Two years.

That would be about one five thousand dollars-and how?

Where could I get such an amount of money from?

That was the question I kept asking myself as I pressed my forehead against the cold metal gate, my chest feeling hollow.

"Oh God, please help me," I whispered-to no one but myself.

That night, I slept outside, behind the bakery across from my mother's apartment.

By morning, my body ached, my heart felt raw, and my stomach cried from hunger. But the image of my mother's pale, fragile face in the hospital left me with no choice but to keep going.

I remembered Ana mentioning the café she went to. I decided to try my luck there, hoping-praying-not to be rejected.

The moment I stepped into the café, noise surrounded me. Laughter. Whispering. Voices everywhere.

I headed straight to the counter. Luckily, a lady was seems to be the manager, she was standing there tall with sharp eyebrows and an unreadable expression.

She spoke in a calm, gentle tone.

"Yes. What can I offer you?"

"Nothing, ma'am," I said quickly. "I just came to ask if you need anyone to assist-like a waitress."

"Nope. I'm not looking for any waitress," she replied, tapping her nails against the counter.

"But ma'am, even if it's a cleaning job, I'll do it," I pleaded. "Please."

My knees nearly touched the floor.

She studied me for a moment. Then she smirked.

"Fine. Let's see how desperate you are."

She raised an eyebrow and snapped her fingers at one of the baristas.

"Prepare a large caramel espresso."

The barista nodded.

She turned back to me, arms crossed.

"Take that coffee across the street. Table nineteen on the outdoor terrace. Fast. If you can handle one customer, I'll consider you."

"That's it?" I blinked.

I had barely taken a step toward the door when my phone buzzed. I checked it-and my heart stopped.

URGENT: Your mother's condition worsened overnight. She has been moved to the emergency room.

My chest cracked open.

My breath stuttered.

My legs weakened.

"No... no, no," I whispered, tears blurring my vision.

In that split second, I didn't see the raised curb.

My shoe caught. My arm jerked. The world tilted.

The coffee flew through the air-and exploded across a man's gray suit as he stepped into the café.

I froze.

He froze.

"Oh-my God," I breathed. "Sir, please, I'm so sorry." The words spilled out without control.

He slowly raised his head.

Sharp jawline. Storm-dark eyes.

His presence made the entire street pause, as if everyone was watching a scene I had just created.

Alejandro De La Vega.

I recognized him instantly-the most powerful and dangerous billionaire in Mexico. The heir to De La Vega Company.

"What," he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, "did you just do?"

The sound of his voice sent my thoughts spinning. It was silky, controlled, terrifying.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," I stammered. "I didn't mean it. It was an accident."

"Do you know how much this suit costs?"

I flinched, my eyes wide, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Alejandro exhaled slowly-dangerously. Like a man holding back an explosion.

Then his gaze dropped to me.

I swear the temperature dropped.

"You," he said quietly, "do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I-I'm so sorry," I whispered. "Please, I didn't mean-"

"You ruined a meeting worth more than your annual income."

Ouch.

"I tripped," I tried to explain. "It was an accident."

"Accidents," he said, stepping closer, "are what children make. Not adults."

His words scraped something raw inside me.

Anger. Embarrassment. Fear.

People stared. Whispers spread through the café.

"I'll pay for the dry cleaning," I blurted. "Or-or the shirt. Just please let me explain."

He laughed-but there was no humor in it.

Only ice.

"This shirt," he said, flicking the soaked fabric with two fingers, "costs more than you earn in a month."

I swallowed hard.

"You should watch where you're going instead of-"

He stopped.

Because my phone buzzed again, still open in my hand.

The doctor's message glowed on the screen.

He glanced at it, and something flickered across his face-curiosity? Judgment? I couldn't tell.

I quickly lowered the phone, my cheeks burning.

He stepped closer, invading my space.

"For someone this distracted," he murmured darkly, "you shouldn't be carrying hot drinks."

That should've made me apologize again. Instead, something inside me snapped.

"I said it was an accident," I hissed. "I didn't pour coffee on you for fun."

Something shifted in his expression.

Interest? Annoyance? Both.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"I-I don't see how that's relevant."

"It's relevant," he said coldly, "because I don't like not knowing the name of the person who just cost me a multi-million-peso negotiation."

