The persistent, shrill ring of the smartphone was like a needle to the brain.

Mia Jaxon groaned, her hand fumbling blindly across the nightstand until her fingers brushed the cold glass of the screen. The digital clock mocked her—9:45 AM.

A tight, suffocating knot formed instantly

in her chest.

She was never late.

She had never missed an alarm in three years.

She pushed herself upright, bringing the phone to her ear with a hand that had suddenly started to shake.

"Yes?" she croaked, her voice thick and heavy with sleep.

"Mia! Where the hell are you?" The voice of Mr. Kwan, her boss, exploded through the speaker with enough force to make her head throb.

Mia winced, pulling the phone an inch away from her ear. "I—I'm at home," she stammered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"What?!" The volume intensified, sharp and jagged. "Do you have any idea what time it is? How dare you still be at home! Get your ass here now!"

The line clicked dead. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of her own mistake. Why today? Of all the days to oversleep...

"Shit," she mumbled, the remnants of sleep vanishing instantly.

She moved like a whirlwind—a frantic blur of a morning shower, clothes thrown on with shaking hands, and a skipped breakfast that her stomach was already protesting. Every red light on the way to the music publishing company where she worked as a songwriter, felt like a personal insult from the universe; every delay, a quiet accusation.

By the time she reached the building, her heart was pounding so violently it felt as though it might break free from her ribs. She barely allowed herself a moment to breathe before pushing open the door to Mr. Kwan's office.

The air inside was different. Heavy. Tense. Almost suffocating.

Mr. Kwan sat behind his desk, his face a mask of simmering irritation. Opposite him sat a bulky man in a sharp suit, and beside him…

Mia's breath caught. She would recognize that face anywhere.

The woman didn't simply sit; she commanded the space. Poised. Elegant. Untouchable.

Diana Marie.

Mia felt something small and uncertain tighten within her.

"You are late, young lady," Kwan said, his brow furrowed into a deep, unforgiving canyon.

"I know, Sir. I'm very sorry!" Mia replied quickly, her voice steadier than she felt. Her gaze flickered briefly toward Diana before dropping again.

Kwan let out a sharp, impatient sigh. "I'll overlook it this time," he said curtly. "Sit down."

Mia obeyed, lowering herself carefully into the leather chair beside the pop sensation. The air in the room felt tight, charged with a corporate pressure she knew all too well.

"Miss Diana is here for a song," Kwan began, his eyes gleaming with greed as he glanced at the star. "And she's ready to pay any amount to get it. And you are going to provide it."

Mia felt a bead of cold sweat at her temple. "Mr. Kwan… I don't currently have any completed work. If you could give me two days, I can refine something suitable—"

His expression darkened almost immediately. "We don't have time for delays, Mia," he said, his voice sharpening. "This is business, not a charity."

"I understand," she said, swallowing the sudden spike of panic in her throat. "Give me forty-eight hours. I'll deliver a commercial-grade draft by Wednesday morning."

"But that raises a question." Kwan leaned back slightly, studying her with a look that made her stomach tighten. "If you have nothing… then who wrote A Girl Like Me?"

The world seemed to tilt. For a moment, Mia couldn't breathe.

A vivid image flashed across her thoughts—the worn, leather-bound notebook she kept tucked away in her desk, its pages filled with her rawest lyrics, scribbled in shaky handwriting during her darkest nights. It was a private piece of her soul, a song she intended to sing herself one day.

"How did you… find that?" she asked, her voice dropping, edged with sudden ice.

"On your desk," Kwan replied dismissively. A greedy grin stretched across her face. "I read it on Friday while you were out for lunch. The title caught my eye, and the lyrics... Mia, they're exceptional. Exactly what Miss Diana needs. That's why I called her over immediately."

A slow, sharp heat rose within her chest. "You went through my private things?"

"I recognized an opportunity," he said flatly.

"No."

The word slipped out before she could restrain it.

Clear.

Unyielding.

Kwan stilled.

"I'm not selling it," Mia said, her voice gaining strength as she lifted her gaze to meet his. "That song is mine."

"What?" Kwan's face turned a dangerous, mottled shade of red. "If you refuse, you understand the consequences. Your career here is finished."

"I don't care," Mia snapped back, her resolve hardening like steel. "It's not for sale. I wrote it for myself. It's… not something I can give away."

"Do you have any idea how much money Miss Diana is offering?" Kwan's restraint snapped, his heavy hand striking the desk with a sharp, echoing sound. "It is just a piece of writing, Mia! Grow up!"

