The last seconds of Jayla's shift crawled by slower than the entire day had felt. Her feet ached, her shoulders throbbed, and the humid, grease-scented heat from the kitchen still clung to her skin like a second, unwanted layer.
She carried the last stack of plates from table twelve, slipped the folded bills from the tray into her pocket, murmuring a tired "Thank you for dining with us," and pushed through the swinging kitchen doors into the relative calm of the staff area.
But her mind wasn't on tips or dishes or the chaotic symphony of the back room—the stainless-steel clang of pans, the hiss of fryers, and the shouted chatter of the cooks.
It was on Eloise.
Why didn't she come to work yesterday? She hadn't even called in sick. Why didn't she answer her phone, which went straight to voicemail after the first ring? Why did she only send that vague, chilling text: We'll talk when I see you?
That wasn't the Eloise she knew.
Eloise didn't disappear. Eloise didn't go silent. Eloise didn't vanish off the grid without a hurricane-level, life-altering reason.
Not since the day they met. And certainly not three years ago, when Jayla found her crying in the handicap stall—not because of personal pain, but because someone had abandoned a cat in the cold night. Eloise had fierce empathy, and she didn't hide her true emotions, or her real problems, from Jayla.
Jayla shoved open her locker, more forcefully than was strictly needed, the metal vibrating with a dull clang. She stripped off her stained uniform, pulling on her favorite pencil jeans and the soft black tank top she kept rolled in her bag, trying desperately not to overthink—and failing miserably.
Did William finally do something to her? After she humiliated him in the restaurant? After she burned his estate down?
"No," she muttered to herself, pulling the tank top over her head. "Eloise wouldn't let him get near her again. She's smarter than that. She's too angry to be scared of him."
But her stomach twisted anyway, knotted with a dark, nameless dread.
After tying her curls into a loose, comfortable puff, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the staff exit—only to be stopped by one of the waitresses, Mia, who was beaming.
"Jayla! Your boyfriend's waiting at the main entrance. You're lucky, you know. He's here every time."
Her boyfriend.
Eric.
Some tension immediately loosened in her shoulders. The thought of Eric was always a relief, a warm, predictable constant in her messy life.
Still, she dialed Eloise again. Straight to voicemail.
"Dammit, El," she whispered, heart sinking further.
She pushed through the main doors—and her face lit up instantly.
Eric stood beside his reliable silver sedan, leaning against the hood, scrolling through his phone with that familiar, slightly crooked half-smile he always wore when he was in a good mood. The warm glow of the restaurant lights made his sandy-blonde hair look almost gold. He was a beacon of normal.
He looked up.
His grin widened, genuine and bright. He opened his arms.
Jayla's heart tugged in that gentle, grateful way it always did around him. She walked straight into his embrace, inhaling the comforting scent of cedar and laundry detergent that always lingered on his crisp shirts.
"Hey, you," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She laughed softly, the tension in her chest easing for the first time all day.
Their story still baffled her sometimes.
They had met two years ago—right after her confusing, intense, one-night episode with a mysterious stranger whose face she remembered every damn day, whose name she didn't know, and who had fundamentally ruined her for all other men.
Eric had shown up at the Velvet Lantern weeks later, claiming he'd seen her at a club, House of Yes, and hadn't been able to get her out of his head.
She'd brushed him off immediately—she wasn't ready for anything, emotionally unavailable after the intense memory of the stranger.
She'd meant it.
But Eric didn't push. He just… showed up. Flowers. Lunches. Dinners. Rides home. Thoughtful gifts she never asked for. Kindness and patience she didn't know how to accept at first.
She'd finally said yes to being his girlfriend last year—thanks largely to Eloise pushing her to give a decent, stable guy a chance.
And honestly? Eric had been perfect.
Almost too perfect. Always attentive, always stable, always available.
Eric opened the passenger door for her with old-school courtesy. Sweet. Comforting. She slid in, settling back—only to frown slightly.
The seat had been moved.
A lot. She was short, but this was set back for someone much taller.
She shrugged, adjusting it back to her normal position, brushing the thought away as minor.
"You okay?" Eric asked once he was behind the wheel.
"Eloise's phone isn't going through," she blurted, the worry returning instantly. "I'm worried. Really worried. What if William—"
"Hey." Eric reached over, brushing a soothing thumb across her knee. "Relax. She texted you, right? That means she's fine. She's probably just laying low after that stunt. She destroyed his life, Jay."
Jayla wasn't convinced. "But what if—"
"Jay," he said gently, squeezing her knee lightly. "I don't think William has the balls to come near her again after everything she did to him. He's probably hiding in a cave."