My mouth fell open.

A date... was a negotiation?

Then again, men like him don't date-they strategize.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping dangerously low.

"So. Name."

"...Isabella," I whispered.

His eyes lingered on me-too long, too intensely.

"Well, Isabella," he said softly, chillingly, "I always repay people who inconvenience me."

My stomach dropped. "That's not necessary-"

"Oh, it is," he murmured. "You'll see me again."

It sounded like a promise. Or a threat.

A black car pulled up beside him. The driver rushed out, horror spreading across his face as he saw the ruined suit.

"Sir-"

Alejandro raised a hand, silencing him.

He gave me one last look-sharp, unreadable, dangerous.

Then he got into the car.

It drove away, leaving me trembling in the street, holding an empty coffee cup and a broken job opportunity.

When I walked back into the café, the manager's politeness vanished.

"You embarrassed us," she snapped. "You made a scene."

"I didn't- do it Intentionally"

"You're not hired."

Those three words crushed me.

I walked out in a daze, fighting the burn behind my eyes.

Failed interview.

Destroyed suit.

Angry billionaire.

Sick mother waiting for hope I couldn't give.

My world felt like it was collapsing.

I sank onto a bus-stop bench and covered my face with my hands.

What else could go wrong today?

I didn't know.

But the universe clearly did.

I remembered the last words Alejandro whispered as he walked away:

"Isabella Ramirez. Let's see who you really are."

I didn't know how I got back to my mother's apartment; all I knew was that I was back home.

My heart cracked in a way that made it hard to breathe. Our landlord didn't even bother to call. He just tossed my life into the street like garbage.

I buried my face in my hands until my tears soaked into my palms.

I had no job.

No home.

A sick mother depending on me.

And now... nowhere to go.

My phone buzzed suddenly.

I wiped my face and checked the screen.

Unknown Number:

Miss Ramirez? This is the manager from Café El Molino. Please return immediately.

I blinked.

Return?

I called her quickly. "Hello? Ma'am? Please, I saw a text message."

"Yes, I sent it. Someone just quit the job, and I'm in need of a replacement," she said. "You got the job."

I almost dropped my phone.

"I don't know what to say, but all I know is that I'm hired," I whispered to myself.

"Are you coming or not?" the voice asked through the phone.

"Yes! Yes, I'm coming!" I breathed, hardly believing it.

The call ended.

I ran back to the café.

The café was busy when I returned-people talking over each other, spoons clinking, cups steaming. The manager thrust an apron into my hands.

"You will start right away. Don't embarrass us again."

"Understood," I said, swallowing.

I tied the apron and stepped behind the counter, repeating the steps they'd taught me:

Smile, take orders, deliver drinks quickly, don't trip, don't stare, and don't drop anything.

Easy enough.

Until a huge muscular man walked in.

He was wearing a black t-shirt and ash pants.

He entered the café like the air shifted to make room for him. Conversations dimmed. Heads turned. Even the manager straightened her blouse, nervous.

His presence slicing through the crowded space like a blade. His eyes scanned the room-

And landed on me.

My breath hitched.

He approached slowly, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"Coffee girl," he said, voice smooth and deep.

I nearly choked on my own spit. "Sorry, but I'm new here; maybe you might be mistaking me for someone else," I whispered.

"You work here now?" he asked, and I gave a slight nod of surprise, trying to recall where we met.

"Have we met before?" I asked.

"Nope, not exactly," he responded as his gaze slid down to my apron, then back up to my face. I felt stripped bare under that stare.

"What can I get you?" I managed, trying to sound professional.

"A double espresso."

I nodded and turned to make it.

Another customer waved their hand. "Miss? My latte?"

"Right away," I said.

Someone else tapped the counter. "Refill, please!"

"I'll attend to you in a moment."

I was juggling three orders when I heard a low voice behind me.

"I ordered before them," the muscular man said.

I turned slowly. "Yes, and I will get to you. But they ordered before you walked in."

His brows lifted.

Not angrily.

Not shocked.

Just... curious.

"You're telling me to wait?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Yes. That's how a queue works."

The barista beside me gasped quietly. The manager nearly dropped a tray.

"No one dares talk to me like that," he uttered. "No one."

