❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ CITY OF ANGELS ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ being around him makes her want to be better. He inspires something in her that no one else has ever managed to." ❜  

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝑂𝑅𝐸𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow over the cramped briefing room. Sergeant Grey strode back and forth across the linoleum floor, his usually gruff voice taking on an unexpected playfulness. The air was thick with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, a palpable tension that seemed to heighten the senses of everyone present.

"It's time for the training officer match game," he announced, a hint of mischief in his tone. His words drew chuckles and chatter from the officers around, each of the rookies bracing for the inevitable pairing.

As Grey listed off the contestants, Charlotte felt a mix of excitement and apprehension flutter in her chest. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as her heart beat faster. The hum of the overhead lights buzzed in her ears, a constant reminder of the sterile, artificial environment she found herself in.

Jackson West, the academy prodigy, sat to her left, his expression a careful mask of anticipation. On her right, John Nolan, most likely the oldest rookie to ever walk the earth, shifted his weight from foot to foot, his nerves barely concealed. Both men were seasoned in their own ways, yet here they were, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, their fates just as uncertain.

A ripple of laughter swept through the room as Grey addressed Charlotte with the title of "imposter from New York." She shot him a playful glare, her lips quirking into a reluctant smile. The nickname stung slightly, but she knew it was all in good fun. Her mind was too occupied with the prospect of meeting her training officer to dwell on it for long.

With roll call concluded, Charlotte rose from her seat, the wooden chair scraping against the linoleum floor with a grating sound. She steadied herself on the tips of her shoes, pivoting on her heels to scan the room for her assigned training officer amidst the sea of blue uniforms. The room seemed to blur around her as she focused on finding the face that would determine her immediate future.

She was granted Officer Bradford, a man whose reputation for scaring rookies off the program with his wicked games and so-called "Tim tests" preceded him. Charlotte had heard the stories, whispered in hushed tones in the academy hallways. But rumors were just that—rumors. She hoped.

"Officer Von Liljah!" A booming, authoritative voice shouted. Charlotte spun around on her heels once again, eyes slightly wide. The man cocked his eyebrows a little aggressively, as if he'd been waiting to meet her eyes for a while now.

He stood before her with his sculpted, toned arms crossed, his demeanor both confident and serious. His hair was cut short, almost in a slightly stubby fashion, a light brunette hue framing his face. The short strands seemed to dance in the sunlight, catching glimmers of gold amidst their tousled arrangement. His fair skin bore a hint of tan, a testament to the hours spent under the sun's gentle caress during shifts.

As her gaze traveled upward, she noticed his bushy brown eyebrows, a stark contrast to his newly shaved jaw. Each curve and arch seemed to emphasize his surprisingly expressive eyes, adding depth to his otherwise stoic countenance. But truly, it was his eyes that captured her attention.

Piercing and icy blue, they held a depth that seemed to draw her in, like a sailor navigating the tumultuous waters of a stormy sea. The intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.

The air in the room felt thick with anticipation. The faint scent of coffee and sweat mingled, a testament to the long hours and the hard work that defined their lives. Charlotte's heart raced, a mix of nerves and curiosity, as she took in every detail of her new training officer. The room, despite its buzzing energy, seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them in a silent, intense standoff.

Bradford's eyes narrowed slightly, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips as if he could read her thoughts. "Let's see if you can keep up, Von Liljah," he said, his voice low and challenging.

Charlotte straightened her posture, her chin lifting with determination. "I won't let you down, Officer Bradford," she replied, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. The moment stretched, charged with unspoken promises and the weight of expectations.

Finally, Bradford nodded, turning sharply on his heel. "Follow me," he commanded, leading her out of the briefing room and into the bright, unforgiving world of the LAPD. The fluorescent lights above flickered one last time as they left, casting fleeting shadows on the linoleum floor.

As they walked, Charlotte's mind raced. The floor under her boots felt solid, grounding her in the reality of what lay ahead. The echoes of their footsteps mingled with the distant hum of activity in the precinct, creating a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. The scent of freshly brewed coffee grew stronger as they passed the break room, mingling with the faint aroma of cleaning supplies and the underlying, ever-present smell of city grime.

