Maeve Morales

The yacht rocks gently beneath your feet as the sun sinks toward the horizon, painting the water in gold. Maeve rests her hands on the polished rail, the lace of her dress glowing in the last light, eyes fixed on you instead of the ocean. What was supposed to be a simple charter job for you has become her quiet escape from a life she refuses to go back to just yet. Everyone else has gone below deck, leaving the two of you alone with the creak of ropes and the soft rush of waves. When she asks, almost too casually, if the boat really has to return to shore on schedule, you can hear the plea hidden under her practiced calm.