The price of desire

The rain hadn't stopped for hours. It washed over the city in silver sheets, blurring headlights and turning the sidewalks into rivers. Lydia Cole hunched beneath her umbrella, her boots splashing through puddles as she power-walked toward the subway entrance. Her shift at the art gallery had ended late-again-and her boss hadn't even said thank you.

She sighed, shaking droplets from her jacket as she descended the stairs. The station was packed, the storm slowing trains and raising tempers. Her phone buzzed. Another reminder of her overdue rent.

Lydia stared at the message, dread pooling in her chest. The rent was due tomorrow. She had exactly $72 in her bank account.

The train screamed into the station and Lydia fought her way inside, crammed between suits and umbrellas. She kept her head down, holding her bag close. It was just another night in a city that never seemed to notice her. Until she noticed him.

He stood in the far corner of the car-tall, sharp suit, black umbrella tucked beneath his arm. There was something off about him. Not in a dangerous way. More like... out of place. His eyes were the color of stormy water, and they were watching her.

Lydia turned away, cheeks warm. But curiosity tugged at her, like a string pulling tight. When the train lurched to a stop at Midtown, she slipped out-and so did he.

She didn't think much of it until the next night, when she saw him again. Same train, different corner. Same eyes.

The third night, it happened again.

This time, he approached her.

"You always ride this line at night?"

His voice was smooth, low. Lydia blinked. Up close, he was devastatingly handsome. Clean-shaven jaw, dark hair, watch glinting under the flickering lights. Way out of her league.

"Yeah," she said carefully. "Work lets out late."

He nodded. "You're an artist."

Lydia stiffened. "How did you-?"

"I've seen you at Carver & Co. You work there, right? On West 39th?"

Her defenses kicked in. "Are you following me?"

He laughed-soft, almost surprised. "No. I'm Jaden. I just have a good memory."

She narrowed her eyes. "Right. Jaden. From where?"

"East Side. And I work in finance."

"Of course you do."

Something flickered in his gaze. Amusement? Challenge?

"Let me buy you a coffee," he said. "I promise I'm not a serial killer."

Lydia considered bolting, but something in her chest fluttered-against reason, against instinct. She gave him a small nod.

They walked to a corner café, nearly empty save for a couple studying. Jaden ordered a black coffee. Lydia got tea.

They sat by the window.

"So," he said, folding his hands, "what's your dream?"

Lydia blinked. "My dream?"

He nodded, as if that were a normal first-question thing.

She hesitated. "To have my own gallery someday. Curate art that actually means something. Not just what rich people want to hang in their penthouses."

"Sounds noble."

She smirked. "What about you?"

Jaden leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm still figuring that out."

"Aren't you supposed to already have it all figured out? Finance guy, expensive suit, probably own a penthouse of your own?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Looks can lie."

She wanted to ask more. About what he meant. About why a guy like him was riding the subway like the rest of them. But before she could, he stood up.

"I'll walk you to your train."

They parted ways with a handshake. It lingered, warm and strange.