Later that evening, Ben drove with no destination in mind.
The city lights streaked past his windshield in long, dizzying lines.just him and the weight of everything he'd done. Jax's words echoed sharply in his mind:Your job is to live with your choice.
Ben let out a bitter laugh that turned into a strangled cough. Live with it. As if he knew how.
He ended up at a bar he hadn't visited in years.A dim glow leaking onto the sidewalk, bass vibrating through brick walls. The kind of place where people went to disappear, or at least pretend to.
Inside, the smell hit him,old wood, spilled beer, and regret. A few men hunched over the counter. A woman in the corner cried softly into her drink. No one looked when he slumped onto a barstool.
"Whiskey," he rasped.
The bartender slid it over silently.
Ben drank like he wanted to forget everything. One drink became three, then four. The burn down his throat felt honest. Punishing. Deserved.
He thought of Ella, of the way she used to look at him like he was something good. He had traded that for glossy offices and polished smiles. For Clara's cool perfection. For a future that now seemed hollow.
By the time he stood, the room tilted. He braced himself against the bar, breathing sharp and shallow.
"Careful," the bartender muttered.
Ben nodded.
Outside, the night air was brutal, sharp against his skin. He staggered down the sidewalk, shoes scraping against concrete, not caring where he was going. The city felt indifferent, massive, impossible.
He stopped under a flickering streetlight, hunched over, catching his breath. A short, bitter laugh escaped him. "I fucked it up," he whispered.
Somewhere behind glass and steel, his life moved forward without him.Clara, the engagement, the job. Balanced on a lie he could no longer hold.
Across the street, a black luxury sedan slowed. Richard Sterling leaned back in the seat, loosening his tie, letting the night air in through the open window. Meetings, negotiations, egos it had been a long day.
He spotted the figure under the streetlight. Familiar. Unsteady.
"…Isn't that Ben?" he murmured, voice sharp.
The driver glanced at him. "Sir?"
Richard nodded. "Pull over."
The sedan eased to the curb as Ben staggered
forward, unaware he was being watched.
Maya shoved her laptop into her bag, glaring at the glowing screen one last time. Shit, another email from her editor. She'd been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, trying to make it sound less like garbage.
"Fuck this," she muttered, zipping her bag. She needed a fucking coffee, real coffee, before heading home,steam, warmth, the kind that punched life back into her tired brain.
Throwing on her coat and snapping her sneakers tight, she stepped out of the office into the night.
The city was alive with honks, laughter, and sirens, and she loved it. She liked moving through it like it was hers for a few moments, untethered from deadlines and expectations.
The coffee shop on Fifth was warm and quiet. Soft indie music, roasted bean aroma, light spilling from hanging bulbs.
Maya pushed the door open, muttering, "Thank God."
She made her way to the counter, tapped her card. Nothing.
Shit. Error.
"Are you kidding me?" she hissed.
She jabbed again. Still nothing.
From the far end of the counter, a man leaned casually against it, hands wrapped around a paper cup. Watching. Calm. Unmoving, like he wasn't going to let her ignore him.
"Sometimes," he said, smooth and deliberate, "things refuse to work when your spirit is louder than your patience."
Maya blinked, without turning to look.
"What the actual fuck?"
"She murtered!"
He shrugged. Like he hadn't just delivered some crazy-ass proverb on her.
She jabbed her card at the machine again. Finally, success. She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Wow. Guess you scared it into working, you crazy motherfucker."
He lifted his cup. "Wisdom does that."
Maya didn't respond or even steal a glance.
She grabbed her latte and moved toward the window, leaning against the glass. She stretched her arms above her head, letting the tension in her shoulders release. Outside, cars blurred in streaks of light. The city didn't care about her or her problems, and for once, she didn't care either.
Her mind drifted to her week: deadlines, emails, meetings, the little chaos she waded through daily.
The world. Breathing in, sipping her latte, feeling the warmth, she let herself exist without having to fix or worry about anyone.
Then the man's voice came again, soft but deliberate:
"Sometimes the answers we're looking for… are closer than we think."
Maya froze, gripping her mug. Fucking hell. Who the fuck is this guy?
"grumbled in her head"
She didn't move. She just kept staring at the reflection in the glass, pretending she wasn't paying attention.
"Are you serious? What the fuck?" she muttered under her breath again. Crazy, bitch, some random weirdo leaning in like he knew shit about her life.
She rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, pretending to watch the cars outside, trying to calm the racing pulse. The words had landed like a punch in her stomach, though.
The man's voice came again, softer, almost a whisper:"Sometimes the truth you're searching for… is right in front of you."
Her jaw tightened. "Holy fuck. Who the hell is this guy?"
Maya froze for a heartbeat, staring at the blurred lights and reflections. She sipped her latte, trying to steady herself. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes.
And that's when...