Luke reclined against the pillows, a defiant grin spreading across his face as he declared, "Hmph, why would I be ashamed? I'm quite proud, actually. I'm a survivor, alright? You should have seen how burly they were, well except the main guy, he looked so elegant and Polished yet... dangerous." He harrumphed but shuddered at the end.
Heather, seated beside him, shook her head with a soft, enduring smile. Her concern was genuine, yet she couldn't help but admire his fierce resilience.
"Alright, alright, just make sure to take better care of yourself next time," she advised gently, her tone carrying that familiar, affectionate hint of exasperation.
A crisp voice interjected from the doorway. "Huh, how many times have you offered that line, Snow? He never listens."
Heather and Luke turned to see their friend Lydia making her way into the room, her presence as sharp and lively as ever.
As Lydia reached them, she shot Luke a playful, teasing look before turning her attention to Heather. "Snow, you should have seen how miserable he was.He looked like something Frankenstein whipped up in his lab for Halloween," she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
Luke's expression turned mock-betrayed, silently accusing her of being a monumental traitor.
Lydia chuckled, shrugging off his accusation. "Haha... Lydia, you're here. I thought you were out with your mom today," Heather asked, trying to keep the atmosphere light with a small smile.
At the mention of her mother, Lydia's smile dimmed ever so slightly, a momentary eclipse. "She got a call from work, so she had to hurry to the office," Lydia said, attempting to sound casual, though Heather noticed the fleeting shadow of disappointment in her friend's eyes.
Heather was about to offer words of comfort when a loud, abrasive ringtone, a sound like metal scraping metal, filled the room. The jarring sound came from Heather's phone, a cracked device visibly held together with a desperate rubber band. She grimaced as she answered it, knowing precisely who was on the other end.
A harsh, grating voice erupted from the speaker. "Bitch, where the hell are you? I hope you're already at Mr. Lee's," the voice demanded without preamble.
Heather's stomach immediately knotted with a spike of anxiety.
"Auntie May, Luke got injured yesterday, so I just dropped by to check on him. I'll be on my way to Mr. Lee's now," she replied, striving to keep her voice steady and neutral even as cold sweat trickled down her back.
She had completely forgotten about the job interview her aunt had meticulously arranged for her.
"Heh? You're telling me you're not at the interview yet, but you went to see a boy? A trashy boy, at that? My, my, it seems to me you've forgotten about your debts, eh? If you don't secure that job, you know the consequences." With that final, chilling threat, the call ended abruptly, leaving Heather suspended in a silent, sinking dread.
She glanced at the clock and realized she was critically late. She needed to be at the interview venue by 9:30 a.m., and it was already a few minutes past 9 a.m. The trip from their neighborhood to the venue would take at least 30 to 40 minutes on foot and she didn't have any money to spare for a bus or taxi.
"Oh no, Sorry, guys, I gotta go," she blurted out, raw panic stripping her voice of its usual composure as she scrambled to gather her meager belongings. She dashed out of the room, her mind racing with worry, not pausing to hear her friends' responses, her focus narrowed to survival.
As the door slammed shut behind her, Luke sat up with a surge of adrenaline, a wrong move, as it sent a mind numbing pain through his body yet, his face flushed hot with protective anger at his friend's predicament.
"That damn woman! Snow's been working since yesterday afternoon and just got off her shift this morning. She just got back, hasn't had breakfast or any sleep, and now she has to rush to an interview for another job? Isn't she just trying to kill her?" His voice was thick with frustration, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white, the pain not registering in that moment.
Lydia placed a reassuring hand on Luke's shoulder, her own expression one of painful resignation mixed with a quiet determination. "You know how things are. All we can do is support Snow however we can," she said with a tired sigh, her words carrying the heavy weight of their shared struggle and helplessness.
Outside, Heather sprinted down the street, her heart pounding a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. She navigated through the bustling city, weaving between distracted pedestrians and darting across busy intersections, looking for routes to shorten her journey.
The world seemed to blur around her as she focused solely on reaching her destination in time.
The venue was a looming, luxurious spectacle of a building. Heather arrived in front of a resplendent structure half an hour later, breathless, beneath a grand, polished sign reading 'TATSU AMATA'.