"I said no!" Mia stood her ground, rising to her feet to match his anger. "That song means everything to me. It is the only thing I have that is truly mine. I won't sell it. Not for money, not for anything. And if it's 'just a piece of writing,' then you should have no problem writing one for her yourself!"

The silence that followed was lethal.

Diana Marie stood up, the sharp, deliberate clack of her heels cutting through the tension like a gavel. Her expression remained entirely composed, a mask of cold, flawless indifference.

"What is this, a circus?" the pop star said coolly. "Mr. Kwan, I don't have time for this." She turned, her gaze passing over Mia without lingering. "I'll take my business to a professional company with writers who actually want to work."

With a fluid, practiced grace, she swept her designer handbag from the desk and walked out of the room, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering like a ghost.

When Kwan turned his gaze back to Mia, there was no longer irritation in his eyes. Only cold dismissal.

"You're fired."

The words landed with a quiet, devastating weight.

Mia blinked, her heart plummeting into her stomach. "What…?"

"Get out of my office," Kwan growled, his finger trembling as he pointed toward the door. "And don't you ever come back."

Mia stood frozen, dumbfounded by the sheer speed at which her life had fractured. Three years of effort, of endurance, of silent compromise—gone. Just like that.

The air felt thin, the walls closing in on her. She wanted to scream, to defend the three years of hard work she'd poured into this place, but the words were gone. She was utterly speechless.

Slowly, she turned.

Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last, leaving behind her desk, her career, and the only stability she had.

When she stepped outside, the morning sun spilled across the city in brilliant gold. But it felt distant. Cold. Indifferent.

Mia Jaxon stood there, unmoving. She had protected her soul. But as she looked out at the busy streets, she realized she had absolutely nothing else left.

The heavy glass doors of the publishing company slid shut behind Mia Jaxon with a final, hollow thud—sealing off what felt like a corporate execution room she had just survived.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

She stood at the top of the concrete steps, stranded beneath the harsh morning sun, blinking as if the world hadn’t fully loaded itself back into place.

Below her, the city moved on with sickening indifference.

Taxis honked. Vendors shouted. Pedestrians rushed past with iced coffees and tired expressions, all stitched into the same endless rhythm of survival.

No one looked up.

No one paused.

No one knew that someone’s life had just fractured into irreparable pieces right above their heads.

Mia’s fingers tightened around her bag strap until her knuckles turned pale.

She had done the right thing.

She had saved her song.

She had protected the one untainted piece of her soul from Mr. Kwan’s greed.

But integrity, she was learning, had a price that didn’t announce itself until it was already deducted.

An empty bank account.

A destroyed career.

A future that had vanished so quickly it felt like it had never existed at all.

Her chest tightened sharply.

The air around her no longer felt like air—it felt like pressure. Dense. Oppressive. As if the world itself had leaned in closer just to remind her she was alone in it.

She needed something solid.

Something familiar.

Something that could anchor her before she drifted too far into panic.

Without thinking, Mia reached into her purse. Her fingers trembled as they closed around her phone.

It wasn’t a decision.

It was instinct.

A reflex born from years of leaning on one voice when everything else became too loud.

She dialed the only number that had ever felt like home.

Julian.

The phone pressed against her ear.

The ringing began.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Each tone felt heavier than the last, like a countdown she didn’t understand but already feared.

Then—

A click.

“Julian?” Mia breathed out immediately, too fast, too desperate. “Julian, thank God. I—”

“Hey, Mia.”

The voice that answered was wrong.

Not unfamiliar… but stripped.

Flat.

Cold in a way that didn’t belong to him.

Her steps slowed without her permission.

Something inside her shifted, subtly at first, like a chair leg scraping against a wooden floor.

“You’ve seen my text,” Julian said.

Mia frowned. “What text? Julian, I’ve been in a meeting all morning, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted quickly, almost impatiently. “But I had to do it.”

A pause.

That was all it took for dread to start crawling up her spine.

“Do what?” she asked, her voice lowering. “Julian, what are you talking about? Something terrible just happened at work, I just got—”

“Look,” he snapped.

The sudden sharpness made her flinch.

His tone changed instantly after that, like he was forcing himself back into something rehearsed.

“I know you’re upset right now. I do. But you have to let me go.”

Mia stopped walking completely.

The crowd moved around her like water around a stone.

“What…?”

“I don’t belong to you anymore,” he said, each word carefully placed, as if he had practiced saying it without feeling anything.

The city around her didn’t change.

But it disappeared anyway.

Sound dulled.

Movement blurred.

Even the sunlight felt distant.

Mia’s grip tightened on the phone.

“Julian,” she whispered. “What are you saying?”

A breath on the other end.

Not regretful.