If only he knew how right he is about what he just said.
She exhaled, tension easing a little, but not enough to disappear.
"Now," Eric added with a grin, shifting the subject masterfully, "I'm taking you on an ice-cream date. Emergency stress relief for my favorite girl."
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "You know me too well, Eric."
"I sure do."
He pulled onto the road, humming along quietly to the radio. Jayla watched the city blur by—streetlights flickering across the windshield, neon signs glowing against the dusk-sky purples.
Then Eric's phone—connected seamlessly to the car's audio system—lit up on the dashboard.
Manager Janet • Calling…
It rang once.
Twice.
He didn't pick up. His hand hovered over the 'Decline' button, but he didn't press it.
"Eric," Jayla said slowly, a slight frown touching her lips. "What if it's important? Just answer it quickly."
"It's fine," he said lightly, ignoring the insistent sound. "Right now, ice cream with you is more important than whatever late-night crisis Janet is having."
Her heart warmed at the sentiment, but the phone rang again immediately.
Same name.
Same urgency. The relentless ringing broke the comfortable mood.
Jayla sighed. "Just drop me off at home, baby. You should take the call. We can go for ice cream any day."
Eric exhaled, conflicted for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.
"Alright, princess. I'll take you home, but only if you promise we reschedule for tomorrow."
He turned at the next corner, heading toward her tiny studio apartment near the edge of town. He pulled up to the curb, leaned over, and kissed her cheek again—lingering this time, a gentle, comforting pressure.
"I love you, Jayla," he murmured.
Jayla smiled, touched but still distracted by the anxiety tightening her chest. "Drive safe, okay? And please call me when you're done with work."
He nodded and pulled away.
She exhaled, stepping toward her building, focusing on unlocking the familiar door.
But then she froze completely.
A car she didn't recognize sat parked right beside the entrance to her apartment complex.
Not just any car.
A midnight-blue McLaren 720S. Sleek. Dangerous. Low to the ground. Its price tag was so high it could fund her rent for the next decade. Maybe two. It was utterly out of place on this street.
And leaning against the passenger side door—her silhouette starkly outlined by the flickering streetlights—
Was Eloise.
Jayla's breath caught, a silent, painful obstruction in her chest.
Eloise didn't look like Eloise.
Her brown, almost black hair was slightly messy, like someone had been running their hands through it repeatedly. She wore a fitted dark dress hugging her waist, with a thin, flowing trench coat draped around her shoulders like she was someone important. She looked expensive. Not her usual thrifted, artistic style. Her eyes—forest-green, usually bright and expressive—were shadowed under the harsh streetlight.
She looked tired.
And hunted.
And heartbreakingly, impossibly beautiful, in a way that screamed wealth and danger.
"Eloise?" Jayla whispered, stepping forward tentatively.
Eloise pushed off the car slowly, her movements stiff and controlled, like every muscle hurt and she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
She lifted her gaze, and Jayla saw it—the faint sheen of recent tears, the tightness in her jaw, the raw fear underneath the exhaustion she was trying so desperately to hide.
"You—" Jayla swallowed hard, her own fear rising to meet Eloise's. "Where the hell have you been? Are you okay?"
Eloise weakly tried for a smile, a failure of effort.
"I told you," she said softly, her voice strained. "I'd explain when I saw you."
Jayla dropped her bag without thinking—it hit the curb with a quiet thud—and ran the last few steps to her.
Eloise caught her in a shaky embrace. It wasn't the kind of hug she gave after a long day. Not the kind after a fight. This was different. Desperate. Fragile. The hug of a life vest.
It was like she had held herself together for days on the promise of this moment and finally cracked the second she saw someone who truly loved her.
Jayla tightened her arms around her friend, dread curling like a cold snake inside her stomach.
"Oh my God," she whispered, pulling back just enough to search Eloise's eyes. "El… what happened to you? Who did this?"
Eloise's breath hitched, a choked, painful sound.
"It's—complicated, Jay."
"Are you hurt? Did William catch you? Did he—"
"No," Eloise said quickly, pulling back fully with a forced, unnatural smile. "It's not William. It's… worse."
Jayla searched her friend's face, her own heart hammering. "Then who, El? Who did this to you? Who owns a car like that?"
Eloise hesitated. She looked past Jayla, down the street, as if checking for invisible watchers.
A long, heavy silence stretched between them, thick with unspeakable secrets.
Then she said the last, most confounding thing Jayla expected.
"Jay… I need you to come with me. Right now. We don't have much time."