Chapter 2

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, guess my habits are a little better now."

Just then, the TV, which had been playing a variety show, suddenly switched to a financial news channel with a loud click.

A clear, professional male voice started analyzing stock charts.

Lizzie jumped. "Where's the remote?"

"Maybe it's just a loose connection," I said, keeping my cool as I switched the channel back.

As we were chatting, the cup in front of Lizzie suddenly slid about two inches toward the edge of the table on its own.

"Oh my God!" she let out an ear-piercing scream. "The cup! It just moved by itself."

I calmly slid the cup back and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. My roommate's just a bit of a prankster, but he's a great cook."

Lizzie stared at me in horror, like I was some kind of lunatic.

"Maxine, are you... are you under too much stress? Are you seeing things?" she stammered, her lips trembling.

I let out a long sigh, knowing there was just no way anyone would buy this story.

After letting the shell-shocked Lizzie out, I dropped onto the couch and let the emptiness sink in. 'See? Weird stuff like this is always something I face on my own. Nobody ever believes me.'

The living room lights dimmed a bit, casting a softer glow. I turned my head toward the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

The evening sunlight painted the glass with a golden sheen.

And then, right there, for the first time ever, I could see him—a tall figure in a crisp white shirt, as clear as day.

He was still kind of translucent, like drifting mist in the late sun, but now I could actually make out his sharp short hair and the way he stood, perfectly straight and confident.

He was holding a cleaning cloth, carefully polishing the window I'd left smudged that morning.

Every move he made was so focused, so precise, it was almost elegant in a way that bordered on obsessive.

Suddenly, Lizzie's anxiety and the world's disbelief faded into the background—they just didn't matter anymore.

In this sprawling city, I finally found where I belonged. And I had gained a family member—one who was truly one of a kind.

But good times don't last forever. The icy breath of big business finally blew my way—just another ordinary worker.

One cold, lifeless email. A handful of lines in bland corporate speak. That was all it took for my two-hour daily commute and tiny paycheck to get wiped out overnight.

Holding a cardboard box stuffed with my things, I wandered through the crowded streets, feeling—for the very first time—like someone had tossed me out with the garbage.

When I got home, I flopped onto my bed and buried my head under the blanket. Everything I'd bottled up for ages—frustration, insecurity, all that pain—just came flooding out at once.

I bawled like there was no tomorrow, as if I was trying to cry out every ounce of hurt I'd swallowed living in this city all these years.

I had no idea how long I'd been crying when the soft, soaring notes of classical music began to drift in from the living room.

It was my favorite—Dvořák's New World Symphony, that piece I always treasured.

Once, while eating alone, I'd told the empty room, "This song is so beautiful. Even the toughest days feel a little easier to bear when it's playing."

I sniffled, dragging myself out of my room.

On the dining table was a plate of piping hot cola chicken wings—my all-time favorite.

Beside it, a little note was waiting for me. There were only two words. On the note, it simply said: "On the house."

My tears started falling again, dripping onto the dark wooden table one by one.

This time, it wasn't because I felt defeated or wronged—it was because, for once, I felt something warm inside.

I ate as I cried, and for the first time, spoke out loud to no one in particular, my voice honest and steady: "Thank you, Hadden."

Somewhere in the air, it was as if a gentle sigh whispered around me.

Now that I'd had a good meal, I felt like I could take on the world again.

I wiped my tears, turned on my laptop, and started blasting out resumes like there was no tomorrow.

But reality hit me harder than I ever imagined. Every resume I sent out vanished into the void.

The few interviews I managed to land always ended with me getting cut at the final round.

My bank account kept shrinking, and the weight of rent, utilities, and Hadden's meticulous "bill" felt like mountains pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

Anxiety gnawed at my nerves, and night after night I couldn't sleep at all—just lying there, staring into the darkness.

Then, out of nowhere, I got an interview call from my absolute dream company—the one I'd been chasing all along, the ultimate prize on my career wishlist.

I pulled out my only business suit from deep in my closet and ironed it again and again, terrified of even the tiniest crease showing.

On the day of the interview, I got up super early. I was so nervous that when I stopped at the coffee shop downstairs for breakfast, my hand shook and I spilled a whole cup of scalding hot Americano all over my crisp white shirt.

In that instant, it felt like the whole world was crashing down on me.

I rushed home in a panic, threw my ruined clothes onto the couch, and stared at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror—honestly, I just wanted to disappear.