Maybe some things really are written in the stars.

Mom's treatment required money we didn't have. My cafe closed because of money too.


Maybe the universe was telling me that borrowed warmth always comes with interest—steep, crushing interest.

"You know what I thought about in that courtroom?" My voice shook in the darkness. "I felt like that snake oil salesman who took my mother's last dollar and her last hope."

"Enough!" Adrian shot to his feet, his voice raw with something like pain.


His towering silhouette loomed in the darkness like a wounded predator, ready to lash out.

I hugged myself tighter, laughing through tears. "Why so angry, Adrian? Did I damage your precious reputation, or are you actually feeling guilty?"


"Want to know how I closed Calm Breeze? I smashed every cup I'd ever collected—one by one. God, the sound was beautiful. I poured my award-winning beans down the drain. I watched five years of recipe journals burn to ash!"

"My cafe was my baby, but I'd rather kill it myself than let you and Selina corrupt it!"

Adrian lunged forward, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me toward him.

I screamed and fought, but he overpowered me easily. He locked me in his arms while I scratched, bit, and pummeled him, absorbing every blow without flinching.

Eventually, I collapsed from exhaustion.

The room spun around me. I felt like I was drowning.

"You know why I'm telling you all this?" I whispered against his chest.

"Because I'm nobody. I can't fight you. All I can do is keep reopening my wounds to remind myself that trusting you costs more than I can afford to pay."

"So let me go or let me die. Pick one. Let's end this sick game."

But Adrian only held me tighter, his voice breaking as he whispered against my ear: "Stop, Clara. Please stop."

His voice cracked on the last word, and then—impossibly—I felt something warm and wet fall onto my neck.

I woke up in a hospital room, the sharp sting of antiseptic burning my nose.

My body felt like lead, my head stuffed with cotton.

Adrian sat beside the bed, eyes red-rimmed, watching me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

I held his gaze calmly before turning away, presenting my back to him.

With surprising gentleness, Adrian tugged free the blanket corner trapped beneath me.

"Are you that desperate to be rid of me?" he asked quietly.

I said nothing.

"Then do one last thing for me."

I closed my eyes, bone-tired. "No."

His promises meant nothing. He'd said we'd be even if I took Selina's fall. Look how that turned out.

"Do you hate me now, Clara?"

"Why do you keep asking about my feelings? As if they matter to you."

"Don't they?" he countered.

"No," I said flatly. "They don't."

"You're right," Adrian said, fidgeting with his phone like it was a lifeline. "I'm launching a new venture. I need an artisan representative."

"Appear with me, and then I'll let you go. For good."

I turned back, incredulous. "Are you insane? You've got people lined up from Wall Street to Harlem begging to work with you. Why me? Didn't you once call me delusional—accused me of doing everything just to get your attention?"

"You never formally declined partnership," Adrian replied, his corporate mask sliding back into place. "All my business plans were built around you. I've invested millions—money you could never repay."

"You're not afraid to die, Clara. So why not take one last gamble?" Adrian moved to the window, his silhouette dark against the light. "What if you win?"

"I could send you abroad. With your skills, you could open a shop in Europe. No one there knows your history. You could start fresh."

I didn't believe him for a second, yet some desperate part of me flickered with hope. "You'd really let me go?"

"Yes."

"But you hate me."

Adrian returned to my bedside, looming over me. "I do hate you. But I committed to this partnership. I never leave business unfinished."

Ah. Just business principles. I laughed at myself for that moment of weakness.