The villa wasn't just pretty; it was intimidating. Perched on a cliffside overlooking the Pacific, it was a sprawling labyrinth of white stone, floor-to-ceiling glass, and infinity pools that seemed to spill directly into the ocean.
While Chloe and Sarah were busy shrieking with delight and claiming the master suites, Maya slipped out through a side glass door. She needed air. The scent of salt and blooming jasmine was a welcome change from the stale aroma of her home office.
She wandered down a path lined with flickering tiki torches, her mind still half-buried in her manuscript. She was so busy looking at the way the moonlight hit the water that she didn't hear the heavy footsteps sprinting toward her.
"Wait! Just—don't tell them I went this way!"
A blur of denim and leather collided with her. Maya gasped as she was knocked backward, her sandals skidding on the stone. Strong arms reached out, catching her by the elbows to steady her.
"Whoa, sorry! I'm so sorry," the voice said, breathless and low.
Maya looked up, blinking. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a hoodie, despite the heat. Even in the dim light, she noticed the sharp line of his jaw and eyes that looked incredibly tired, yet startled. He looked like someone being hunted.
Maya, still startled and feeling her social anxiety flare, didn't recognize him as the lead singer of the world's biggest band. She just saw a boy who looked as overwhelmed as she felt.
"Are you okay?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder toward the main house where cameras were flashing in the distance.
Maya straightened her shirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. Most people would have asked for an apology or a name. Instead, the writer in her took over. She looked at him—really looked at his panicked expression—and the words slipped out before she could filter them.
"You're running like someone who's afraid the world is finally catching up to him," she said softly.
The boy froze. He stopped looking at the path behind him and looked directly at her. For a heartbeat, the "pop star" disappeared, replaced by a look of genuine, stunned curiosity. He tilted his head, his grip on her arms lingering a second too long.
"Maybe I am," he whispered, a small, crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Maya!" Chloe's voice drifted from the balcony above. "Maya, come see the bar! It's stocked with vintage champagne!"
The boy jumped at the sound. He let go of her arms, stepped back into the shadows of a large palm tree, and gave her a frantic, grateful nod. "I owe you one, Mystery Girl. Stay out of the light—it's easier to breathe in the dark."
And then, he was gone, disappearing into the brush just as Chloe and Sarah rounded the corner.
"Who were you talking to?" Chloe asked, squinting into the darkness.
"No one," Maya said, her skin still tingling where he had touched her. "Just the ghost of the villa, I think."