Bradford glanced back at her, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers with a challenge that was as clear as day. "You ready for this, Von Liljah?" he asked, his tone almost teasing but with an edge that told her he meant business.

Charlotte met his gaze head-on, her resolve hardening. "Y-Yes," she gulped, her voice cracking slightly. She felt a surge of determination. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she belonged here despite the odds.

"Seems you've scared her already," another T.O. laughed as she walked out with her newly assigned rookie. Officer Bradford let out a low grunt, almost a tough scoff, rolling his eyes at her. The camaraderie and banter between the officers was a comfort, a reminder that despite the challenges, she was not alone in this.

"Walk with me, boot," he suddenly addressed. Charlotte immediately met his gaze, looking like a lost puppy. He started walking, and she quickly followed, just making it through the crack of the door before it closed behind them with a soft click.

The precinct was a hive of activity, the bustle of officers and the occasional suspect being led through the halls creating a symphony of sound. The walls were adorned with bulletin boards filled with wanted posters, crime statistics, and departmental announcements. Each detail, each sight and sound, anchored Charlotte further into the world she was now a part of.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, casting an uneven, cold glow on the linoleum floor, reflecting off the polished surfaces of desks and filing cabinets. The air was thick with the stale scent of old coffee and disinfectant, a mix of nerves and expectation hanging in the atmosphere. Other officers moved with purpose, their murmured conversations and the occasional burst of laughter fading into the background as Tim and Charlotte deviated from the path of the crowd.

Tim's strides were long and purposeful, his boots thudding against the floor with a determined rhythm. Charlotte's heart pounded in her chest, her own steps hurried and slightly uneven as she tried to keep up with him. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with bulletin boards cluttered with memos and wanted posters, the lights casting harsh shadows that danced along the walls.

Without warning, Tim turned sharply and led them into an interrogation room. The door closed behind them with a harsh click, the sound echoing ominously in the confined space. Before Charlotte could process what was happening, Tim shoved her against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact jarred through her body, sending a sharp pain shooting up her spine. She swallowed back a cry, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and confusion.

"What the hell is your problem?!" she yelled, her voice tinged with anger as she struggled against his hold.

Tim's expression hardened, his eyes flashing with anger. He pinned her with a fierce glare, his voice dripping with contempt. "My problem? My problem is that you're not a real cop," he accused, his words cutting deep.

"You're just a rich girl playing dress-up, all daddy's money." The sting of his words left her breathless, disbelief etched into every line of her face. She pushed against his hold, desperation driving her to prove him wrong.

"I hate what you stand for, Officer Von Liljah," he continued, his voice laced with bitterness. "That a rich girl can get whatever she wants with the swipe of her daddy's credit card. I'll make sure Grey finds out what you really are."

With a final shove, he released her, his gaze burning into hers as he strode toward the door. Tears blurred her vision, but determination coursed through her veins. "I'll prove you wrong," she whispered hoarsely, her resolve unyielding despite the doubt gnawing at her core.

His parting words hung in the air like a dark cloud, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Don't bet on it, princess," he retorted, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he disappeared into the corridor, leaving her to grapple with the weight of his accusations.

The nickname, which most found sweet, was now an insult used against her for her family's wealth, something that was out of her control. She quickly wiped her tears, following him, steadying her uneven breath.

With a determined stride, Charlotte hastened to keep pace with Tim's long steps, their footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridors of the precinct. The dull hum of fluorescent lights cast flickering shadows on the concrete walls as they diverged from the bustling throng of officers heading to their respective duties. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant, a familiar ambiance that permeated the station.

Silence enveloped them like a thick blanket as they made their way through the labyrinthine halls, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them. It wasn't until they were settled in the patrol car, the engine humming softly beneath them, that Tim broke the silence.

"Tell me about yourself," he prompted, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his voice a steady anchor in the quietude of the car. "Why'd you decide on becoming a cop instead of some NYC brat living off her daddy's money?"