Not emotional.

Just final.

“Bye, Mia. Have a good life.”

The line went dead.

For several seconds, she didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe properly.

“Julian?” she said quietly into the silence. “Julian?”

Nothing.

Her thumb moved on instinct, pulling up the call log.

One tap.

Then another.

Then she saw it.

A message.

Sent hours ago.

Buried beneath missed alarms and Mr. Kwan’s furious calls.

Her stomach dropped before she even opened it.

[Text from Julian: Hey Mia, this may hurt you a little—or maybe not. I just want you to forget about me. We’re done. I’m ending this relationship.]

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Her brain refused to accept them.

So she read them again.

Slower.

Each line pressing deeper into her chest.

Forget about me.

We're done.

I’m ending this relationship.

A memory surfaced without permission.

Julian laughing in the rain.

Holding her hand.

Saying, "No matter how hard it gets, we face it together."

Together.

The word felt like a lie now.

A sharp, broken sound escaped her throat—half laugh, half choke.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until her vision blurred.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no…”

Her fingers moved frantically.

Call.

Call again.

Again.

Again.

Each attempt ended the same way.

"Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again."

The robotic voice didn’t change.

It didn’t care.

It didn’t soften.

It just repeated itself like the world had already moved on without her permission.

Mia staggered backward until her legs hit the edge of the sidewalk.

Her knees weakened.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

Like her body had finally decided it could no longer support the weight of everything collapsing at once.

She sank down slowly.

And then stopped trying to stand.

Above her, the sky shifted.

Clouds rolled in fast—too fast to feel natural. The sunlight dimmed as if someone had lowered a curtain over the world.

Then came the first drop of rain.

One.

Then another.

Then everything.

The downpour hit without warning, sharp and heavy, swallowing sound and color in seconds.

Mia didn’t move.

She just sat there.

As if motion required permission she no longer had.

The rain soaked through her clothes, her hair, her skin—until she was no longer sure where she ended and the storm began.

Her phone slipped from her hand at some point.

She didn’t notice.

Her chest rose unevenly as the realization settled deeper.

Not just that she had lost Julian.

But that she had lost him without warning.

Without conversation.

Without even the dignity of being present when it happened.

It was absence disguised as closure.

A cruelty so clean it felt unreal.

Her shoulders began to shake.

At first softly.

Then wracking.

And then it broke.

The sound that came out of her wasn’t elegant or controlled.

It wasn’t quiet.

It was raw.

A fracture.

A collapse.

Mia bent forward, pressing her hands into her face as if she could hold herself together by force alone.

But there was nothing left to hold.

The rain hid her completely now.

Erasing her from the street the way he had erased her from his life.

Her job.

Gone.

Her future.

Gone.

Her love.

Gone.

All before noon.

A bitter, broken laugh escaped her through tears she couldn’t stop.

Of course.

Of course it was all at once.

Because life didn’t ease people into ruin.

It pushed them.

And watched.

Her breathing turned uneven, ragged.

A thought surfaced—quiet, poisonous.

This is it.

This is how it ends for you.

The idea didn’t shock her.

It felt familiar.

Like something she had feared for years but never admitted out loud.

Her fingers curled into the wet pavement.

Cold seeped into her bones.

Not just from the rain.

From everything.

She lifted her face slightly, staring at the blurred skyline through the storm.

Cars passed.

People ran for shelter.

Life continued.

As if nothing had happened.

As if she had not just lost everything that made her world recognizable.

Her lips parted.

No sound came out.

Only breath.

Then, finally, a whisper.

Barely audible beneath the rain.

“I guess… I was never meant to stay.”

The words didn’t feel dramatic.

They felt like surrender.

Her head lowered again.

Rain continued to fall.

And somewhere inside the ruins of everything she had been, something quiet and unfamiliar stirred.

Not hope.

Not yet.

Something closer to absence.

A space waiting to be filled.

And without knowing it, Mia Jaxon had just stepped into the beginning of a life she had never imagined—

one that would not ask for permission before rewriting her entire existence.

The rain didn’t fall.

It attacked.

Relentless sheets of water slammed against the pavement, each drop striking with cold, merciless precision.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat.

The rhythm was suffocating—loud enough to drown out everything.

Everything… except the quiet sound of Mia Jaxon breaking apart.

Curled on the cold sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, she trembled uncontrollably. Her soaked clothes clung to her skin, her hair plastered to her face, her tears blending seamlessly from the freezing rain.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t care to.

At that moment, the world could end—and she wouldn’t resist.

Then—

The sharp impact of rain against her back suddenly stopped.

The roar dulled into a muted drumming overhead.

