Maya's POV
"You look like hell."
Jade's assessment was accurate. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, taking inventory of the damage. My hair was a tangled mess, mascara smudged beneath my eyes like bruises. My lips were still swollen. There was a faint mark on my neck that I hadn't noticed before, and heat flooded my face at the memory of how it got there.
"I feel like hell," I admitted, splashing cold water on my face. It didn't help. Nothing was going to help except maybe time travel back to yesterday before I made the monumentally stupid decision to abandon my job for a man whose last name I didn't even know.
"Coffee's getting cold," Jade called from the kitchen.
I dried my face and walked out to find her sitting at our tiny kitchen table, two mugs steaming in front of her. The apartment looked exactly as I'd left it. Dishes in the sink. Bills stacked on the counter. My latest painting is propped against the wall, still unfinished. Nothing had changed except me.
I sank into the chair across from Jade and wrapped my hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into my palms, grounding me.
"So," Jade said carefully. "Want to talk about what really happened? Because the abbreviated version you gave me last night was suspiciously light on details."
I took a long sip of coffee, buying time. What could I tell her? That I'd spent the night with a stranger and felt more seen than I had in years? That he'd held me while I cried about Marcus and made me feel like my art mattered? That he'd disappeared without explanation, leaving behind only a wooden box and questions I couldn't answer?
"There's not much more to tell," I said finally. "We talked. We connected. He left. End of story."
"Bullshit." Jade leaned forward, her dark eyes sharp. "Maya, I've known you for three years. You don't do spontaneous. You don't abandon jobs. You don't sleep with strangers. So either you were drugged, which we should report immediately, or something significant happened."
"I wasn't drugged." I stared into my coffee. "I just... needed to feel something different. Something that wasn't exhaustion or fear or failure."
Jade's expression softened. "Did it work?"
"For a few hours, yeah." My throat tightened. "But now those few hours have consequences I can't afford."
"The catering job."
I nodded. "Sheila sent me a final text this morning. I'm blacklisted from the agency. No more gigs. No more steady income."
"Shit." Jade ran her hand through her short hair. "How bad is it?"
I did the math in my head, the calculations I'd been avoiding since I woke up alone. "I can cover rent for maybe two more months if I'm careful. After that..." I shrugged, trying to appear casual about the terror gnawing at my insides. "I'll figure something out."
"You could ask your mom for help."
"No." The word came out sharp. "She's already working herself to death. I'm not adding to her burden."
"Then let me help. I can cover some of the rent until you find another job."
"Jade, you're a grad student. You barely make enough for yourself."
"So we'll both be broke together." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "That's what roommates are for."
Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. I'd cried enough for one twenty-four-hour period.
"Thank you," I whispered.
My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen, and my stomach dropped. Mom is calling. Again. I'd ignored her calls all morning, not ready to face the questions I knew were coming.
"You should answer that," Jade said gently.
I knew she was right. Avoiding my mother would only make things worse. I took a deep breath and swiped to answer.
"Hi, Mom."
"Maya Elena Torres." My mother's voice was tight with worry and anger. "Where have you been? I've been calling for hours. I even called the police station to see if you'd been arrested."
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm sorry I worried you."
"Fine? You disappeared in the middle of a work shift, didn't answer your phone, and you think 'I'm fine' is an adequate explanation?" Her voice rose with each word. "Do you have any idea what I thought? With everything happening with Marcus, I thought—"
She broke off, and I heard her take a shaky breath. Guilt crashed over me like a wave.
"I'm sorry," I said again, meaning it. "I should have called. I just... I needed some space."
"Space." My mother's tone shifted from angry to exhausted. "Maya, I understand you're under stress. We all are. But disappearing without a word is not how you handle it."
"I know. You're right. It won't happen again."
"Where were you?"
The question I'd been dreading. I glanced at Jade, who was pretending to be absorbed in her phone to give me privacy.
"I met someone," I said carefully. "At the wedding. We talked, and I lost track of time."
The silence on the other end stretched so long I thought we'd been disconnected.
"You met someone," my mother finally repeated, her tone unreadable.
"It's not a big deal. Just someone passing through. I probably won't see him again."
Another long pause. When my mother spoke again, her voice was softer but strained.
"Maya, I need you to be careful. I know you're lonely. I know you've sacrificed a lot for this family. But running off with strangers is dangerous."
"I wasn't in danger, Mom. I promise."
"You don't know that. You can't know that." She sighed heavily. "Please, mija. Just be smart. We can't afford any more emergencies right now."
The weight of her words settled over me like a blanket soaked in water. We can't afford emergencies. As if my life was another bill we couldn't pay.
"How's Marcus?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Tired. The dialysis yesterday was harder than usual. But he's asking about you. He wants to know if you're coming by today."
Guilt twisted deeper. I'd been so wrapped up in my own drama that I hadn't even thought about visiting my brother.
"I'll come by this afternoon," I said.
"Good. He'll be happy to see you." My mother paused. "Maya, I love you. I'm not trying to control your life. I just want you safe."
"I know, Mom. I love you too."
After we hung up, I sat staring at my phone. The wooden box sat on the table where I'd placed it earlier, innocuous and damning all at once.
