Emma's POV

I made my way back to the eatery, my mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. But no matter how much I tried to focus, I kept getting drawn back to the same thing-my father's reckless behavior. Ever since he married Bianca's mom, Helena, it was like he'd erased my mother and me from his life. We were nothing to him anymore.

It had been tough enough, watching him struggle while he was with my mom-unable to find a steady job, barely making ends meet. Then, out of nowhere, he meets Helena. A woman who's practically dripping with wealth and status. The change in him was instant. Suddenly, he's this polished, well-dressed man, with his new fancy job, all thanks to Helena's connections. It was as if he'd forgotten everything-forgotten us.

And the worst part? He was cheating on my sick mother with this woman. He called her a "friend." Yeah, right. What kind of "friend" starts an affair with a married man? And not just any married man, but one who's still in a relationship with his dying wife. I mean, who does that? Of course, not all situations are as messed up as mine, but this one? This one was just... unforgivable.

I couldn't even wrap my head around it. I sighed, shaking my head, trying to clear the thought from my mind. The anger, the betrayal-it was all too much. As I focused back on the road, I thought about how my father had done the most absurd thing imaginable. He'd announced his marriage to Helena like it was some kind of joke, and just like that, they were married.

Then, everything changed. Helena had our house renovated-turned it into some shiny, high-class palace. My dad got a promotion, a "better job." All the perks, all the luxuries. And me? I was left out of it all. All that money, all those gifts and improvements? They were going to Helena, her daughter, and, of course, my dad.

I swallowed my frustration and muttered, "Crap!" under my breath, feeling the familiar heat of anger bubble up. And just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket, cutting through my thoughts. I reached for it, already knowing it would be something that'd throw me off track. I glanced at the screen and saw it was a call from the hospital.

"What now?" I murmured, already exhausted from everything going on in my life. I answered, not knowing what to expect.

"Hello, dear. Is this Emma?" The voice on the other end made my stomach drop-Mrs. Lydia, the nurse at the hospital.

"Y-Yes, Mrs. Lydia, it's me," I stammered, my voice betraying the unease I felt.

"Dear, you need to come to the hospital right away. There's something you need to see." She didn't say more, and before I could process what she meant, the call ended.

See what? Was something wrong with my mom? My heart skipped a beat, a sinking feeling consuming me. I couldn't waste time figuring out the details.

Should I call Mr. Levin, explain that I needed to go to the hospital while on the company's bike?

But there was no time to think it through. I shook my head, my decision already made. I would explain to him later. For now, I needed to focus on my mom-if something had happened to her, I needed to be there. No more delays.

I spun the bike around, revving the engine, my hands tight on the handles as I sped toward the hospital. My thoughts were clouded with anxiety, each passing second making it harder to breathe. Was everything alright with her? What had Mrs. Lydia meant by "something you need to see"?

I didn't have the answers, but all I knew was I had to get there. Fast.

I barely parked the bike in the hospital lot before I was rushing inside. My heart hammered in my chest as I sprinted through the sterile hallways, the bright lights above flickering slightly, but all I could focus on was getting to my mom. Every footstep felt like it echoed through the walls, amplifying the anxiety twisting inside me.

The nurse at the front desk barely registered my frantic question as I demanded the way to my mother's ward. She pointed to the left without saying much, but I was already moving before I could thank her. My mind raced with a thousand horrible possibilities. What had happened to her? Why was Mrs. Lydia calling me out of the blue?

I reached my mom's room, my breath shallow, my palms sweaty. I pushed open the door without hesitation, but the sight in front of me made my knees nearly buckle.

My mother lay in the bed, looking pale and fragile, like a shadow of the woman she used to be. Her eyes were closed, and the sterile hospital room seemed to swallow up any warmth. But she was alive. That was all I could grasp onto for now.

Dr. Lydia was standing by her bedside, checking something on the clipboard in her hand. When she saw me, her expression softened, but there was something unsettling about the way she looked at me. I swallowed hard.

"Dr. Lydia, what's going on?" I asked, my voice trembling more than I wanted it to.

The doctor stepped away from my mom's side, her gentle eyes filled with concern. "Emma, I'm glad you made it," she said, guiding me out of the room into a quieter, more private hallway. "We need to talk."

I followed her, dread creeping up my spine as I tried to make sense of the situation. What could possibly be so urgent? My mind kept circling back to the moment I'd gotten the call, the brief, cryptic message from Mrs. Lydia.

"Is she going to be okay?" I finally managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The fear was overwhelming.

Dr. Lydia stopped walking, and I saw her take a breath before she met my gaze. "Emma, it's not great news," she said carefully, her words making my stomach churn. "Your mom's condition has progressed. She's been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, Stage 2."

