The mist had turned to a relentless, soaking drizzle by the time Mara reached her apartment. The street glistened under the orange flicker of the old streetlights, and puddles reflected the faint outline of a neon diner sign across the road. Her building, if it could still be called that, was a crumbling two-story structure tucked between a shuttered auto shop and a pawn store.
The air smelled like wet concrete and old oil. She climbed the narrow stairs, avoiding the warped third step that always groaned. Her key stuck in the lock, finally giving in with a tired click.
The apartment greeted her with silence. A thin strip of light slipped through the single window that faced a brick wall. The room smelled faintly of detergent and rain-soaked air, with something sour underneath, like damp clothes that never fully dried.
Mara dropped her bag on the floor, kicked off her sneakers, and collapsed onto the bed. The thin mattress sank under her weight. She wasn't exhausted, not exactly, but her body carried the heaviness of too many thoughts. The villa had gotten under her skin. Its quiet, its beauty, its sadness. She still couldn't get the sound of his voice out of her head. Low. Controlled. The kind of voice that could command an entire room.
And she hated that she noticed that.
Elias Vale was exactly the kind of man she had learned to be careful around. Older. Powerful. Used to being obeyed. The kind who could ruin or remake a career with a single call.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. For a moment she hoped it was Mrs. North, confirming details about the job. Proof that it was real. That she hadn't imagined it.
But it was only a reminder from her bank. Low balance alert.
Her stomach turned. She opened the app anyway. Seventy dollars and thirty-four cents. The number sat there like a dare.
Rent was due in four days. She had avoided the landlord twice, but the walls were thin, and he knew the sound of her footsteps. If she didn't pay soon, she would be out by the end of the week.
She sat up and pressed her palms to her face until she saw bursts of color. The job at the villa had to work. Whatever it paid, she would make it stretch. Five hundred a week didn't seem unreasonable. Not for a house like that. Not for someone like him.
She remembered those haunting black and white photos of Adriana, so reached for her phone and typed: Elias and Adriana Vale.
The screen lit up with images. There he was. Elias. The reclusive Hollywood producer whose name belonged in headlines as much as the films he made. The golden couple of old Hollywood.
A headline caught her eye. Adriana Vale: Hollywood Star Drowns in Mysterious Circumstances.
Her hand stilled on the screen. The quiet man she had met that morning, the one who had measured her in a single glance, was that same man. He had once stood in front of flashing lights, the life he shared with Adriana Vale burned bright and disappeared too soon.
And then there was the dream. The woman hadn't looked exactly like Adriana, not in the crisp photos, yet something about her. The salt, the sadness, the sound of the sea…felt chillingly familiar.
Her chest tightened as she stared at the images. No matter how distant or cold he seemed, their worlds were now connected. And there was no turning back.
Her phone buzzed again, vibrating against the nightstand with sudden, sharp urgency. This time, it was a text from Tara.
TARA: Hey, you got the rent yet? He came by again. Said if you're not paid by Friday he's changing the lock.
Mara's breath hitched. Friday. Tomorrow. She was out of time. The fear was crushing, but it wasn't the landlord that broke her. It was the memory of Elias Vale's dark eyes. The thought of letting another powerful man dictate her failure.
I'm not running.
She snatched her keys, her decision immediate and absolute. She didn't return to the Villa for a polite conversation. She needed the money, but more than that, she needed to prove to herself that she wouldn't be chased off by a ghost, a landlord, or a brooding billionaire.
Mara spent her remaining cash on a frantic taxi ride back up the cliff road. She had barely enough to tip, but she didn't care. She was here, standing outside the staff entrance again, ready for whatever. She was going to demand her advance, and she wouldn't leave until she had it. The urgency was a bitter, necessary adrenaline.
She found Mrs. North already in the kitchen. The older woman's tense movements softened when she saw Mara. "Oh, Mara, thank heavens you came back," Mrs. North said, a genuine warmth in her voice that was a balm against the house's chill. She poured a quick cup of coffee. "Are you alright? You look as if you haven't slept."
Mara accepted the cup. She didn't have time for pleasantries, but how could she say no to the woman? "I'm fine, thank you. Mrs. North, I need to speak to Mr. Vale about my compensation. I need to ask for an advance, as soon as possible." The words felt tight and desperate in her throat.
Mrs. North wrung her hands. "I understand, dear. I really do. But Mr. Vale is expecting a package this morning and he is absolutely not to be disturbed," she murmured, her eyes darting toward the long, dark corridor leading to Elias's study. "I did ask about your pay, and he said all financial matters must be discussed directly with him. But now is not the time, truly."
Mara's heart hammered against her ribs. Elias was forcing the confrontation. He was waiting for her to come begging. She'd tried to ignore her nervousness, but there was no need because it was quickly eclipsed by the familiar surge of defiance.
She set down her bag, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. She knew she was terrified, but she was out of options.
Mara started walking toward the corridor. She didn't have a plan, only a deep-seated refusal to be dismissed. She rounded the corner just as Mrs. North rushed out of the laundry room, her face pale.
"Mara! Don't go there. The package…"
Mrs. North didn't finish the sentence. A loud, sharp CRACK echoed from the study, followed by the undeniable sound of shattering, wind-driven glass.
Mara froze, not in fear, but from the sheer, violent alarm of the noise. The sound was catastrophic. On a glass house built on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, a window shattering meant immediate, physical danger. It meant wind, cold, and a terrifying vulnerability. Her financial necessity was instantly forgotten; the man holding her only lifeline might be in danger.
She didn't wait for permission. She didn't wait for Elias to call out. She sprinted toward the sound.