Charlotte hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal to this man who seemed to harbor such anger for her. The fear of him screaming again prevented her from speaking, and she swallowed hard before mustering the courage to respond. "Well... I wasn't the most studious in school," she began, her voice hesitant as she treaded carefully through her explanation. "I partied throughout high school, avoiding any real responsibility. But then um... I realized-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the world tilted on its axis as the car lurched forward, her body thrown violently against the seatbelt restraint. Tim's urgent voice cut through the chaos, his words a jarring reminder of the dangers lurking beyond the safety of their patrol car.

"I've been shot!" Tim yelled at her.

Panic surged through Charlotte as she fumbled for composure, her heart racing in her chest. She searched frantically for any sign of the source of danger, her mind clouded with fear and confusion. "Wh-" she started, but Tim cut her off again.

"I'm bleeding to death. You have to call for help. Where are you?" he asked, shooting a piercing glare right at her.

She frantically looked around, even peeking her head out the window. "I-I don't-" she whimpered.

"As expected. Get out." His command hung in the air, heavy with disappointment. With trembling hands, she fumbled with the seatbelt, finally freeing herself from its grasp.

"Get out and walk, princess," he repeated. Swallowing hard, Charlotte opened the door and stepped out into the unknown, the weight of Tim's disappointment pressing down on her like a leaden cloak.

With shaky legs, she stood outside the car, the cool night air biting at her skin. Charlotte's breath came in short gasps, her mind racing as she tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

Tim's words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of the doubt and resentment he harbored towards her. She watched as the patrol car's taillights faded into the distance, leaving her alone in the silence of the morning.

Determined not to let his harsh judgment define her, Charlotte took a deep breath and began to walk. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty streets, each step a testament to her resolve to prove herself, not just to Tim, but to everyone who doubted her.

As she walked, the city around her seemed to come alive. The distant hum of traffic, the faint murmur of voices from nearby buildings, and the occasional bark of a dog created a symphony of urban life. The air was thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and the faint aroma of food from a nearby diner, blending together in a familiar yet overwhelming mix.

Charlotte's thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions, fear and determination battling for dominance. She knew the path ahead would be challenging, but she was resolved to face it head-on. With every step, she steeled herself against the doubts and insecurities that threatened to consume her.

The journey back to the precinct was long and arduous, each block feeling like an eternity. Her feet ached, her muscles protested, but she pushed forward, driven by a fierce determination to prove herself. The city lights flickered overhead, casting a pale glow on the streets as she made her way through the urban maze.

Finally, the precinct came into view, its familiar silhouette a beacon of safety and purpose. Charlotte quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest as she approached the entrance. She could feel the weight of Tim's judgment still pressing down on her, but she refused to let it break her spirit.

As she stepped through the doors of the precinct, the familiar hum of activity greeted her. The scent of coffee and disinfectant filled the air, a reminder of the world she was now a part of. Charlotte squared her shoulders, her resolve stronger than ever. She knew that proving herself wouldn't be easy, but she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Tim's words had cut deep, but they had also ignited a fire within her. Charlotte was determined to show him, and everyone else, that she was more than just a rich girl playing dress-up. She was here to make a difference, to prove that she had what it took to be a real cop.

With renewed determination, Charlotte took a deep breath and stepped further into the precinct, ready to face whatever lay ahead. The path wouldn't be easy, she knew that, but she was ready to walk it, one step at a time.

"Took you longer than it should've," Tim huffed, sitting casually in the police car, snacking on a granola bar. The crinkling of the wrapper and his nonchalant tone made Charlotte's blood boil, but she fought to keep her composure.

Charlotte didn't respond at first, gnawing on her bottom lip, a bad habit that only truly showed when she was nervous. Her heart was still pounding from the unexpected walk through the dim streets, and the lingering sting of Tim's earlier words gnawed at her confidence. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm and collected.

"Sorry, sir," she finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but she knew better than to show any defiance. Her eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding his piercing gaze that she could feel scrutinizing her every move.

Tim leaned back in his seat, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He took another bite of his granola bar, chewing thoughtfully before he spoke again. "You think sorry is gonna cut it out there?" His voice was sharp, each word a jab that hit its mark. "You need to be faster, sharper. This isn't a game, Von Liljah."

