The pot of water boiled over on the tiny electric stove, hissing steam onto the peeling counter. Ayla Johnson scrambled to grab it, cursing under her breath as she rescued what remained of the instant noodles. That was dinner—for her, her younger brother Noah, and possibly their cat, if he was lucky.
The apartment smelled like mold, onions, and old dreams.
"Is there meat in this?" Noah asked hopefully from the corner of the cramped living room.
"Protein dust," Ayla called back, tossing him a grin. "That counts, right?"
She didn't wait for a reply. Her smile faded the second she turned around.
Bills lined the edge of the counter, stacked like a wall she couldn't climb. Red letters. Overdue warnings. A final notice from the landlord. Her mother's prescriptions sat unopened in the cabinet because they couldn't afford the refill.
And still, Ayla breathed.
⸻
At twenty-two, she should've been finishing university, maybe backpacking through Europe, or working some office job that let her complain about coffee and deadlines. Instead, she was trying to stretch twenty dollars over three days and decide which bill could go unpaid for another week.
Her mother had been diagnosed with lupus a year ago. Ayla dropped everything—school, part-time jobs, even her friends—to come home and take care of her. Noah was only thirteen, stuck between childhood and manhood, watching his sister become everything they'd lost.
Ayla didn't cry anymore. Crying took energy. Energy was for survival.
⸻
That night, after dinner and checking on her mother, Ayla sat at the foot of her shared bed with a cracked phone screen glowing in her hands. She scrolled through job ads until her thumb ached.
"Now Hiring: Waitresses. No experience required. Club Eden."
The ad was vague—too vague. But the pay? Too good to ignore.
She hesitated for a moment. Then applied.
A few hours later, an address pinged back in her inbox with one word: "Tomorrow."
⸻
She stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the moon peek through torn clouds.
"I don't need forever," she whispered. "I just need enough."
Enough to pay rent. Enough to keep the lights on. Enough to keep her little brother from learning what it really meant to starve.
Her world wasn't built on power, diamonds, or blood.
But it burned just as hot.