They were mid-conversation when Dreadlocks suddenly stopped walking.
His eyes had locked onto Bella.
"Yo… is that an angel?" he muttered, dazed.
Pockmark snorted. "Your angel last week was Alice, and she drained your wallet faster than she blinked."
But when he followed his friend's gaze, he fell silent.
So did the third guy.
They saw the picnic. The food. The beautiful women. The curves. The contrast.
And they were hooked.
Dreadlocks adjusted his collar. "I've found my muse, bro."
Without further words, the three of them casually began walking toward Bella and Angie.
Bella noticed instantly. Her intuition buzzed like a warning siren—low, consistent, irritating.
She sighed under her breath. Of course. I come out for one peaceful afternoon and attract a pack of walking clichés.
She glanced sideways. Angie was happily chewing through a muffin, blissfully unaware.
Then Bella turned her eyes forward.
And the three men stopped cold in their tracks.
It was as if they'd walked straight into a wall of ice.
Dreadlocks stumbled slightly, blinking rapidly. The others froze, mid-step.
In an instant, all three were consumed by a disorienting sensation.
They were standing in a void. An endless black space with no sound, no light, no wind—just silence. No life. No comfort. A place of overwhelming solitude.
They tried to speak. Scream. Move.
Nothing worked.
No voice came from their throats. No strength from their limbs.
It was like existence had been paused, but their minds kept ticking in panic.
Then, just as quickly, it ended.
They blinked and found themselves standing on the grass in Central Park again, heartbeats racing. Sweat on their brows.
"What the… what the hell just happened?" Pockmark whispered, patting his chest.
Dreadlocks turned to his friends. "Did you… just now…"
"Yeah," the third man muttered. "I thought I died."
"I thought I was in hell," Pockmark added, looking shaken for the first time in years.
"Let's bounce. This place feels wrong."
"Agreed."
Dreadlocks hesitated, stealing one last glance at Bella. He was still smitten—hooked on something he didn't understand. But when his eyes met hers again, he flinched.
Those cold, golden eyes.
They weren't angry.
Just… indifferent.
But beneath that calm surface, he felt it—like staring into an abyss that stared back. A whisper in his bones that warned: Step closer, and you won't walk away.
His courage faltered. His fantasy shattered.
And with one final reluctant breath, he let himself be pulled away by his friends.
They walked off, glancing over their shoulders like children who had touched a flame and narrowly escaped being burned.
Bella sighed and turned back to her lemonade.
Nina, the fat cat, yawned and rolled over.
Angie finally noticed the awkward tension in the air. "Something happen?"
"Just some guys who got too close," Bella said casually. "I gave them a silent warning."
Angie raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "You and the cat are scarier than pepper spray."
"Goddesses don't need pepper spray," Bella replied, sipping her drink with a smirk.
A few feet away, a family with children began setting up their own picnic. A little girl pointed at Nina and waved excitedly. Nina, of course, ignored her completely.
The sun dipped slightly lower in the sky, casting long golden rays across the park.
For now, there was peace.
And Bella, for once, allowed herself to just enjoy it.
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