She paused at the entrance, leaning against the cool marble, forcing herself to breathe and gather her scattered thoughts. After checking the time on her cracked phone, she hurried inside, clinging to the desperate hope that the interview might have been delayed.
"Hello, my name is Heather Anderson. I'm here for an interview for the waitress position. I was recommended by May Fletcher," she said to the receptionist, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel.
"The waitress position has already been filled. The interviews ended a few minutes ago. Thank you, and please try again another time," the receptionist replied curtly, not even bothering to glance up from her computer screen.
Hearing this final, crushing rejection, Heather grew visibly pensive. If she didn't secure this job, she knew her already precarious situation would worsen considerably under Aunt May's hand.
"Excuse me, miss," she pleaded, forcing humility into her voice. "Could I trouble you to inform Mr. Lee that Heather Anderson is here for the interview?"
"I already said the interviews are over. Please leave," the receptionist snapped, finally looking up at the persistent young woman.
The receptionist was momentarily stunned. Despite the shabby, ill-fitting dress and the deep, tell-tale dark circles under her eyes, Heather was undeniably, painfully beautiful. Her pale, smooth skin and perfect cherry-red lips made her presence captivating, like a fragile piece of art misplaced in a storeroom.
The most entrancing feature were her eyes, a sparkling grey which was a rare shade that reminded one of stormy rain clouds.
"Did you say you have an appointment with Mr. Lee? Hold on, I'll check," the receptionist said, suddenly and shockingly accommodating, which pleasantly surprised Heather.
Heather offered a small, grateful smile and waited, letting her eyes wander around the elegant, silent interior, momentarily enjoying the refined classical music played by a pianist on a small, elevated stage at the restaurant's center.
"Miss Anderson, Mr. Lee will see you now. Take the stairs, go down the hall, and knock on the last door on your left," the receptionist said with a genuine, small smile, snapping Heather out of her reverie.
Thanking the receptionist, Heather made her way to Mr. Lee's office. She knocked lightly on the door, holding her breath, and waited patiently to be invited in.
A gruff voice invited her inside. She entered to find a plump man seated behind a large mahogany desk, a thick, expensive cigar clutched between his lips.
"Good morning, Mr. Lee. I apologize for my tardiness. Personal matters held me up. Please forgive me," Heather said as she approached the desk, offering a quick, humble bow of her head.
Mr. Lee took a long, slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a plume of thick smoke before responding. "Miss Anderson, that's quite alright. I've already informed your aunt that the interview is a mere formality.
The job is yours, provided you can handle it," he said with a practiced, knowing smile, which utterly failed to register with the anxious Heather.
"Oh, I'm sure I can handle it," Heather replied, her voice brimming with determined enthusiasm, relief flooding her system.
"When can I start, sir?"
Mr. Lee stood and approached her, moving with a surprising, predatory smoothness. His eyes, fixed on her, were filled with a cold, possessive hunger that sent a visceral chill down her spine. Heather's smile evaporated like steam, her posture stiffening as she sensed something deeply amiss.
"Mr. Lee, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice shrinking to a thin, trembling thread. Mr. Lee seemed not to hear, his gaze tracing an explicit, unwelcome path over her body.
She cleared her throat, a nervous, dry sound, and repeated herself, backing away slightly, instinctively putting distance between them.
He finally snapped out of his silent reverie and responded in a low, oily voice, "Didn't your aunt mention the conditions for getting this job, darling?" The word darling felt like a trespass, sending a violent shiver of nausea through her.
As Mr. Lee moved closer, a triumphant, sinful smile spread across his face. He reached out and traced a finger from her cheek down to her jawline, neck, and finally clenched his hand, brutally and possessively, around the soft swell of her chest.
Heather stood there, utterly immobilized, trembling uncontrollably. Her usually bright, vital eyes were suddenly empty, devoid of life, as though her soul had been instantly sucked into a black abyss.
She closed her eyes, bracing herself, not for the physical contact, but for the final shattering of her hope. A solitary tear, hot and heavy, finally escaped.
A tear filled with the searing pain of betrayal, the vastness of her loneliness, and the crushing, absolute realization of how profoundly helpless and weak she felt in that moment.