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?

I tried to reply to his message and ask him how he got my number, but I couldn't; my hands were fixed on my phone, but I couldn't type a word. All I did was continuously stare at the message.

I got into my apartment, threw my bag on the wooden chair and sat.

I was torn between confusion and disbelief.

Hector is a stranger whose smile kept on displaying in my mind, and Alejandro is the most ruthless and dangerous man in the city. Both of them strangers, one seeking for attention while the other seeking for payback.

"Why did Hector insist on helping me with the bill?" I whispered. "And how did he get my number?"

I murmured a lot of questions to myself about the two strangers.

I was hoping the answers would come from above, but they didn't.

Later I walk towards the broken wooden bed and sit on the edge, with my eyes still fixed on the screen, only to discover that Hector was still typing; I became anxious, wondering what he was typing this time.

1 New Message

"Let's go out on a date. Azul's café. 4 p.m."

"What?" I whispered urgently with my heart beating fast like it would burst out of my chest.

I summoned the courage and responded to the very last message that he sent, My working place... I have a lot to do tomorrow.

Then I noticed he wasn't done typing. I could wait to see the next message. I turned the phone off and threw it on the bed...

While I was at work, my stomach was aching badly. Now I felt like I had just eaten so much food that I couldn't carry it.

I was shocked that Hector wanted to see me, and on the other hand, Alejandro paid my boss for me to be his personal waitress."

Without further thinking, I took my bath and ate the two loaves of bread that I had kept in the kitchen and to kissed the night goodbye.

****

The sound of the alarm ringing made me sit up on the bed. It was 7:42 in the morning. Normally my time for work is always around 9am. I dragged myself into the bathroom and took my bath, then got dressed for work.

I arrived at the café at around nine minutes past nine. There was a lot of traffic on the street this morning, causing me to come late.

Immediately after I entered the cafe, I noticed the absence of my boss, so I quickly tied the apron and stepped behind the counter, then began repeating the steps that I had become familiar with.

Smile, take orders, deliver drinks quickly, don't trip, don't stare, and don't drop anything. I attended to all of the customers, while my eyes were fixed on the door, waiting patiently for Alejandro to batch in as usual, but he didn't.

The bell made a sound, and the door was pushed open. I felt the breath I've been nervously holding in my throat whoosh out.

A huge muscular man stood at the entrance in an ash suit, then walked out from the shadow, only to discover he wasn't Alejandro; it was someone else. It was Hector.

His eyes scanned the room-

And landed on me.

My breath hitched as I let my mind wander aimlessly, like it has been waiting to do since the moment he walked in.

A smile sat on his face as he slowly approached me. His hands were continuously running through his hair; the look on his face wasn't readable.

"Coffee girl, we met again," he said softly, "and I guess your name is Isabella Ramirez?" He said

I nodded slightly. As my mouth fell open in surprise. How did he know my full name? I remember vividly that I haven't told anyone my full name, not even my boss, so how come he knew that my surname was "Ramirez"?

You said you have a lot of work to do, so I decided to come over to the café." He said.

"Yeah, I do really have a lot to do," I answered.

He continued. "But it seems that you aren't busy as you said." He mumbled...

We have a lot to talk about. "Get me a glass of whisky." He requested as he walked back to the table that was empty.

I quickly brought his drink because I had rumours saying, "He is more dangerous than Alejandro.

"Sit," he ordered, like he controlled every single breath that I breathe.

He took up the whisky glass and took a sip before returning it back to the table.

"You are really a pretty lady. I love the way your eyes and everything are."

"Thanks," I responded.

He continued.

"I've watched you for some time because you're important for my life."

"His life? What is he talking about?" I whispered in a voice that only I could hear.

He pushed the table that was between us and sat very close to me; the hot smell of his perfume was strong. Choking. I couldn't breathe.

After a long conversation, he brought out a huge envelope with a receipt of payment.

He placed the envelope in my hands, and as his hands brushed against mine, for some moment, he didn't let go of my hands, despite the fact that I was struggling to pull out my hands from his.

His touches were too light, and I wasn't comfortable.

"That is a huge amount of money. I brought it for you; use it and take care of yourself," he said with his voice above whispering.

"Thanks, but no, I don't need the money." I whispered out with my eyes blown wide and my heart pounding wildly against my ribs.

Deep down I really need the money, but I can't accept his offer, because I remember the voice of my colleague saying it always comes with a debt.

Just as this was happening, the entrance door to the café was swung opened.

Only to raise my head and discover it was Alejandro.