(Ella's POV)
The city skyline stretched before me, neon lights blinking like distant stars against the darkening sky. From my office, high above the streets, the world looked so far away—so detached. The hum of traffic below, the occasional honk of a horn, the muffled laughter of strangers living lives untouched by pain… all of it felt like a cruel reminder that life moved on, even when I was stuck in the past.
I curled my fingers around the ceramic mug in my hands, the coffee inside long gone cold—just like everything else in my life. Cold. Forgotten. Abandoned.
And tonight—the ghosts were louder than usual.
Years Ago
The motel room stank of cheap liquor, stale cigarettes, and broken promises.
I was six. Too young to understand, but old enough to know this wasn't normal.
"Mama?" My voice barely carried over the static-filled television.
She didn't answer.
She was sprawled across the bed, her thin frame barely making a dent in the dirty mattress.
"Mama, I'm hungry."
A deep sigh. A groan. Then, finally, she turned her head, bloodshot eyes barely registering me. "Go to sleep, Ella."
"But—"
Slap!
Her hand struck the nightstand instead of me, sending an empty syringe rolling onto the floor.
I flinched.
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
I clutched the thin blanket around my body, pressing my knees to my chest as my stomach twisted in hunger. But I learned something that night—if you ignored the pain long enough, it stopped hurting.
Then She Left.
The first time my mother disappeared, I was seven.
I waited by the window for three days.
By the fourth, a stranger walked in—not her, but someone with pity in their eyes.
"Ella?" The woman's voice was soft, too soft. "Sweetheart, we're going to take you somewhere safe."
I didn't fight her. I was too tired.
I thought the nightmare had ended when my mother overdosed.
But I was wrong.
Because then came Aunt Evelyn.
She hated my mother. Hated me.
I wasn't a child to her—I was a burden, a stain, a mistake she hadn't made but was forced to deal with.
The first time she hit me, I didn't even cry.
"You think I wanted this?" she spat, gripping my wrist so tight I thought it would break. "You think I wanted to waste my life on a worthless brat like you?"
I was eight. And I knew then—I wasn't meant to be loved.
Present Day
A sharp knock at my office door yanked me back to reality.
I inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly to push the memories away. Not now. Focus.
My phone vibrated beside me.
Five missed calls.
The name flashing across the screen made my stomach twist—Zack.
A small, tired smile tugged at my lips as I picked up.
"Hey."
"Finally," his familiar voice teased, rich with amusement. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
"Never."
"Yeah?" I could hear his smirk. "Then why does it take five missed calls to get you on the line?"
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "I was working."
"Liar."
In the background, I could hear the low thrum of music, the clinking of glasses. He was already out. Of course, he was.
"You need to get out of that icebox you call an office," Zack continued. "Come out with me tonight, El. You need it. I need it. And I won't take no for an answer."
"I—"
"Don't say no." His voice was smooth, persuasive. "The Luxe. One drink. That's all I ask."
I hesitated. Crowds. Noise. People. It all felt… exhausting.
But Zack was the only person who had never left me.
He had been there since college, picking up my broken pieces and never asking for anything in return.
If anyone could pull me out of my own head, it was him.
"Fine," I finally relented. "One drink. Then I'm leaving."
"That's what you always say, sweetheart." I could hear the smirk in his voice. "See you soon."
I hung up, staring down at my phone.
Something about tonight felt… different.
I didn't know why.
But deep in my gut, I knew—this night was going to change everything.