CHAPTER FOUR
1136 Words
Some nights in Manhattan tasted like smoke, whiskey, and unfinished conversations.
It was a Thursday, and Liam Devereux sat in the VIP corner of LUX, a high-rise lounge nestled in the heart of Manhattan. The kind of place where privacy came at a price, and the skyline poured in through full glass windows like a secret the city whispered to those rich enough to listen. But magic? Magic didn't impress him anymore. Not after everything.
Ethan and Jaxton were already a drink in.
"So, this girl from Columbia, right?" Jaxton grinned, spinning his glass of rum like a child with a toy. "Ten out of ten. Told me she doesn’t date rich guys. I said, 'I’m rich, not spoiled.' She said ‘prove it,’ so I took her to a street taco stand in Queens. Boom. She's still texting me."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "You're delusional. You didn’t even remember her name this morning."
"Didn’t need to. Her body remembered me." Jaxton winked.
Ethan groaned. "This is why I’m getting gray hair at twenty-seven."
"You're bald, bro," Jaxton shot back.
Liam barely looked up. He sipped his whiskey, the glass cool against his fingertips, eyes locked on the skyline.
"Alright, mystery man," Ethan nudged him. "Tell us about the girl you didn’t fall in love with this week."
Liam gave a slow blink. "I didn’t."
"Exactly!" Jaxton snapped his fingers. "Bro, seriously—what’s wrong with you? You used to be fun. When’s the last time you even looked at a woman like she existed?"
Liam’s jaw tightened. They knew better than to say her name. Evelyn. The ex that left scars deeper than his silence. She hadn’t just broken his heart—she’d made him question his judgment, his instincts, and every quiet thing he once believed about love.
Ethan leaned in, his voice softer. "We just want you to be happy again."
Liam gave a single nod. "I know."
Still, something shifted in his posture. And then—something rare happened.
He smiled.
A small curve of his lips, barely there, but real.
Ethan blinked. "Wait. What the hell was that? Did Liam just—smile?"
Jaxton gasped. "No way. Dude. You met someone. Didn’t you? You met someone."
Liam didn’t answer right away. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and said casually, "I pulled someone out of a weird situation yesterday."
"Hero move?" Jaxton perked.
"Something like that," Liam said. "She was being cornered. Creepy director. Hotel room. It didn’t sit right with me. So I stepped in."
"You saved her?" Ethan said, eyebrows raised.
"She didn’t see my face. There was a power outage."
"Wait, wait, wait," Jaxton leaned forward. "So this mystery girl—this damsel in distress—you saved her and dipped without a name? A face? Nothing?"
Liam finally looked up. "I may have asked Kenneth to look into the guy. Find out who he works for."
Ethan laughed. "There it is. Devereux interest. Quiet. Calculated. Deadly."
Liam didn’t respond, but that flicker of a smile returned.
Meanwhile, in Brooklyn...
Samantha was curled up on the couch of their tiny apartment in Crown Heights, wrapped in a faded blanket with a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. The movie playing on the TV had long been forgotten. Ariana sat beside her, legs folded, scrolling aimlessly through her phone.
“I don’t get it,” Samantha said softly.
Ariana looked up. “Get what?”
“This,” Samantha gestured at the apartment, the screen, the popcorn, her life. “Why does it feel like the universe has something against me?”
Ariana sighed. “Oh no. We’re spiraling again.”
“I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking. “I did everything right. Graduated top of my class. Polite. Responsible. Applied for every job I could. And what do I get? Rejection letters and sketchy interview scams. It’s like… I’m cursed. Like there’s this bad luck cloud just following me around.”
Ariana put her phone down and leaned her head against Samantha’s. "You’re not cursed. You’re just in transition."
Samantha exhaled, tears threatening. “I’m so tired, Ari. I just want something to work. Just once.”
That night, silence wrapped around them like a second blanket. No jokes. No plans. Just stillness.
The next morning, Samantha was jolted awake by her phone buzzing violently. She grabbed it, still half-asleep.
Unknown Number.
“Hello?”
“Good morning. May I speak with Samantha Mba?”
“This is she.”
“This is Simone from Kingstone & Co. Creative. We came across your profile and résumé. One of our department leads would love to meet with you. Are you available today at noon?”
Samantha sat up straight. "I... I didn’t apply to your company."
“There was an internal recommendation. We’ll email you the address. We look forward to meeting you."
When the call ended, she sat frozen. Then she screamed.
“Ariana!”
Ariana bolted from her room, toothbrush in mouth. “What?! What is it?!”
“I got an interview! With a legit company! Noon today!”
The girls jumped and squealed around their apartment, half-dressed, coffee spilling, hope bubbling in their chest again.
The building was stunning—glass, steel, and clean design. Kingstone & Co. was the kind of place that smelled like ambition and citrus wood.
Samantha sat in the lobby, hands trembling slightly. She’d rehearsed her lines. Prayed. Triple-checked her resume.
When they called her name, she stood.
The actual interview felt... good. They smiled when she spoke. They asked insightful questions. They seemed impressed. There were no hotel rooms. No shady backdoor deals.
When she left, the air felt lighter. Her chest less tight.
She waited.
And the next morning, her phone rang again.
"Miss Mba, we’d like to offer you the position. You can begin Monday, if you’re available."
Samantha screamed. Ariana joined her. Their kitchen became a concert of victory.
Monday morning.
She dressed with extra care. Nude tones. Soft makeup. Gold hoops. Confidence stitched into every thread.
She took the elevator to the 15th floor.
“Miss Mba?” the assistant smiled. “The executive director would like to meet you personally.”
Her heart skipped. “Okay.”
The hallway was long, quiet.
The assistant opened a tall door. She was leaving the position to her cause of some emergency.
And there—
Standing in a suit that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine, was the man.
Her stranger.
The one from the hotel.
The one who saved her.
He turned.
“Miss Mba,” he said with a knowing smile.
“We finally meet… with the lights on.”
Her breath hitched.
No.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
The man who saved her… was her boss.
- Writer