My body froze at her words. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Type 1? Stage 2? The words didn't make sense. I couldn't make sense of them.

"What do you mean by Stage 2?" I asked, the words barely leaving my lips. My mind couldn't grasp the magnitude of it.

Dr. Lydia looked at me with sympathy, but her tone remained professional. "It means that your mother's body is no longer able to produce enough insulin on its own. Stage 2 is when the condition becomes more difficult to manage. It's a serious progression. We need to start treatment immediately."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself together, but I could feel the tears welling up. This wasn't something I'd expected. This wasn't a call I'd been prepared for.

"So... what happens now?" I asked, my voice breaking slightly.

"We'll start her on insulin therapy right away," Dr. Lydia continued. "She'll need regular monitoring, medication adjustments, and a change in her diet. It's going to be a lot to manage, but with the right care, she can live with it."

I nodded absently, but the weight of it all was suffocating. My mom... my mom had diabetes. And the thought that it was Stage 2 made my stomach drop further.

"Is she... is she going to be okay?" I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper. I needed reassurance. I needed hope.

Dr. Lydia gave me a soft smile, but it wasn't enough to ease the panic rising within me. "We'll do everything we can," she said. "But it's going to be a long road, Emma."

"Her insurance wouldn't pay it all, I'm sorry, you have to pay for some bills." She said and I nodded my head vigorously.

"How much is it?" I asked hastily.

"You go ask the reception, dear. I don't know but you have to drop it today so her treatment can start." She said and I nodded my head with a sigh.

I felt my knees go weak, and for a second, I leaned against the wall for support. The hospital seemed to spin around me. This wasn't how I'd imagined my life turning out. My mother was sick-sick in a way that wasn't just going to go away with a little care and attention. This was a lifelong battle. And I didn't know how I was going to handle it. How we were going to handle it.

"I'll keep you updated on her progress," Dr. Lydia added. "But for now, let's focus on getting her stabilized."

I nodded silently, feeling the weight of her words sinking into me. Every part of me wanted to break down, but I couldn't. Not here. Not now.

I needed to be strong-for her.

Emma's POV

I arrived at the eatery and took a seat at one of the empty customer tables, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper the hospital had handed me, the total amount due for my mother's further treatment glaring back at me in cold, hard numbers.

"Goodness, $3000 today. Where do I even get the money?" I whispered under my breath, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. The only money in my account right now was a thousand dollars, which I'd been carefully saving up for months. It wasn't nearly enough.

I rubbed my temples, the headache starting to form as my mind spun through options, none of them seeming good enough. My father... asking him was out of the question. He wouldn't even blink an eye. If I tried, I knew what I would hear: "Let her die anyways." His coldness still stung, even though I had learned to expect it by now.

I slammed my hands on the table in frustration, not noticing the curious glances from the few customers around me. My chest tightened, and I closed my eyes, wishing for an escape. My mother's health was on the line, and I felt so powerless to help.

The sound of a cough nearby snapped me back to reality. I quickly straightened up, realizing I had caused a bit of a stir. The customers were watching me, some looking concerned, others uncomfortable. I flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry..." I muttered quickly, my voice barely a whisper as I quickly got up from the table. I didn't want to cause a scene, especially in front of people who had no idea what I was dealing with.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down. I couldn't afford to fall apart now.

I should go ask my boss for a little help. Maybe he'd be willing to lend me some money... but then again, I didn't want to feel like a burden. I had been working here for months, and it wasn't like he was rolling in money himself. But what else could I do?

I grabbed my bag, planning to head to the back to ask him. But as I stood up, I paused, unsure of what I should say. My mind raced as I thought about the possibilities, but nothing seemed to add up. Where was I supposed to find the other $2000?

Before I could make up my mind, my phone buzzed, distracting me from my thoughts. I checked the screen, relieved to see it was a message from my boss, Mr. Levin. He'd probably been expecting me to check in.

"Emma, I need you to come to my office as soon as you're done. We need to talk about your hours for the week."

I sighed in relief. At least I wouldn't have to approach him blindly. He had reached out first. I could explain the situation, ask for an advance or maybe extra shifts.

Taking a deep breath, I headed to the back office where Mr. Levin was waiting. He looked up from his desk as I entered, his expression neutral as always.

"Everything okay, Emma?" he asked, his voice calm but not without concern.

I hesitated for a moment, then walked over to him and placed the paper from the hospital on his desk. "I-I need help," I said, feeling the pressure building in my chest. "My mom's health... It's getting worse. I need $2000 for her treatment today, and I don't have enough. I've saved up a bit, but it's not enough to cover what's due."

