The morning air was thick with smog, impatience, and the clinking of cutlery at Café Verona. Elena Carter wiped the sweat from her brow and balanced a tray with trembling hands. Table six was waiting, and the arrogant man in a black suit had already checked his gold watch twice.
"Go faster, girl," the manager hissed behind her.
Elena forced a smile, her lips twitching with exhaustion. Rent was due, her brother's medical bills were piling up, and she hadn't eaten since last night. But she couldn't afford to lose this job—not when Liam depended on her.
As she approached the table, her eyes met the man's. He was staring out the window, sharp jaw clenched, eyes like winter—cold, calculating. Everything about him screamed wealth: the tailored Armani suit, the leather briefcase, the Rolex with diamonds embedded in its face. He didn't look like someone who belonged in this rundown café, and Elena couldn't help but wonder why he was here at all.
"Your espresso, sir," she said, lowering the tray.
But in that exact moment, her foot caught on a crack in the wooden floor.
Time slowed.
The tray tipped.
Hot coffee splashed across the table—and onto the man's pristine white shirt.
Gasps echoed around her. Someone even dropped a fork.
"Oh my God—" Elena whispered, backing away.
He rose slowly, like a shadow unfurling. He didn't shout. He didn't even blink. He simply looked at her with those razor-sharp eyes.
"You have three seconds to explain why you just dumped my meeting fuel all over a ten-thousand-dollar suit," he said, voice ice-cold.
"I—I'm so sorry. It was an accident—really! The floor—there's a—"
"Enough," he said. His tone was calm, but terrifying. "What's your name?"
"Elena. Elena Carter."
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his shirt, then tossed it onto the table like it was garbage.
"I should ruin your life for this," he said.
Her heart dropped. "Please, sir. I didn't mean to—please don't get me fired—"
But instead of responding, he slid a business card across the table.
"Show up here tomorrow. 9 a.m. Sharp. No excuses."
She stared at the card. Cross & Vale International. Damien Cross, CEO.
Her lips parted. "I—I don't understand."
"Consider it... a punishment," he said with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Or an opportunity. That depends entirely on how smart you are."
And with that, he turned and walked out of the café, leaving stunned silence—and the scent of roasted espresso—lingering in the air.
Elena stood frozen. Half the café staff were staring. The manager's mouth hung open like a broken hinge.
She looked at the card in her hand.
What kind of man threatens to ruin your life one moment, and offers you a job—or was it a trap?—the next?
One thing was clear. Damien Cross wasn't just rich. He was dangerous.
And she had just stumbled into his world by accident.
Or maybe fate.