Chapter 11 Jade
JADE
I'm packing when the sun comes up.
My terrible suitcase lies open on the bed, and I'm throwing clothes into it without bothering to fold them. The black dress from dinner. The jeans I wore on the plane. Everything I brought, which isn't much.
I need to leave. Need to get out of here before I make a mistake I can't take back.
Phoenix Crawford is exactly what my mother warned me about. Rich, controlling, entitled. A man who thinks money solves everything and that watching someone without their knowledge is somehow romantic instead of terrifying.
I zip the suitcase closed and set it on the floor. The broken wheel scrapes against the polished concrete, loud in the quiet cottage.
Now what?
I should call Robert, ask him to drive me to the airport. I need to book a flight back to Boston on my phone and leave before Phoenix even wakes up.
But I don't move.
Instead, I sink onto the edge of the bed and stare at my suitcase like it might have answers.
The check cleared. I checked my bank account three times last night when I couldn't sleep. The money is real. All of it. My mother's hospital bills are paid. My student loans show a zero balance. The credit cards that kept me up at night are settled.
I'm free.
For the first time in years, I don't owe anyone anything. I could quit the coffee shop. Could cut back on tutoring. Could actually focus on writing instead of treating it like a hobby I squeeze in between shifts.
All because of him.
All because Phoenix Crawford decided I was worth almost four hundred thousand dollars.
I pull out my phone and open my bank account app again, just to make sure I didn't imagine it. But no, it's still there. The zero balances. The lack of red numbers and past-due notices.
Real freedom looks a lot like a trap.
I could run. Could go back to Boston right now. But back to what? My cramped studio apartment with the water-stained ceiling? Jobs that I hate, which barely pay rent? Writing stories at midnight because it's the only time I have energy?
That life is still there, waiting for me. But it feels different now. Smaller. Like I've seen something I can't unsee, and going back means accepting that this is all I'll ever have.
My phone rings, startling me. Chloe's name flashes across the screen.
I answer on the second ring. "Hey."
"Oh thank God." Chloe's voice is sharp with relief. "You didn't text me last night. I've been freaking out. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not the same as okay. What happened? Did you meet him?"
I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes. "His name is Phoenix Crawford. He's..." I pause, not sure how to finish that sentence. "He's complicated."
There's a beat of silence. Then Chloe says, "Phoenix Crawford? As in Crawford Ventures?"
"You know him?"
"I know of him. Jade, he's kind of a big deal in the tech investment world. His firm has stakes in like half the major AI startups in Silicon Valley. He's been on the cover of Forbes." She pauses. "How do you know Phoenix Crawford?"
"He's the one who sent the check. P.C. That’s him."
"Holy shit." I can hear her moving around, probably pacing her apartment the way she does when she's processing information. "Okay. Okay. So a tech billionaire paid off your debt and flew you to California. Why?"
"He says he wanted to meet me. To give me freedom."
"And what do you think?"
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. "I think he's been watching me. He knows things he shouldn't know. And last night at dinner, he just... admitted it. Like it was normal."
"That's creepy."
"I know."
"But you're still there."
"I'm packing right now."
"Are you actually going to leave, though?"
The question hangs in the air. I look at my suitcase, at the cottage around me, at the ocean visible through the windows.
"I don't know," I admit.
"Jade." Chloe's voice softens. "Look him up. Right now. Google Phoenix Crawford and tell me what you see."
I pull the phone away from my ear and open a browser, typing his name with one hand. The results load immediately.
Forbes profile. Business articles. Society page mentions. And photos. So many photos.
Phoenix at a charity gala with a blonde woman in a gold dress who I vaguely recognize as an actress.
Phoenix on a yacht in what the caption says is the Mediterranean, his arm around a different woman, this one a model I've definitely seen in magazines.
Phoenix at a film premiere with yet another stunning woman on his arm.
I scroll through image after image. Beautiful women in fancy dresses. Parties on beaches. Restaurants where the cheapest entree probably costs more than my monthly rent.
This is his life and his world.
And I'm supposed to believe he wants me? Plain, broke, exhausted me?
"What do you see?" Chloe asks.
"Pictures." My voice sounds hollow. "Lots of pictures. He dates actresses and models."
"Of course he does. He's a billionaire."
I keep scrolling. There's a pattern to the photos. Different women, but they all look similar. Tall, thin, perfectly styled. The kind of women who've never worked three crappy jobs or eaten ramen for dinner five nights in a row because it's all they can afford.
"So why me?" I say it out loud even though Chloe can't answer that question any better than I can.
"Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he actually wants to help you."
"Rich men don't help people without wanting something in return. My mother taught me that."
"Your mother also walked away from wealth and made you both miserable. Maybe she's not the best source on this."
The words sting because they're true. My mother chose pride over comfort and spent the rest of her life resenting that choice. She raised me to be independent, to never depend on anyone, to view help as a form of control.
She would never admit but I think she has a lot of regrets.
"What are you going to do?" Chloe asks.
I look at my suitcase again. Its broken wheel seems to represent everything about my lief right now. Going back to Boston means going back to a life where I'm always one emergency away from drowning.
Staying means accepting help from a man who's been watching me, who knows things about me he shouldn’t and who probably has motives I don't understand.
"I don't know yet," I say finally. "He said I have a week. That I can leave anytime."
"Do you believe him?"
"I don’t know what I believe."
Through the window, I can see the main house. The glass walls are reflecting the morning sun, making it impossible to see inside. But I know he's there somewhere. Probably awake. Probably watching.
"The money is real," I tell Chloe. "I checked this morning. Everything is paid off. All of it."
"So regardless of what you decide, you're free of the debt."
"Yeah."
"Then the question is: do you want to know why he did it? Do you want to know what he wants?"
I think about last night. The way Phoenix looked at me across the dinner table. The intensity in his eyes when he said I deserved better. I think about how he had admitted to watching me.
That should have terrified me. Part of it did. But it also made me want to know more.
Why would a man who could have anyone want me?
"I think I need to stay," I say slowly. "At least for a few days. To figure out what this is."
Chloe is quiet for a moment. Then she says, "Okay. But rules still apply. You text me every day. Multiple times. Location sharing stays on. And the second anything feels wrong, you leave. No questions asked."
"I know."
"And Jade? Be careful. Men like Phoenix Crawford didn't get where they are by being nice. They got there by being smart and ruthless and very, very good at getting what they want."
"I'll be careful."
"I mean it. You're my best friend and I love you, but you're also desperate and vulnerable right now. That makes you an easy target."
The words hit harder than they should. Because she's right…about everything. I am desperate and vulnerable, and Phoenix probably knows that better than anyone.
"I'll text you later," I tell her. "I should probably unpack."
"You're actually staying?"
I look at the suitcase, then at the cottage around me, then at the ocean beyond the windows.
"For now. Just to see what happens."
"Okay. But I'm one phone call away from booking a flight out there myself if you need me."
"I know. Thank you."
We hang up, and I sit in the silence of the cottage staring at the endless blue waves under the morning sun. It's beautiful here in a way that makes my chest ache.
I could get used to this. That's the dangerous part. And that's exactly what Phoenix is counting on.
I stand and lift my suitcase back onto the bed. The zipper protests as I open it, and I start pulling clothes back out. Hanging the dress in the closet and putting the jeans in the drawer. Unpacking like I'm planning to stay.
Maybe I am.
Maybe I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.
But I'm done running from things just because they scare me. I'm done letting fear make my decisions.
If Phoenix Crawford wants to play whatever game this is, fine. I'll play.
But I'm not going to make it easy for him.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
Breakfast on the terrace at 9. I'll be waiting. -P
I stare at the message. It’s not an invitation. It’s a statement of fact. It’s like he knows I'll come even though part of me wants to prove him wrong.
I should ignore it. Should stay in the cottage and avoid him for as long as possible.
Instead, I type back: What's for breakfast?
The response comes immediately.
Whatever you want.
Of course. Because he can afford whatever I want. Money solves everything in his world.
I'll be there, I send back.
I set my phone down and look at myself in the mirror. I look exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes from not sleeping. Hair that needs washing. The same anxious expression I've been wearing for years.
But underneath that, something else. Something I haven't seen in a long time.
Curiosity.
Maybe even hope.
Phoenix Crawford is dangerous. I know that.
But danger is starting to look a lot like the only interesting option I have.
I take a shower in the bathroom with the heated floors and the rainfall showerhead. I put on clean clothes and actually do my makeup properly for once. I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back.
She looks almost… confident.
Almost like she belongs here.
It's nine o'clock when I step out of the cottage and follow the pathway toward the main house. The morning air is cool and smells like salt and eucalyptus. The ocean is calmer today, almost peaceful.
Phoenix is waiting on the terrace when I arrive.
And despite everything, despite all the warnings and red flags and reasons I should run, my heart skips when I see him.
That's when I know I'm in trouble.
Real trouble.
The kind you don't come back from.