Curiosity’s Price

Chapter 4- Threads

The boutique felt too quiet after he left.

The bell above the door had stopped jingling, the street sounds outside muffled again by glass, and yet my pulse still thundered like I’d run a marathon. My hands refused to steady, even when I pressed them against the counter. The faint smell of cedar and cologne clung to the air, as though he’d left a piece of himself behind.

Helena was still humming with excitement, practically glowing. She spun in a slow circle, holding one of her measuring tapes like a ribbon. “Do you understand what just happened? Do you realize the kind of press this could mean for us? Adrian Kane—Adrian Kane—just walked out of my shop with one of my suits. Imagine if he’s photographed in it! Imagine if Vogue calls. Or Vanity Fair. Or even GQ.”

Her words tumbled over each other like dominoes, bright and breathless.

I barely heard her. All I could see was his face, all I could hear was his voice. See you soon, Maya.

My name in his mouth had felt dangerous, too deliberate. Like a match being struck.

I forced my lips into something resembling a smile. “Yeah. Huge deal.”

“Huge?” Helena clutched her chest, eyes sparkling. “Try life-changing. This could put us on the map in a way I never dreamed. Do you know how many stylists fight for a chance like this?”

She stopped suddenly, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why are you pale? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I swallowed. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Then go drink some water.” She wagged a finger at me, all business again. “And stop fidgeting like you’ve got a guilty conscience. That man didn’t notice you. Men like that don’t notice people like us.”

Her laugh was light, but it dug like a pin under my skin. Because she was wrong. He had noticed me. That was the problem.

…

We spent the rest of the afternoon rearranging displays and prepping for a bridal client who never showed. I kept moving, kept folding and steaming and polishing, but it was useless. My mind circled back to him again and again, like a moth to a flame.

By the time Helena flipped the sign to Closed, I was exhausted in a way caffeine couldn’t fix.

She gathered her bag, still smiling to herself. “I’ll call my cousin at Essence. She owes me a favor. Maybe she can plant a story if Adrian shows up at some gala wearing my design. Can you imagine?”

I managed a nod.

“Go home, Maya. You’re spacing out. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

If only she knew how badly I wanted that to be true.

The sky had already sunk into indigo when I stepped outside. Queens smelled like fried plantains and exhaust, the sidewalks alive with chatter from vendors and late commuters. Neon signs buzzed and blinked, throwing colors across cracked pavement.

I wrapped my coat tighter. My heels clicked against the sidewalk, too loud in my ears.

Halfway down the block, I passed a group of teenagers crowded around a speaker, music rattling the air. One of them glanced at me, gave a low whistle, then laughed with his friends. I ignored them, eyes on the subway entrance at the corner.

Just a few more steps.

But then I felt it—that subtle shift, like the air behind me had changed.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Across the street, a sleek black car idled at the curb. Tinted windows, engine too quiet, polished enough to catch every glint of the streetlights. It didn’t belong here, not among the dollar stores and bodegas.

My steps faltered.

The back window rolled down just enough.

Gray eyes caught mine from across the street.

Adrian.

My breath hitched.

He didn’t signal me. Didn’t beckon. Just watched, expression unreadable, as though waiting to see what I’d do. The world around me blurred—the honk of taxis, the chatter of kids, even the flicker of neon. All I could feel was the gravity of his stare pulling me in.

For a terrifying second, I wanted to cross the street.

A bus roared past, cutting between us. When it cleared, the window had slid shut. The car pulled away, merging into traffic as if it had never been there at all.

I stood frozen at the subway stairs until someone bumped my shoulder and muttered for me to move. My legs felt like stone as I descended into the tiled underground.

The subway was its usual mess—gum-stained floors, flickering lights, the faint sour tang of damp concrete. I found a seat between a woman rocking a sleeping toddler and an older man snoring against his briefcase.

I tried to focus on the ads plastered across the train: weight-loss clinics, law firms promising justice, a new Broadway show. Normal things. Safe things.

But my reflection in the grimy window gave me away. My cheeks flushed, my eyes wide.

I hated how alive I felt.

…

That night, sleep mocked me again.

I lay in bed staring at the cracked ceiling, every creak of the pipes making me jolt. The radiator hissed, spitting steam. Somewhere down the hall, a baby started crying, followed by the muffled shush of a tired mother.

The city never truly slept, not even out here in my quiet Queens apartment. But tonight, it felt like the city was holding its breath right along with me.

A soft scratch at the door broke the silence. Then a whine.

I exhaled, finally unclenching. “Alright, alright. Come on, buddy.”

I swung my legs out of bed and padded barefoot across the floor. When I opened the door, a small golden blur rushed in—Max, my rescue mutt with one floppy ear and a tail that wagged like it was powered by caffeine.

He bounded onto the bed before I could stop him, circling twice before flopping down with his head on my pillow, tongue lolling.

I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “You’re spoiled, you know that?”

He huffed in response, already closing his eyes like he owned the place.

I climbed back in beside him, pressing my hand against his warm fur. My heartbeat slowed, the knots in my chest loosening just a little. Max had that effect—like he didn’t care about billionaires or ballrooms or mistakes made in hotel corridors. To him, I was just his person.

I buried my face in his neck. He smelled faintly of shampoo and the park, and the familiarity steadied me more than anything else had all day.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” I whispered, scratching behind his good ear. His tail thumped once against the mattress.

The truth pressed against my ribs like a secret trying to claw its way out. I wanted to tell him about Adrian Kane, about the warning that still echoed in my head, about the way my knees had nearly buckled when I saw him watching me from that car.

But all I said was, “Promise you’ll bark if someone follows me home, okay?”

Max gave another soft huff, like he understood. Maybe he did.

For the first time that night, my eyelids grew heavy.

And just before sleep pulled me under, with Max snoring gently against my side, one thought curled through me like smoke:

If Adrian Kane was the storm, then Max was my anchor.

And I had no idea which one would end up pulling me under.