NO ONE EVER COMES BACK, EVE
I pushopen the restroom door and find Miranda and Sophia at the mirror, touching up their makeup. When I step into view, their conversation stops mid-sentence. We’re all silent for a few seconds.
“So you're really going off to some unknown place, Eve?” Miranda asks. “Right this second, with no clue what you're walking into and no phone?”
I catch my reflection between theirs in the mirror. Where they look polished and put-together, I see someone who's clearly been running through traffic and stress-sweating through my expensive uniform. My brown hair is escaping its ponytail, my cheeks are flushed, and there are shadows under my eyes that no amount of concealer can hide.
“I've got nothing holding me here. Besides, you'll both know I left and where I went.”
Sophia sets down her compact and studies me with the intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle. “Did you know Denise wasn't the first to take a promotion like this? Amara came before her. Caroline before that. Single women with no close family and perfect performance records, just like you. Alwaysthe same story.”
“What do you mean, the same story?”
Miranda meets my eyes in the mirror. “Beautiful young women who keep to themselves. Who work twice as hard as everyone else but never expect recognition. Who disappear without anyone asking too many questions.”
I almost laugh. “Beautiful? Have you seen me lately?”
“That's exactly what I mean,” Sophia says, methodically applying deep red lipstick. “You have no idea, do you? How the male guests watch you when you're not looking? How you could have your pick of any man in this city if you just... let people in?”
The observation stings because it touches something I've spent years avoiding. I learned early on that being noticed meant being vulnerable. Pretty girls in the system got different kinds of attention, and none of it was good.
Miranda sets down her mascara. “Caroline left first, about seven years ago. Same deal, a big promotion in a mysterious location. Her apartment was cleared out three days later. When her ex-boyfriend called asking about her, Cal told him she'd moved overseas for love. Didn't give him any way to contact her.”
“Then Amara, two years after that,” Sophia continues, blotting her lipstick. “Her sister called the hotel six months later, frantic because Amara had missed their mother's funeral. Cal said she was 'committed to her new position' and couldn't leave. Her sister even contacted the police, but they said there was no crime since Amara had left voluntarily.”
I begin to feel queasy. “And Denise?”
“Denise's mom still calls every few months. She’s a sweet old lady who raised eight kids. She keeps asking if we have a forwarding address because she wants to send Denise her grandmother's wedding ring. Cal always promises to pass along the message, but...” She shrugs helplessly.
“I have a cousin at the Ascendant Alliance property in Dubai,” Miranda continues. “She mentioned a woman named Yasmin who got the same 'exclusive' offer around the same time Denise did. The next morning, her apartment was cleared out by company people, not movers. A professional team, in and out in two hours. Like she'd never even lived there.”
“Maybe they're just being efficient,” I say, hearing the uncertainty in my own voice.
“About a month after Denise left, I was on the graveyard shift,” Sophia says. “We got a call. The line was awful, with static everywhere and a weird humming in the background. But I swear it was Denise. She asked for Cal. When I transferred her, I stayed on the line.”
“What did you hear?”
“Just scraps. 'Not what I signed up for' and ‘They're watching me.' Then Cal noticed I was still on the line and cut it off.” Sophia clicks the lipstick cap into place. “The next day, he gave me a bonus and a reminder about our guest privacy policy.”
The fluorescent lights suddenly feel too bright, making my skin look pale and sickly in the mirror.
Miranda slips a folded piece of paper into my hand. “That's my number. Keep it safe. I heard what Cal said about you not needing a passport, but we're not in that tax bracket. Working people like us need ID for everything. You have your driver's license, right?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, kind of. I have a state ID. But why would the company publicize the position if they were doing something illegal?”
“Because no one's ever come back to expose them, and rich men can get away with anything.”
“Come on, people go to prison for crimes like trafficking all the time,” I say lightly. “Eventually.”
“Yes, but people like us just go quiet. Vanish into thin air,” Miranda says.
Sophia gives me a serious look. “Just stay safe, Eve. I've been here for thirty years, and I've never seen anyone return from these so-called other properties. Not even once.”
“You sound like you binge true-crime documentaries,” I joke, but I stash Miranda's number in my bra instead of my bag, just in case.
“Maybe we do,” Sophia concedes, “but that doesn't mean we're wrong.”
“Maybe no one's come back because they had no reason to.” The words sound empty, even to me. Because we all know, people who've 'made it,’ want to show off once in a while, visit old friends and wave bigger paychecks around.