He stared at me, eyes darkening-not with rage, but something colder, something assessing.

"And what," he asked softly, "makes you think I'm the type of man who waits?"

"Everyone waits," I whispered back. "Even you."

A silence wrapped around us.

Thick.

Heavy.

Electric.

Then something strange happened.

His lips twitched.

Was he... amused?

Impossible.

But he stepped back, hands raised slightly.

"Very well. Surprise me."

I blinked, stunned.

Did he just... listen?

I made his espresso second. Not first. I wasn't suicidal.

When I finally placed the cup gently in front of him, he didn't touch it. He only held my gaze.

"What's your price?"

"My price?" I echoed.

"For your honesty. Not many people speak to me like that."

"I wasn't being brave," I muttered. "Just doing my job."

"Is that what this is?" he said softly. "A job?"

I frowned. "What else would it be?"

He leaned closer.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Something shivered down my spine.

Before I could respond, the manager burst out of the backroom, a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Sir! Is everything satisfactory? Hope Isabella didn't delay your order, did she?"

I clenched my jaw.

His eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to amusement.

"She has a... strong sense of order," he said. "I appreciate that."

My manager looked relieved. "Very good! Please enjoy your espresso."

After he had finished his drink, he stood, taking out his wallet. Then he placed a crisp set of bills into my hand-far more than the drink cost.

A lot more.

"Keep the change, Isabella."

My eyes widened. "Sir, this is too much-"

"You need it," he said simply. "And I needed entertainment."

I opened my mouth, offended and grateful at the same time.

But before I could speak, my manager's nails dug hard into my arm.

As he walked away, she hissed in my ear: "If that man ever walks out of this shop dissatisfied, you're fired. Do you understand? He's Hector; he is the most powerful customer and the most famous man in the city. You mess this up..." Her grip tightened until it hurt. "You lose everything. Again."

I stiffened.

After my manager finished speaking, she asked for the bill.

I quickly reached into my apron and brought out the money. Before I could place it on the table, my boss grabbed it from my hand, rough and impatient.

I winced softly. When her hand dropped back to my side, a red mark was already forming on my skin.

I said nothing.

I turned and walked back toward the counter, my steps steady even though my fingers were still tingling.

As soon as I reached the counter, a colleague leaned closer, pretending to wipe a glass. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"That man who just left," she said quietly. "Hector."

My hands paused.

"He's more dangerous than the one you spilled coffee on earlier," the woman continued. "And the worst part?" She glanced around before finishing. "He never gives without expecting something back."

I looked down at my hand, still burning.

"So... my dear," the colleague added softly, "I hope you're not planning to use the money he gave you."

I stood still after my colleague finished speaking and walked back to her position.

The noise of the cafe returned around plates clinking, voices rising, and footsteps moving-but I heard none of it.

My eyes stayed fixed on the counter in front of me.

My heart was beating too fast.

I slowly opened my palm. The red mark was still there, clear against my skin. I closed my hand again, as if that could erase it.

Hector's face flashed in my mind. The way he smiled. The way his eyes had followed me even after he stood up to leave.

A cold feeling crawled up my spine.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe. I straightened my back, tied my apron tighter, and returned to work.

But my hands were no longer steady.

And no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop thinking about the money still sitting in my apron-and what it might truly cost me.

*****

I never realised how heavy exhaustion could feel until I was finally allowed to rest.

After work, I used the bills Hector had given me-carefully, reluctantly-to pay the overdue rent my landlord pretended he never received. I didn't enjoy taking money from a stranger, especially one as intimidating as Hector, but survival didn't exactly give room for moral choices.

Once the payment was settled, he handed me my key like he was doing me a favour instead of returning what once belonged to me.

I carried my bags upstairs, one after another, each step heavier than the last. When I pushed open the door to my small apartment, relief washed over me.

My bed.

My window.

My tiny desk.

My life, squeezed into a single, humble room.

It wasn't much-cracked tiles, flickering lights, and a bathroom door that squeaked anytime it moved.

But it was home.

And tonight, that was enough.

I threw myself on the bed, exhaustion dragging me under instantly. I slept without dreams, without fear, just a deep, dark nothingness that felt like mercy.

