CHAPTER 3: The Stranger’s Curiosity
2015 Words
Maryjude POV
“Some people are not meant to stay… but somehow, they are the ones you can’t forget.”
I wake up slowly.
Not because I want to.
But because something feels… off.
The room is too quiet.
Too still.
I open my eyes.
And the first thing I notice...
She’s gone.
The other side of the bed is empty.
Cold.
Like she was never even there.
But she was.
I know she was.
I sit up slowly, running my hand over my face.
“Jessica…”
Her name slips out of my mouth without thinking.
It feels strange.
New.
But already familiar.
I look around the room.
Her presence is gone… but not completely.
The air still feels like her.
Soft.
Messy.
Confused.
I glance at the floor.
Her clothes are gone.
No trace.
No note.
No goodbye.
“She just left…”
I let out a small breath.
Not angry.
Not even surprised.
Just… curious.
Very curious.
Because this...
This has never happened before.
Not to me.
My name is Maryjude Sunday.
26 years old.
Runway model.
Face of NIXOR.
Billionaire.
And a man who doesn’t get ignored.
Women don’t just leave my room like that.
They stay.
They wait.
They want more.
But her?
She ran.
Like I was the mistake.
Like I was the problem.
I lean back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
And for the first time in a long time…
I’m thinking too much about a woman.
“That’s new…”
I close my eyes.
And replay everything.
The bar.
The lights.
The music.
And then...
Her.
Sitting there alone.
Drinking like she was trying to erase something.
Her eyes…
They didn’t match her smile.
She was laughing.
But her eyes were sad.
Deeply sad.
“I saw it immediately.”
That kind of sadness doesn’t hide well.
Not from me.
I’ve seen too many people pretend.
But she...
She wasn’t pretending well enough.
And maybe that’s why I walked up to her.
Or maybe…
It was the way she looked at me.
Like she didn’t care who I was.
Like I wasn’t important.
“That was different…”
She didn’t recognize me.
Most people do.
They see the fame.
The money.
The face.
But her?
Nothing.
Just… a broken girl trying to breathe.
I remember sitting beside her.
Saying something simple.
She laughed.
Too easily.
Too quickly.
Like she needed to.
Like silence would hurt her more.
We talked.
Or… she talked.
A lot.
Random things.
Messy thoughts.
Half sentences.
But I listened.
Because something about her voice...
It pulled me in.
“She held onto me…”
I remember that clearly.
Her fingers gripping my arm like I was the only thing keeping her steady.
Like she would fall without me.
And maybe she already was.
“I should have walked away.”
But I didn’t.
I stayed.
I let her pull me into her chaos.
Her laughter.
Her sadness.
Her everything.
And then...
The way she looked at me before we left the bar.
Slow.
Intent.
Dangerous.
“That was not innocent…”
She knew what she was doing.
Even if she was drunk.
Even if she was broken.
She chose me.
And I chose her.
“I don’t regret it.”
Not even a little.
But the way she left…
That part doesn’t sit right.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Nothing.
Just gone.
Like I imagined her.
I open my eyes again.
“This is not over.”
I don’t even know why I’m so sure.
But I am.
Because people like her don’t just disappear.
Not from my life.
Not after a night like that.
I reach for my phone.
Call someone.
“Find out who she is.”
My voice is calm.
But firm.
I don’t need to explain.
They already know.
That’s how my world works.
Fast.
Quiet.
Efficient.
Minutes later, I’m already dressed.
Standing by the window, looking out at New York City.
The city never sleeps.
But right now…
It feels like it’s hiding something from me.
“Jessica…”
I say her name again.
This time slower.
Like I’m testing it.
Feeling it.
It fits too well.
And I don’t like that.
Because names shouldn’t matter this much.
Not after one night.
“She’s just a girl.”
That’s what I tell myself.
But even I don’t believe it.
Because if she was just a girl...
I wouldn’t still be thinking about her.
The door opens.
And I don’t even turn.
I already know who it is.
“Why do you look like you didn’t sleep?”
Her voice is sharp.
Familiar.
Annoying.
I glance over my shoulder.
Benedicta.
23.
My manager.
My assistant.
My best friend.
And the only person who talks to me like I’m not untouchable.
“You let yourself in again,” I say.
She shrugs, walking in like she owns the place.
“I always do.”
Her eyes scan the room quickly.
Then narrow slightly.
“You had company.”
It’s not a question.
She notices everything.
Just like me.
“Yeah.”
“That’s not new.”
“No.”
She crosses her arms.
“But this is.”
I raise a brow.
“What?”
“You look… distracted.”
I almost laugh.
Distracted?
Me?
That’s funny.
“I’m fine.”
She gives me a look.
The kind that says she doesn’t believe a word I just said.
“You’re thinking about her.”
I don’t respond.
Because she’s right.
And we both know it.
“She’s not just some random girl, is she?” Benedicta asks.
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
And that’s enough.
She sighs.
“Maryjude…”
Her tone softens slightly.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This,” she gestures around. “Getting attached to someone you don’t even know.”
“I’m not attached.”
“Then why are you trying to find her?”
Silence.
Because I don’t have a good answer.
Or maybe I do...
But I don’t want to say it out loud.
“She’s different,” I finally say.
Benedicta shakes her head immediately.
“They’re always ‘different’ at first.”
“No,” I say, my voice firmer now. “She is.”
She studies me for a moment.
Then sighs again.
“You have a career to focus on,” she reminds me. “NIXOR. Contracts. Deals. Your image.”
I already know all that.
I built this life.
I control this life.
But right now...
It doesn’t feel like enough.
“Don’t let one girl mess that up,” she adds.
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t think she understands.
It’s not about the girl.
It’s about what I felt.
And I don’t feel things like that easily.
Not anymore.
My phone buzzes.
I pick it up.
A message.
Short.
Simple.
But everything I need.
I open it.
And read.
Then read again.
Because for a second...
It doesn’t make sense.
“Jessica…”
I whisper her name slowly.
But this time...
It feels different.
Heavier.
Because now I know.
Jessica…
Donald.
My expression hardens slightly.
That name…
I know it.
Everyone knows it.
Marc Donald.
CEO of Turbo Motors.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
Dangerous.
And suddenly...
Everything clicks.
The sadness.
The way she drank.
The way she held onto me.
“She’s married…”
I let out a quiet breath.
Not shocked.
Not angry.
Just… more interested.
Because this...
This just got complicated.
And I’ve never walked away from complicated.
“I should have left her alone… but something tells me she’s about to become the biggest problem of my life.”
- Writer