"That sounded fun," Jade said.
"She thought I'd been arrested." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "Or worse."
"Can you blame her? You're not exactly known for your wild nights out."
"No." I picked up the wooden box, turning it over in my hands. The wood was smooth and well-made. Expensive. Like everything about James had been expensive, even when he was pretending it wasn't. "I'm known for being reliable. Responsible. The one who keeps it together."
"And how's that working out for you?"
The question hit harder than Jade probably intended. How was it working out? I was exhausted and broke, watching my brother die while I painted pictures nobody wanted and worked jobs that barely covered rent. I was drowning in responsibility and getting nowhere.
"Not great," I admitted.
Jade stood and walked to the fridge, pulling out leftovers from earlier in the week. She started heating them up without asking if I was hungry. This was her way of caring, making sure I ate even when I didn't want to.
"Maybe one wild night was good for you," she said over her shoulder. "Even if the aftermath sucks."
"Maybe." I opened the wooden box again, looking at the silver crane. It was delicate and perfectly crafted. The kind of thing that costs more than it should because someone cared about the details. "Or maybe I just made everything more complicated."
"Life's already complicated, Maya. At least this complication came with some good memories."
I thought about James's hands in my hair, his voice in the dark telling me I mattered, and the way he'd held me like I was something precious. "Good memories" felt like an understatement, but I wasn't ready to examine exactly what those hours had meant.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from an unknown number.
This is David Park from the Brooklyn Legal Aid Clinic. Your application for assistance with medical debt was reviewed. Please call to discuss options.
I stared at the text. I didn't remember applying for legal aid. My mother must have done it without telling me, another weight she was carrying alone.
"More bad news?" Jade asked, setting a plate in front of me.
"I don't know yet." I forwarded the text to my mother with a question mark, then forced myself to eat. The food tasted like cardboard, but I chewed mechanically. My body needed fuel even if my mind was elsewhere.
Jade sat across from me, watching with concern. "You know what you need?"
"A time machine? A winning lottery ticket? A miracle?"
"A distraction." She pulled out her laptop. "Let's look at job postings. There has to be something better than catering anyway."
"Jade, I don't have the energy—"
"Which is exactly why we're doing it now, before you spiral into a depression hole." She was already typing. "What about gallery work? You know art. You could sell other people's paintings while you figure out your own career."
"Gallery jobs require experience I don't have."
"So lie. Everyone lies on applications."
"I'm not going to—"
"Oh my God." Jade's face went pale, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen.
"What?" I leaned forward, trying to see what had caught her attention.
She turned the laptop toward me slowly. The screen showed a news article, the headline in bold black text:
TECH BILLIONAIRE JAMES ASHFORD KILLED IN PLANE CRASH
The room tilted. I gripped the edge of the table, my vision tunneling.
"Maya?" Jade's voice sounded far away. "Maya, are you okay?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. My eyes were locked on the photo accompanying the article. James. My James from last night. Except he wasn't just James. He was James Ashford, founder of Ashford Technologies, worth an estimated 4.3 billion dollars.
And he was dead.
"This can't be right," I heard myself say. "The article says the crash happened three days ago. Three days. I was with him last night."
Jade grabbed the laptop back, scanning the article quickly. "Maya, this says the plane went down over the Atlantic on Thursday night. What day did you meet him?"
"Friday. Last night was Friday." But even as I said it, doubt crept in. Had it been Friday? The days had blurred together lately, exhaustion making time elastic.
"Are you sure?"
I pulled out my phone, checking the date. Saturday. Today was Saturday, which meant last night was Friday, which meant James couldn't have died on Thursday because he'd been with me on Friday night.
Except the article was dated Friday morning. The crash had happened Thursday night. The timeline didn't make sense unless...
"Maybe it's a different James," I said desperately. "Common name. Could be anyone."
Jade clicked on the photo, enlarging it. The man staring back at me was undeniably the same man who'd held me hours ago. Same storm-gray eyes. Same slightly crooked smile. The same small scar is visible on his neck in this particular photo.
"Maya," Jade said gently. "I think you need to read this article."
My hands shook as I took the laptop. The words swam in front of my eyes, but I forced myself to focus.
James Ashford, 34, was killed Thursday night when his private jet crashed into the Atlantic Ocean approximately 200 miles off the coast of Massachusetts. The plane was traveling from New York to London when it encountered severe weather. Air traffic control lost contact at 11:47 PM. The Coast Guard recovered debris but no survivors. Ashford was the sole passenger aside from the two-person flight crew, who also perished.
Ashford founded Ashford Technologies at age 26 and built it into one of the most valuable tech companies in the world. He was known for his innovation in quantum computing and his reclusive nature. He rarely gave interviews and avoided public appearances.
Ashford is survived by his brother, Thomas Ashford, and his mother, Catherine Ashford. His father, Richard Ashford, preceded him in death in 2019.
I stopped reading. My brain couldn't process any more information. James was dead. Had been dead for over 24 hours. Which meant the man I'd spent last night with was either a ghost or I was losing my mind.