The air in the car was thick with tension, the hum of the engine a low, constant backdrop to their exchange. Charlotte's fingers tightened around the edge of the door, her knuckles turning white. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes burning with unshed tears of frustration and determination.

"I know it's not a game," she said, her voice steadier this time. "I know what's at stake."

Tim's eyes narrowed slightly, searching her face for any sign of weakness. He seemed to find none, for he let out a small, grudging nod. "We'll see," he said, his tone less harsh but still laden with skepticism. He crumpled the granola bar wrapper and tossed it into the back seat, then motioned for her to get in.

Charlotte slid into the passenger seat, the door closing with a soft thud. The interior of the car smelled faintly of leather and Tim's aftershave, a sharp, clean scent that did little to calm her nerves. She buckled her seatbelt, her fingers trembling slightly as they worked the clasp. The dashboard lights cast a soft, greenish glow over her hands, illuminating the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.

As Tim started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, Charlotte stared out the window, watching the cityscape blur past. Her mind raced, replaying the events of the evening and bracing herself for whatever lay ahead. She could feel Tim's eyes flicking over to her every so often, a silent reminder that she was being judged, measured against some invisible standard that she wasn't sure she could ever meet.

The drive was silent, the only sound the steady hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the police radio. The city lights outside cast fleeting patterns on the windshield, and the darkened streets seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Charlotte's thoughts swirled in a tumult of determination and anxiety, each passing moment a reminder of the uphill battle she faced.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life, the dispatcher's voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. The static hissed for a moment before the words became clear, a lifeline in the midst of her confusion.

"7-Adam-19, family dispute, 1401 West Sycamore. Address has a history of domestic calls."

"7-Adam-19, Roger," Tim responded, his voice steady as he accelerated towards the address. The crackle of the radio faded, leaving a tense silence in its wake.

The two officers pulled up to an unassuming house, its facade giving no indication of the turmoil within. The lawn was neatly trimmed, the porch light flickering like a beacon in the twilight. With a deep breath, Charlotte stepped out of the car and approached the door, her heart pounded in anticipation.

The door swung open, revealing a towering figure looming in the doorway. He stood at least 6'3", his presence imposing in the narrow frame. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the entrance, casting a long shadow over the threshold. Charlotte swallowed nervously, steeling herself as she addressed him. "Sir, we've received a call about a disturbance."

Beside him stood his wife, her small frame dwarfed by his imposing stature. She clutched a fluffy dog to her chest, the little creature's eyes wide and anxious. The woman's eyes darted between her husband and me, a mixture of fear and resignation etched into her features. The air was thick with the scent of stale tobacco and something acrid, perhaps the remnants of an earlier argument.

Charlotte turned to her, concern etched into her features. "Are you alright, ma'am?" Her voice was gentle, trying to convey reassurance despite the knot of tension tightening in her chest.

The man bristled at Charlotte's inquiry, his displeasure evident in the furrow of his brow and the hard set of his jaw. He stepped forward slightly, his gaze cold and challenging. Charlotte looked back at Tim, who stood a few paces behind her, his expression calm but alert. He nodded once, a silent gesture of support.

Ignoring the man's hostility, she pressed on, encouraged by Tim's silent backing. "Trying to make weight?" She blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

Her eyes had caught the glint of plastic beneath the man's sweat suit, a detail that brought back memories. She sensed Tim's scrutiny, his gaze burning into her back as she forged ahead.

"I noticed the plastic under your sweat suit. My ex used to wrestle in high school, and I remember how he struggled with it. I could share some tips if you'd like. Just between us, though." She crossed her arms, trying to project confidence despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

To Charlotte's surprise, the man's demeanor softened, his eyes losing some of their hardness. He glanced at his wife, who gave him a hesitant nod. He sighed and agreed to step outside with her, leaving Tim to console his wife within the confines of the house.

As they moved away from the door, Charlotte couldn't help but feel a surge of relief mingled with trepidation, uncertain of what lay ahead.

The cool evening air hit her face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. The faint hum of cicadas filled the silence, a background chorus to their tense conversation. She led the man to the edge of the porch, the wooden boards creaking under their weight.