Mr. Levin's eyes flicked to the paper for a moment, then back to me, his brow furrowing slightly. I could tell he was weighing his options, and the silence between us stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't have much I can offer you, Emma," he said, sounding almost apologetic. "But I can give you $500 right now. You'll need to work overtime to pay it back. How does that sound?"

My heart sank a little, but I forced a smile, grateful for anything. "I'll take it," I replied quickly. "Thank you."

He nodded and reached for his wallet, handing me the cash. "I'll expect you to put in extra hours this week," he added, as if reminding me. "That should help cover part of it."

I nodded, taking the money gratefully. "I'll do whatever it takes."

But as I turned to leave, my mind was already racing again. $500 was a start, but I still needed the full $2000. I couldn't depend on Mr. Levin to solve all of it. That left me with one more option.

I could always go to Mr. Levin's friend, Mr. Preston, the one who owned the high-end restaurant downtown. I'd heard rumors about how generous he was with his employees, though I wasn't sure if that generosity extended to someone like me.

I could ask for evening shifts there. If I could pull in $1500 working late nights, that would cover the rest. It was a long shot, but it was my best one.

I quickly pulled out my phone and dialed the number for Mr. Levin's business partner, praying he would answer. The ringing echoed in my ear as I held my breath, hoping for a miracle.

~~

Damon's POV

It had been hours since the delivery, and I had long since finished the meal. The taste of it still lingered on my palate - rich, bold, and satisfying in a way that only a well-prepared dish could be. The food was exceptional, and part of me couldn't help but wonder if the delivery girl had a hand in picking it. But that was a silly thought. I knew better than to get involved with someone like her.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes scanning the reports in front of me, but my mind was far from focused on work. Something kept pulling me back to that brief encounter with her. Emma, I think her name was. I hadn't even bothered to ask for her name, and yet I couldn't shake the memory of how she looked - all business, confident in her own way, with that ponytail bouncing with each step. She had been polite, professional even, but there was something about her presence that caught my attention, something I couldn't quite place.

I was lost in thought when I felt Harper's eyes on me. He'd been standing by my desk, seemingly organizing files for the past few minutes, but I hadn't noticed his approach. Harper was sharp - a guy who didn't miss a beat.

"So," he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp, "I couldn't help but notice the way you were looking at the delivery girl earlier."

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the comment. The way I looked at her? Was that how it seemed? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and let out a low laugh, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

"Looking at her? What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice a little more dismissive than I intended.

Harper raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by my response. "Come on, Damon. I've worked with you long enough to know when you're interested in someone. You were staring at her the entire time she was in the office. You sure you don't have a thing for the delivery girl?"

I snorted, rolling my eyes. "You're imagining things, Harper," I muttered, a slight grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "It's just food. I was appreciating the meal, not the delivery girl."

Harper raised his hands in mock surrender but didn't let up. "Sure, Damon. But you don't have to lie to me. If you like her, you know I'm all for it. It's been a while since I've seen you look at someone with that... kind of attention."

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. Harper wasn't going to let this go, was he? The truth was, I wasn't interested in anyone right now. Certainly not in a delivery girl.

"Look, Harper," I said, leaning back in my chair and trying to sound more convincing, "I don't know what you think you saw, but there's nothing there. She's just a delivery person. That's it."

Harper gave me a knowing look, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh, sure, Damon. If you say so."

I stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then, I sighed and let the subject drop, hoping to shift his attention elsewhere. "Anyway, enough about that. You were reminding me about drinks tonight, right? I'll have that," I said, glancing at my watch. "But let's keep it low-key. I've had enough drama for one day."

Harper's face lit up, and he clapped his hands in excitement. "Perfect! I'll make the arrangements."

I gave him a tight smile, relieved to be moving on from the subject of Emma. But deep down, I couldn't deny that something about the girl had caught my attention. What was it about her? Why couldn't I shake the image of her standing there in the office, looking so... composed?

Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus. I wasn't interested in her. I was just... curious. That was all.

But as Harper left to make the arrangements, I couldn't help but wonder if that was really the whole story.

Emma's POV

It was already 5:45 p.m. when I finished my shift at the eatery. My feet were sore from running around all day, but there was still one more task ahead. I stopped a cab and slid inside, telling the driver my destination as I settled into the seat, resting my head against the headrest. I shut my eyes, letting out a deep breath to calm myself. I had to prepare for what was coming next-how I'd face Mr. Preston with my request for extra hours, for the money I so desperately needed.

As the cab sped through the bustling streets, my mind wandered back to the hospital, to my mother's diagnosis. Type 1 stage 2 diabetes. It hit me hard, the weight of it all. And still, there was no end in sight. I needed to work harder, earn more-anything to keep her comfortable and get her the care she deserved. It was the only thing that mattered.

