Chapter One: The Fall
MAYA
The day my life officially crumbled started with a coffee stain on my blouse and ended with a man I'd never met staring at me like I was the last slice of cake confusing, unnecessary, but still worth a second glance.
And no, that wasn't a compliment.
I used to be the kind of woman who could power-walk through airport security in heels, argue a courtroom into silence, and still make it home in time to make quinoa salad. That Maya? She's dead now.
What's left is a woman ten dress sizes bigger, emotionally dependent on chocolate croissants, and stuck in a law firm that eats her soul every Monday to Friday.
But back to the fall.
The literal one.
It started with Eric. My ex. The man I spent seven years with. The man I had stupidly planned a surprise birthday dinner for, complete with candles, a home-cooked meal, and a playlist titled "Us."
And what did he bring to the table?
A breakup speech.
I didn't even get dessert.
"I just feel like we've grown apart," he had said, carefully folding his napkin like it was some damn origami of emotional cowardice. "You're not... the same."
I didn't cry.
Not then. I smiled, nodded, even offered him the leftover chicken to go.
Then I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw someone I didn't recognize.
That was two weeks ago.
Since then, I've been floating through life in autopilot mode. I work. I eat. I avoid Lola's calls. I tell my mom I'm fine. I avoid all reflective surfaces. Rinse and repeat.
This morning, I overslept, slapped on the only clean white blouse I owned, and spilled coffee on it before I even stepped out. My hair was in a bun that screamed I've given up, and I wore sneakers with my work pants because, well, my heels had started to feel like medieval torture devices.
The subway was packed. The kind of packed where strangers breathe into your soul. My makeup was already melting, my chest was tight, and I was holding a sesame bagel like it was a flotation device.
Somewhere between trying not to pass out and regretting everything, the world tilted.
Like… literally.
First came the heat in my head. Then the buzzing in my ears. Then....darkness.
When I came to, I wasn't dead. But I kinda wished I was.
People were staring. Some filmed. One kid pointed.
And then I saw him.
Leaning against a pillar like he'd been born in black joggers and confidence, arms crossed, jaw clenched, gaze intense like he was trying to solve me.
He wasn't smiling. He wasn't helping.
Just watching.
"You good?" he asked, finally walking toward me.
His voice was deep rich, polished, with an edge I couldn't quite place. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't mean either. Just... commanding. Like a man who didn't ask twice.
"Did I faint?" I asked, still on the ground, clutching my crushed bagel.
"You dropped like a log," he said. "It wasn't graceful."
Rude.
I frowned. "Well, thanks for your detailed commentary."
"You're welcome." He crouched down, close enough for me to catch the scent of something expensive clean, woodsy, dark. His eyes locked onto mine, steady, unreadable. "You sure you're okay?"
"No," I said, honestly. "I'm not."
"Didn't think so."
He stood up and offered me his hand. Big. Strong. Veins like a sculptor's dream.
I hesitated for a second. Then I took it.
He pulled me to my feet in one swift move like I weighed nothing.
Which, ironically, was not true.
I stumbled a little, and his arm steadied me, briefly wrapped around my waist.
My pulse? Disrespectful. Absolutely chaotic.
"You need help," he said bluntly.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Not just someone to pick you up after you fall. Someone to stop you from falling in the first place."
Then he turned to walk away.
Like... just walked off. No name. No smile. No goodbye.
What the hell?
"Who are you?" I called after him, irritation lacing my voice.
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Someone who doesn't believe in pity," he said. "And someone who's seen a thousand people fall. Most never get up. You? You still have time."
Then he disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there for a full thirty seconds. Shaky. Embarrassed. Furious.
And weirdly... alive.
There was something about that man. He wasn't just a stranger. He felt like a wake-up call wrapped in muscle and mystery.
Who was he?
And more importantly... why did it feel like he'd just ripped off my emotional Band-Aid and exposed the wound I'd been pretending wasn't there?
To be continued...