Midnight System: Rise of The Broken Lover

Chapter One: The Island Job

Dylan Chase pressed his forehead against the shuttle bus window, watching the city shrink behind them. The glass was warm, almost hot, and the air conditioning couldn’t quite keep up with the afternoon sun.

Around him, the other staff buzzed with energy.

“I heard they had Beyoncé there last summer,” someone said from the back.

“Bullshit. That was the Hamptons.”

“No, I’m serious! My cousin worked…”

Dylan tuned them out. His phone buzzed in his hand.

**Grace: Did you guys leave yet?**

He smiled before he could stop himself, thumbs already moving.

**Dylan: Just hit the highway. Two hours to the island.**

**Grace: I’m so proud of you.**

Three words. That’s all it took to make his chest tighten. He stared at the message, reading it twice, then locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. His hand brushed against the acceptance email he’d printed out yesterday, folded and tucked away like a talisman.

Congratulations, you’ve been selected to join the staff at Coral Bay Resort for the summer season.

Two thousand dollars a week. Plus tips.

He’d read it five times before he believed it, then sprinted the six blocks to Grace’s apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. When she opened the door, he couldn’t even get the words out, just held up his phone, grinning like an idiot.

She’d thrown her arms around him, laughing. “I told you. I told you.”

“Hey, new guy.”

Dylan blinked, pulled out of the memory. The guy across the aisle was looking at him, dark hair gelled back, a gold watch catching the light. His polo shirt was crisp, expensive. The kind of thing Dylan couldn’t afford even with the island pay.

“Have you heard the speech yet?” the guy asked.

“What speech?”

“About the guests.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “They tell you not to stare. Don’t ask for pictures. Don’t even think about pulling out your phone. Basically, pretend they’re invisible unless they need something.”

“Got it,” Dylan said.

“Have you done this kind of work before?”

“I’ve worked events. Catering, mostly.”

The guy smirked. “This isn’t catering, man. These people drop more on champagne in one night than you’ll make all summer. Just keep your head down and smile. You’ll be fine.”

He turned back to his conversation, dismissing Dylan without another word.

Dylan looked down at his shoes. They were worn but clean, the laces still bright white. Grace had given them to him three weeks ago.

He’d been sitting on the curb outside the warehouse where he’d just finished a loading shift, staring at the hole in the sole of his sneaker. It wasn’t big, but it was growing. Water would get in when it rained. He’d been calculating in his head how many shifts until he could afford a new pair without missing rent.

Then Grace appeared, a shopping bag in her hand.

“What are you doing here?” he’d asked.

“I was in the area.” A lie, and they both knew it. She lived on the other side of town. She held out the bag. “These are for you.”

Inside were the shoes. New, his size, perfectly plain.

“Grace, I can’t…”

“You can.” Her voice was firm. “And you will. Just take it, Dylan.”

Later, when he’d asked how she afforded them, she’d waved him off, saying she’d had some extra money from a freelance gig. It wasn’t until weeks later that he noticed her necklace was gone, the silver one she wore every day.

She’d sold it for him.

His phone buzzed again.

Grace: Text me when you get there, okay? I want to know you made it safe.

Dylan: I will. Promise.

Grace: And Dylan?

Dylan: Yeah?

Grace: Don’t let them make you feel small. You earned this.

He read the message three times.

The bus hit a pothole, jolting everyone forward. Laughter erupted from the back. Someone’s water bottle rolled down the aisle.

Dylan pocketed his phone and looked out the window again. They were on the coastal highway now, the ocean glittering in the distance.

Three days. Seventy-two hours of work.

Then he’d go home and take Grace somewhere nice. A real restaurant, not the diner where they usually split fries. He’d buy her something beautiful, something she’d never buy for herself. He’d make her feel like the queen she was.

She’d stood by him when no one else did, when his so-called friends laughed at him behind his back, when the rich men he ran errands for looked at him like dirt on their shoes.

**"Girls like her don’t stay with guys like you."**

**"Wait till she meets someone with money."**

**"You’ve got nothing to offer her, man. She’ll leave."**

**"Someone like me comes along, she’ll leave without a second thought."**

**"Grace is beautiful. I want her, and I’ll get her."**

He’d heard it all. Over and over. From classmates, from co-workers, from the men who paid him to carry their groceries and wash their cars.

They didn’t know her.

They didn’t know how she’d shown up at his door at midnight when his landlord threatened eviction, cash in hand. How she’d sat with him in the ER when he sprained his wrist on a job, staying until 4 a.m. even though she had work in the morning. How she looked at him like he mattered, like he was worth something, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

Grace wasn’t going anywhere.

And this job, this one lucky break was going to prove it. Not to them. To her.

The bus slowed, turning onto a narrower road. A sign flashed past: CORAL BAY RESORT – 15 MILES.

Dylan straightened in his seat. Around him, the chatter grew louder, more excited.

He glanced at the gold-watch guy across the aisle, now laughing with someone a few rows up.

Three days.

He could do this.

The bus rolled on, carrying them toward the water, toward the island, toward the kind of money Dylan had only ever seen in other people’s hands.

He checked his phone one more time. Then typed:

Dylan: I’m going to make you proud.

The message sat there, unsent. He stared at it for a long moment, then deleted it.

She already was proud.

Now he just had to earn it.