Days later, Adrian's sleek silhouette appeared outside my crumbling apartment building.

His black Bentley looked absurdly out of place—a museum piece dumped in a landfill. Neighbors gawked from windows and stoops.


He extended a business card, the paper so thick and textured it practically screamed wealth. "Call him. He'll set you up with a regional manager position."

"Thanks, but no thanks." I glanced at the card without taking it.

Surprise flickered across his face before he laughed—a sound filled with disbelief at my audacity to refuse his generosity.


"Clara," he said, "learn to recognize a lifeline when it's thrown to you."

I just stared at him, silent and cold, aware of the neighborhood eyes watching our little drama unfold.


Adrian finally looked away, his posture stiffening. "Despite the… unfortunate mark on your record, my offer still stands. This setback doesn't have to define your future."

I searched my memory, finally recalling that before I signed away my life's work, he had made some vague promise.

Something about opening a new cafe for me once the scandal blew over.

A smile crept across my face—cold as January.

Adrian's shoulders relaxed, mistaking my expression for acceptance. "Let's put this behind us. Selina's grateful too. We should all get together sometime and—" He wanted us to play happy families, as if he hadn't destroyed everything I'd built.

"Adrian," I cut him off, watching his expression falter, "your promises mean nothing to me now. And I'm not desperate enough to accept your charity."

"All I want—all I've ever wanted—is to be completely free of you. All of you."

"Even if it means having nothing. Like now."

He left without another word.

But at the last moment, he turned back with a look that pierced me: "Clara, don't come crying when you regret this."

I understood his threat all too soon.

During rush hour, juggling orders for a dozen drinks, the steam wand screamed as scalding milk splashed across my hand, searing my skin.

I stood on the busy sidewalk, staring numbly at my blistering hand.

The city flowed around me, indifferent, no one sparing a glance for another person's pain.

In a city this vast, individual suffering means nothing—just another speck of dust.

I bought burn cream at the drugstore, applied it awkwardly in a back alley, and returned to work as if nothing had happened.

The manager called me into his office. "We've received a complaint," he said, not meeting my eyes.

"A VIP customer left a scathing review. Says your attitude is terrible and your coffee quality is 'wildly inconsistent.'"

Outside his office, I checked my phone to find a cascade of negative reviews and penalty notices. I took a deep breath that filled an empty chest and tried to smile.

I had enough savings to last until next payday.

But what about next time? And the time after that? For Adrian, crushing me would be as easy as swatting a fly.

I huddled in the alley for God knows how long until a suited man tapped my shoulder. "Excuse me—Miss Reynolds?"

I straightened up, plastering on my customer service smile. "Yes, that's me."

He hesitated before extracting an envelope from his briefcase. "Mr. Harrington thought you might need this."

Inside was an employment contract—Adrian's personal assistant, with a salary that made my eyes widen. A golden cage with my name on it.

"How thoughtful," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

His "generosity" gave me just enough spite-fueled energy to spend the night applying for every job I could find.

Reputable cafes wouldn't touch me, but surely some hole-in-the-wall restaurant or bakery would overlook my "history."

But my "scandal" followed me like a shadow. Every interview circled back to the same questions.

"Weren't you the owner of Calm Breeze Cafe?"

"Yes."

"That health code violation—that was really your fault?"

"Yes."

"But I heard your place had great reviews before that?"

"It did."

They'd always go quiet then, studying me with that mix of suspicion and pity before handing back my resume. "We'll be in touch." They never were.

I remembered Adrian saying Selina was too fragile for this kind of hardship.

He never mentioned that without connections, being blacklisted would make me unemployable—that my lack of family money or influence meant total abandonment.

But why would he? People like Adrian never have to consider life from the perspective of people like me.

Every application vanished into the void. Desperate to preserve my dwindling savings, I started applying for cashier positions at convenience stores.

Even there, doors slammed in my face. His influence had poisoned every well I might drink from.

Leaving my final rejection, the skies opened up.

I stood under an awning, watching raindrops assault the pavement. Then I stepped out into the downpour.

The rain wasn't hard enough to blur my vision, yet somehow everything went fuzzy anyway.

It was a special kind of loneliness—the kind where your soul aches but there's no one in the world who would care if you told them.