Mia blinked slowly, her vision blurred by water and exhaustion. A shadow loomed over her—still, quiet, unmoving.

She lifted her head weakly.

A black umbrella.

And beneath it…

A man.

Tall. Composed. Unshaken.

While the storm raged without mercy, he stood as though it had no right to touch him.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here," he said.

His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried easily through the rain.

Mia stared at him, her lips trembling. "W-who are you…?” she whispered.

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question

"Someone passing by," he replied.

It didn't feel like a real answer.

He adjusted the umbrella, angling it just enough to shield her completely.

"I've been watching you," he added after a moment.

A pause.

"I thought you'd get up eventually."

Mia's fingers tightened slightly against her sleeves.

"I'm fine... you don't have to bother," she muttered weakly, her breath uneven..

The man studied her for a second longer, his gaze unreadable.

"If that were true," he said lightly, "you wouldn't still be sitting here."

A faint pause.

"Can you stand?"

Mia tried to respond—but the strength never came.

The cold had already settled too deep.

Her vision blurred.

The world tilted—

And then everything went dark.

Her body collapsed forward.

But she never hit the ground.

The man caught her.

Effortlessly

There was no panic in his movement. No rush. Just quiet precision, like he had already expected it.

As he lifted her, his grip tightened slightly, steadying her against him.

"Guess that answers it," he murmured under his breath.

A black car waited nearby, engine running.

The driver stepped out immediately, opening the back door.

The man placed her gently onto the seat before straightening.

For a brief moment, he looked down at her pale face. Rainwater still clung to her lashes.

His gaze lingered—not soft, not cold... just thoughtful.

What pushed you this far?

Then he reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone.

The screen lit up.

13 missed calls.

All from the same contact.

Kid bro

He stared at it briefly... then tapped the screen.

—

Across the city, inside a quiet apartment, a phone vibrated violently against a table.

Riley Jaxon grabbed it instantly.

“Sis?! What happened? Where are you?!" His voice cracked with panic.

For a second, there was only silence.

Only the faint hum of a car engine.

Windshield wipers.

Then—

“Your sister collapsed.”

The voice on the other end was calm

Too calm.

Riley froze.

“…What?”

The shock lasted only for a second before anger surged in.

“Who the hell is this? Why do you have her phone?! Where is she?!”

Inside the car, the man didn’t react.

“She passed out in the rain,” he said evenly. “If I hadn’t found her, she wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

The words hit hard.

Riley’s breath caught, his anger dissolving into fear.

“…Where is she?” he asked, quieter now.

“Give me your address."

The words came without hesitation.

Not forceful.

Just... expected to be followed.

Riley didn't hesitate.

“Street: 108-5 XXXXXXX.”

“Understood."

He ended the call without another word.

Looking up, he met the driver's eyes in the mirror.

“Let's go.”

“Yes, sir," the driver replied, pulling into the rain-slick streets.

—

By the time they arrived, the storm hadn’t eased—but the worst had already passed.

Inside the Jaxon home, warmth replaced the cold.

Dry clothes.

Soft blankets.

Steady breathing.

Mia slept.

unaware of everything.

After making sure she was properly settled, Riley quietly stepped out of her room, closing the door behind him.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair before heading downstairs.

The man was still there.

Waiting.

Hands tucked loosely into his coat pockets.

As if leaving had never been urgent.

He turned at the sound of footsteps.

“How is she?”

“She's sleeping now," Riley said, his voice now heavy with exhaustion. "I've settled her in."

The man gave a small nod.

"Good," he said. "Then I won't stay."

Just like that.

He turned towards the door.

"Wait—"

The word slipped out before Riley could stop himself.

The man paused.

Riley swallowed, his chest tightening.

“Thank you... If you hadn’t found her, I—”

“Don’t," the man cut in quietly.

Not harsh. Just enough to stop him.

He stepped closer and placed a hand on Riley’s shoulder.

"You’re here now," he said quietly. "That's enough."

Something in Riley's chest loosened.

A small, grateful smile broke through.

The man noticed.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—almost amused.

Then it was gone.

"You can call me Cole," he said.

A brief pause.

"Cole Wyatt."

Riley blinked, the name settling in his mind.

“Oh… okay,” he said slowly. “Thank you… Cole.”

Cole gave a small nod, releasing his shoulder.

Then he turned—

And walked out into the rain.

Within seconds, his figure disappeared into the dark courtyard.

Riley stood there, staring at the empty doorway.

A strange sense of familiarity tugged at the back of his mind.

Cole Wyatt...

His brows furrowed slightly as he searched his memory.

Why does that name sound so familiar...?