"There has to be an explanation," I said. "Maybe he faked his death. Maybe the article is wrong. Maybe—"
"Maybe you should sit down before you pass out." Jade guided me to the couch. "Just breathe, okay? We'll figure this out."
But there was nothing to figure out. Either I'd hallucinated the entire night, or I'd spent it with a dead man, or the news was wrong. None of those options made sense.
I looked at the wooden box still clutched in my hand. Physical. Real. Proof that James had existed, that our night had happened.
Unless I'd stolen it from the wedding myself and constructed an elaborate fantasy. Unless grief and exhaustion had finally broken something in my brain.
"I need to call the hotel," I said suddenly. "They'll have records. They'll prove I was there with someone."
"Maya—"
"I'm not crazy, Jade. He was real. We were together. This article has to be wrong."
I pulled up the hotel's number before Jade could stop me, my fingers clumsy on the screen. A cheerful voice answered on the third ring.
"Seabreeze Inn, how may I help you?"
"Hi, I checked out this morning. Room 237. I need to know if there's any record of who paid for the room."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't give out information about other guests."
"I'm not asking about other guests. I was there. I just need to confirm—" My voice cracked. "Please. It's important."
There was a pause. "Let me transfer you to my manager."
The hold music was some acoustic guitar version of a pop song I didn't recognize. Each second felt like an hour. Finally, a new voice came on the line.
"This is Mr. Peterson. I understand you have questions about a recent stay?"
"Yes. Room 237. I checked out this morning. I need to know who paid for the room."
"May I ask why you need this information?"
"Because the man I was with might be dead, and I need to know if I'm losing my mind." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Another pause, longer this time. "Ma'am, are you safe? Do you need me to call someone?"
"I'm fine. I just need to know if there's a record. Please."
"I'm sorry, but even if I wanted to help, our system only shows the credit card used. It doesn't record names unless specifically requested during check-in. The room in question was paid for in cash."
Cash. Of course. James wouldn't have left a credit card trail. Had he known even then what was coming?
"Thank you," I whispered and hung up.
Jade was watching me with growing concern. "Maya, I think maybe we should call someone. A doctor, maybe. Or—"
"I'm not having a breakdown." I stood abruptly, pacing the small living room. "He was real, Jade. I touched him. Talked to him. He told me things about his life that match this article. The scar from the sailing accident. His fear of flying. The pressure from his family."
"Or you read about him before, and your mind filled in the gaps." Jade's voice was gentle but firm. "Maya, grief can do strange things to our brains. With everything happening with Marcus, the stress you're under—"
"Stop." I held up my hand. "Just stop. I know what I experienced. It was real."
But was it? The doubt was already seeping in, cold and insidious. What if Jade was right? What if I'd had some kind of breakdown and constructed an elaborate fantasy? What if I was so desperate for connection that I'd imagined the whole thing.
I looked at the wooden box again. The silver crane inside gleamed in the afternoon light streaming through our window.
"Then explain that," I said, holding it up. "If I imagined everything, where did this come from?"
Jade took the box carefully, examining it. "It's from the wedding, right? Maybe you picked it up as a favor. They usually have them laid out for guests."
"I wasn't a guest. I was catering."
"But you could have taken one. Maya, I'm not trying to gaslight you. I'm just trying to find rational explanations."
"What if there isn't a rational explanation?" The question hung between us. "What if something impossible happened and I'm the only one who knows it?"
Jade set the box down gently. "Then we figure out how to prove it. But first, you need to rest. You've been awake for over thirty hours. Your brain is fried. Things might look different after you sleep."
She was probably right. My thoughts were tangled, spinning in circles that led nowhere. But the idea of sleeping, of closing my eyes and potentially waking up to discover this nightmare was real, terrified me.
"I need to see Marcus," I said instead. "I promised Mom I'd visit today."
"Maya—"
"Please, Jade. I need to do something normal. Something that makes sense."
She studied my face for a long moment, then sighed. "Okay. But I'm coming with you. And after, you're sleeping even if I have to drug your coffee."
"Deal."
I grabbed my bag, checking to make sure I had my wallet and keys. My hand brushed against the wooden box, and I hesitated. Then I tucked it into my bag. Whatever it meant, whatever had happened, I wasn't ready to let it go.
As we headed for the door, my phone buzzed one more time. Another text from the unknown number.
Mr. Park again. I apologize for the confusion. Your mother didn't apply for our services. Someone else listed you as needing assistance and paid our retainer. We need to discuss this urgently. Please call.
I stared at the message. Someone had paid for me to get legal help? Who would do that? My mother didn't have money to spare. Marcus certainly didn't. Jade would have told me if she'd done it.
James.
The thought came unbidden, impossible. But everything about the last twenty-four hours had been impossible.
"Maya?" Jade was holding the door open. "You coming?"
"Yeah." I pocketed my phone, my mind racing. "Yeah, I'm coming."
But as we walked down the stairs and out into the bright autumn afternoon, I couldn't shake the feeling that last night had set something in motion I didn't understand yet.
Something that was going to change everything.
And deep down, in a place I wasn't ready to examine, I wondered if James had known exactly what he was doing when he disappeared without saying goodbye.