The cab stopped, pulling me out of my thoughts. I paid the driver and stepped out, the cool evening air hitting my skin. I walked briskly toward the entrance of the lounge, took a deep breath, and entered, putting on my most professional demeanor.

I hadn't been there long before I got my first order for the night-a cocktail for table seven. I grabbed the tray, balancing it carefully, and made my way over. But as I approached the table, I froze. My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth went dry.

There, sitting at the table, were none other than Mr. Blackwood and his personal assistant, Harper. Of all the people I could've run into tonight, it had to be him.

I blinked, stunned. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the drink to set it down. But just as I did, the glass slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor in a shattering mess.

"Oh my God," I muttered, mortified, trying to bend down to clean it up, but Mr. Blackwood's voice stopped me.

"How many jobs are you juggling?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost amused.

I froze for a moment, unable to look him in the eye. What could I say? That I was barely making ends meet and working every shift I could? Instead, I gave a nervous laugh, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "Nothing," I said, forcing a casual tone. "Just this one."

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I'm amazed by how hardworking you are," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "What's your motivation?"

I straightened up, giving a small shrug. "I'm taking care of my sick mom. She needs me," I explained, my voice a little quieter than I intended. The words slipped out before I could stop them, the truth too raw, too close to the surface.

Harper, sitting beside Mr. Blackwood, watched the exchange silently, a faint, curious glint in his eyes. I could feel his gaze on me, but I did my best to remain professional.

"I'm sure you're doing a great job with that," Mr. Blackwood said, his voice filled with unexpected sincerity. "Take care of yourself too. You can't help anyone if you burn out."

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile, then carefully set the new drink down on the table. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Blackwood, Harper."

Just as I was about to turn to leave, the door swung open, and in walked none other than Mr. Preston. He caught sight of Mr. Blackwood immediately, and a broad smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," Mr. Preston said, striding toward the table. "Mr. Blackwood! It's been too long. How are you?"

The two men exchanged a quick handshake, and I could feel the tension shift in the room. I gave the gentlemen a polite nod and, with a tight smile, said, "Enjoy your drink, gentlemen."

As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a little shaken. I hadn't expected to run into Mr. Blackwood again, let alone so soon after our strange encounter in his office. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. My focus had to stay on what mattered-my mom's treatment, the bills I had to pay, and the endless work that lay ahead.

Still, there was something about the way Mr. Blackwood had looked at me that stayed with me, lingering like an unanswered question. Why couldn't I shake the feeling that this wasn't the last time our paths would cross?

Damon's POV

I watched as Emma quickly left the table the moment Mr. Preston arrived. The atmosphere shifted instantly when he joined us, his usual warm smile on his face. I returned a tight smile, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness of Emma's sudden departure.

"A little mess here, huh?" Preston remarked, his eyes lingering on the spilled drink before looking up at me. "Oh, I'm sorry. The little girl's going through a lot."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Like what?"

Preston let out a deep breath, his expression darkening slightly. "She's trying to make ends meet. Doing several jobs to take care of her mom. She's been hospitalized for so long now. Sad story. I don't like sharing it."

My brow furrowed in confusion. Emma? She was so quiet, so composed-it was hard to imagine her in such a difficult situation. Harper, who'd been standing silently at Preston's side, gave me a look of sympathy. I glanced at him, feeling a weight press down on me as I processed what Preston had just said.

Before Harper could say anything, I dipped my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. I slid it across the table, pushing it toward Preston.

"For what?" he asked immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

I gave a brief shrug, trying to hide the irritation creeping up. "In case she asks for help. Don't tell her it's from me."

Preston looked at the cash for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Got it."

I caught the corner of Harper's mouth twitching into a faint smile, and something about the look in his eyes told me he wasn't going to let this go easily. As if on cue, Harper raised his glass, taking a sip of his cocktail with a grin.

"This cocktail is nice, by the way," he said, clearly trying to change the subject. He raised the glass in a mock toast that felt more forced than celebratory.

I didn't respond, my mind elsewhere, trying to figure out how I felt about the situation. All I knew was that there was something about Emma's struggle that made me uneasy. I didn't know her, not really, but something about the way she'd looked at me before-the way she had seemed so lost in her thoughts earlier-pulled at me.

"Thanks, Harper. Enjoy the drink."

Preston stood up, extending a hand. "Enjoy your night, Damon. You too, Harper."

As Preston walked off toward the exit, I could feel Harper's eyes still on me. He shot me a look that was more curious than anything else, and I knew he was already preparing to ask a hundred questions.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to dismiss the strange tension I was feeling. Emma's situation-whatever it was-wasn't my problem. She was just a delivery girl. Yet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I hadn't seen the last of her.