"What's your name?" Charlotte asked softly, trying to break the ice.

"Carlo," he replied gruffly, his eyes still avoiding hers.

The air was thick with tension as she confronted Carlo, the weight of his silence hanging heavy in the space between them. His eyes darted away, evading the intensity of her gaze, betraying the turmoil raging within him.

"My ex wore the exact same plastic when he lived with his father, who beat him," Charlotte revealed softly, her voice barely above a whisper, the words heavy with empathy. "Were the domestic calls from you? Does she hit you?" she asked, her tone gentle but insistent.

Carlo's hesitation was palpable, his reluctance to acknowledge the truth evident in the way he averted his gaze. "..No. No. Sh-She knows better than that," he stammered, his words laced with uncertainty.

"Carlo, if she hits you, press charges. If you don't, she'll eventually kill you," She urged, the weight of her warning settling heavily upon them. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.

He exhaled heavily, a defeated sigh escaping his lips as he nodded in reluctant agreement. His shoulders sagged, the weight of his burden momentarily lifting.

Charlotte's throat tightened with unspoken emotion as she swallowed back the lump forming within. The reality of his situation, and the fragility of his resolve, hung in the air between them.

Inside, Tim was speaking softly to Carlo's wife, his presence a steadying force. The dog had calmed, its small body nestled securely in her arms. She nodded along to Tim's words, her eyes flicking occasionally to the door where Carlo and Charlotte stood.

As Tim emerged from the weathered wooden house, his presence commanded attention, every step deliberate. Charlotte turned to him, her expression grave, meeting his gaze. "We good here?" he inquired, his voice cutting through the thick tension like a knife.

Her eyes shifted towards Carlo's wife, who stood nearby, her hands trembling slightly. Charlotte leaned in close to Tim, her voice barely audible, heavy with implication. "She hits him," she whispered, her words laden with unspoken accusation.

Before their eyes, the atmosphere crackled with unease, like the quiet before a storm. Suddenly, without warning, Carlo's wife seemed to snap, her sanity giving way like a brittle twig in a gale. In a frenzied blur, she lunged towards Carlo, a glint of steel flashing in her hand—a chilling reflection of her intentions.

The chaos erupted instantly. Carlo's anguished cries pierced the air as the knife plunged into his neck, once, then twice, each strike brutal and unrelenting.

Driven by adrenaline and instinct, Tim and Charlotte rushed forward. With swift determination, Charlotte managed to wrench the knife-wielding woman away from Carlo, her movements erratic and violent, like a whirlwind of desperation.

The blade grazed Charlotte's face in a near miss, sending a shiver down her spine, but she refused to let fear immobilize her. With a decisive tackle, she wrestled the woman to the ground, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass under the midday sun.

As Charlotte struggled to secure the woman in handcuffs, Tim swiftly called for backup, his voice urgent and commanding amidst the chaos.

Turning her attention back to Carlo, Charlotte was met with a harrowing sight. His lifeblood spilled from grievous wounds, staining the ground beneath him. She knelt beside him, hands gloved and slick with his blood, desperation clawing at her chest as she applied pressure to stem the tide of crimson.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each second agonizingly prolonged as Charlotte pleaded with Carlo to hold on, to defy the cruel grip of death closing in around him. "Please, Carlo."

But despite her efforts, Carlo's heartbeat faltered, his breaths growing shallower until they ceased altogether. A crushing sense of helplessness washed over Charlotte as she whispered words of reassurance, her voice trembling with emotion, though they fell upon ears no longer capable of hearing.

Removing her gloves with trembling hands, Charlotte rose slowly from her knees, a wave of nausea washing over her. Instinctively, her hands moved to her abdomen, a strange wetness on her fingertips catching her attention.

Turning to face Tim, Charlotte met his gaze with shock and disbelief. The gravity of the situation bore down heavily upon them both. "Bradford—" she managed to utter, her voice hollow with astonishment, her eyes fixed on the bloodied knife embedded in her own flesh.

WOOO chapter's all pretty now i bedazzled it

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 12.07.24 ❞