The after-party was everything Maya feared: a thumping bass that vibrated in her ribs, air thick with expensive perfume and expensive secrets, and enough strobe lights to make her dizzy. Chloe had been relentless. She'd poured Maya into a silk slip dress that clung like a second skin—onyx black, matching the ink Maya usually spilled on paper.
"Stop hovering by the hors d'oeuvres," Chloe whispered, leaning into Maya's ear over the roar of a remix. "Look. Center booth. That's the inner circle."
Maya followed her friend's gaze, and her heart didn't just drop—it plummeted.
There, surrounded by models, managers, and flashing phone screens, sat the "ghost" from the garden. But he wasn't a ghost anymore. He was the sun.
He had ditched the hoodie for a sheer button-down and a heavy silver chain. His hair, previously tucked under a cap, was a deliberate mess of dark waves. He was laughing at something a girl next to him said, but the expression was different from the one he'd shown Maya. This was a mask. A perfect, polished, "Pop Star" mask.
"Wait," Maya whispered, her throat dry. "That's… that's Julian Cross?"
"The one and only," Chloe squealed. "Lead singer of The Paradox. He's the reason we're even in Cabo. My firm is handling their tour launch."
Maya backed away so quickly she nearly tripped over a waiter. Julian Cross. The man whose face was on every billboard, the man she'd seen in a thousand interviews, and she had told him he was running from the world.
She felt exposed. Even without her writer's mask, she felt like he could look into the crowd, see her, and know that she'd seen the cracks in his armor.
"I need to go," Maya stammered.
"What? No! We just got here!" Sarah protested, grabbing her arm.
"I'm—I'm getting a headache. The lights. I'll just find a quiet corner, okay?"
Maya didn't wait for an answer. She darted toward the fringes of the party, finding a dimly lit balcony that overlooked the dance floor but stayed shrouded in shadows. She tucked herself behind a large marble pillar, hugging her arms. She just had to wait an hour, then she could go back to the villa and pretend she never saw him.
Down below, the music shifted. A slow, heavy beat took over. Julian stood up in the VIP booth, scanning the crowd. He wasn't looking at the celebrities or the cameras. He was looking at the edges of the room. He was looking for her.
Maya pressed her back against the cold marble, holding her breath. Stay invisible, she told herself. You're the girl in the mask. You aren't here.
But then, the glass door to the balcony creaked open.
"You're not very good at hiding," a voice said. It was smooth, teasing, and much closer than she expected. "Especially when you're the only person in the room not looking at me."
Maya froze. She didn't turn around. "I think you have the wrong person."
"I don't," he said, stepping into her line of sight. He leaned against the railing, the neon purple light of the club reflecting in his dark eyes. He looked at her silk dress and gave a low, appreciative whistle. "Nice disguise. But I remember the eyes. And I definitely remember the 'catchy' way you talk."