By the time I woke up, daylight had already dimmed. My neck was stiff, my eyes swollen, and my hair a tangled mess. But the worst part.

My body smelt like twelve hours of sweat and misery.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I stripped and stepped under the shower. The cold water hit me like punishment.

Sharp.

Hard.

Unforgiving.

I gasped, hugging myself as the water slapped my shoulders.

And that's when the memories returned.

Mama.

Almost a year in the hospital.

Machines beeping.

Bills are stacking up.

Doctors are shaking their heads.

My whole life collapsed in slow motion.

"Why does everything have to hurt?" I whispered into the water.

It wasn't a question

It was a plea.

A surrender.

The water washed down my skin like reality washing away hope. I pressed my forehead against the wall, letting the cold drain the emotions I didn't have the strength to carry anymore.

When I finally stepped out, wrapped in the only towel I had, my phone buzzed aggressively on the sink.

Five missed calls.

All from my manager from the café.

My heart stopped.

"No... no, please," I whispered, grabbing the phone with shaking hands. "Please don't let it be bad news."

I dialled back immediately.

She answered on the first ring.

"Miss Ramirez?"

"Yes! Ma," I replied.

There was silence-long enough for my knees to weaken.

Then she exhaled, voice soft, almost emotional.

"Someone said you'll be his personal waitress, and you will serve him from today onwards. Nobody else but him."

My breath hitched. "Who? Why? Wh-what happened?"

"The man you spilled coffee on," she said.

My towel slipped slightly. "What?"

"You will not just attend to him; you'll also keep him company, because he paid all the necessary payment, and you must be early."

My throat closed.

"Hope, did you hear what I said?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma, I heard what you said," I answered.

And the call ended.

Tears blurred my vision instantly, rushing out so fast I couldn't stop them.

"The man I spilled coffee on... why did he do such a thing?" I asked, voice trembling.

My knees gave way, and I slid down against the bathroom door, sobbing into my palm.

"I always pay those who you made me inconvenient," his voice flashed back in my mind.

"God, please save me from the hand of Alejandro," I said softly with my eyes lifted up to the ceiling.

"I need to be strong," I whispered over and over, even though I didn't know why.

I arrived at the café early-almost an hour before my shift. My heart beat too fast the entire walk. My hands were cold. I didn't know why, but I kept glancing at the door, waiting for him.

For the man I poured scalding coffee on.

The man who tipped me enough to get my home back.

The man whose presence made my blood race in a way I didn't want to admit.

I was restocking sugar packets when the bell over the café door chimed.

He walked in.

Alejandro. In a sharp suit.

Cold eyes.

A walking storm.

I swallowed hard and approached him slowly.

"Um... Mr De La Vega?"

He looked at me, expression unreadable. "Yes?"

"What should I offer you..." My throat tightened.

He frowned. "Won't you at least allow me to sit first?" he said in a dangerous tone.

"Sorry... I was just doing my job."

He raised a hand.

"No more talking," he snapped in, with his voice sounding commanding and dangerous.

My stomach twisted.

"But, I received a call that I'll-"

"Only attend to me," he interrupted.

He leaned closer and then murmured.

"And I only asked your manager to make you my personal waitress because I want to make sure you pay."

I stared at him, as my chest hollowed out.

Then a voice from behind interrupted, "Miss? My cappuccino?"

"I'm coming," I whispered, stepping away.

Alejandro watched me for a long moment before ordering his usual drink.

But I barely noticed.

My mind was spinning.

The moment I served Alejandro his drink, he ordered me to sit, and that terrified me more than anything else.

He began asking me a lot of questions about my mother and many other things, and I responded not because I wanted to but because I was afraid of losing this job.

My shift ended late.

Exhausted, I walked home, kicking tiny rocks along the sidewalk. The sky was already turning purple when I reached my building.

As I dug out my key, my phone buzzed.

1 New Message

Unknown Sender.

My heart thumped.

I opened it.

I hope you enjoyed your work today. Hope it wasn't stressful?

Another message arrived instantly.

I will be visiting the café tomorrow. I'd love for us to have a brief conversation.

My fingers went numb.

The final message came with a soft vibration.

I know you might be surprised at who is sending this text; it's Hector.

My breath froze. "How, Where did he get my number from?" I murmured.

And what did he want?