The ceiling fan above me groaned in protest, spinning in slow, mocking circles that mirrored the storm in my mind.
Did I just ruin everything?
Will they fire me today?
How the hell am I going to afford Dad's insulin if they do?
At 3:07 AM, my glucose monitor beeped twice low again. I shoved a glucose tab into my mouth with shaking fingers. The chalky sweetness coated my tongue like shame. I was too tired to even chew properly. Everything about me felt too tired lately.
My alarm screamed at 5:30 AM, dragging me out of a shallow, twitchy sleep. My limbs were lead, my joints ached, and my brain? Static. But I forced myself to sit up, dragging my blanket off with a quiet hiss.
I didn't even get out of bed before checking on Dad.
He was breathing. Faint, but steady. One hand rested on his sunken chest, the other curled slightly like he was still dreaming. Relief punched me in the gut. He hadn't gotten out of bed once last night.
Good. And bad. So bad.
I peeled myself out of bed, ignoring the dizziness as I stumbled toward the bathroom. The water wasn't hot enough, and still it burned like guilt.
Yesterday played in my head on a loop. Dalton Gray. Coffee spilled. Words I shouldn't have said but couldn't stop once they started. The brutal look in his eyes. I didn't just talk back—I challenged him.
And I might've just lost my job for it.
The Walk of Shame
The subway felt colder than usual. Every jolt of the train rattled my bones and shot my nerves into overdrive. My hands wouldn't stop shaking—but not from sugar levels this time. This was pure, thick dread.
Javier gave me a long look as I walked into The Grind.
"You're alive," he said casually, sliding a croissant into a bag.
"Barely," I muttered. "Did I… I mean, am I still....?"
He shrugged, jerking his chin toward the clock. "Boss didn't say anything. But he hasn't come in yet."
My stomach dropped.
He.
Dalton freaking Gray.
The morning rush swept in like a hurricane. Tourists who didn't know what they wanted. Business people barking orders into phones. Teenagers pretending to tip.
But he didn't show.
Every chime of the door made me flinch. Every sharp suit made my blood pressure spike. But by 10:12 AM, I started to breathe again. Maybe he was just blowing off steam yesterday. Maybe he'd found another café. One with obedient, robot baristas who never talked back.
I almost allowed myself a full breath.
Then the door opened.
And there he was.
Dalton Gray.
Good looking as always.
He looked like a man carved from ice tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than my entire life. His hair was perfect. His expression wasn't.
He walked up to the counter like he owned the air everyone is breathing, like he owned the floor under his shoes. Probably did.
I braced myself. I expected him to scoff, or demand to see the manager, or mention how I'd spoken out of turn.
But he didn't.
He just stood there.
Watching me.
His eyes were too sharp, too focused. Like he was trying to recognize something. Or maybe just trying to decide whether I was worth destroying.
"Your usual, Mr. Gray?" I asked, forcing my voice not to tremble. This guy can ruin my life with one sentence. So I have to be humble and remind myself why I need this job. I asked about what he likes and how he likes it from Javier so I can be ready when he comes. I asked eveything about him when he comes for coffee where he sits what he takes with his coffee or whetherhe comes with anyone....that last part was unnecessary but for some reason I needed to know.
The lady who serves him had a family emergency a while back and never came back that is why I took her place.
He didn't speak.
Just nodded.
I turned quickly, grabbing the espresso shot, fumbling slightly with the lid. His eyes didn't leave me once. I could feel his gaze on my back like a heat lamp.
The Unspoken Challenge
I slid the drink across the counter with a steady hand.
Almost.
Our fingers nearly touched. I pulled back like he was electric.
He noticed. Oh, he noticed.
A flicker passed across his face. Not a smile. Not exactly. More like a smirk that never fully formed.
He took the cup. Sipped. Then walked away to his usual corner table.
But he didn't pull out a laptop or a tablet.
He just… sat there.
Watching.
Did he recognise me?
I doubt. When we met I was young and he has met alot of people since then so I don't think that is the case.
But why is he stating as if he figuring me out?
I tried to ignore him.
God, I tried.
But every time I glanced that way, his eyes were already on me. Cool. Detached. Bored. Maybe amused.
Oh God!
This was a game to him.
Psychological warfare via caffeine.
I regret opening my mouth to talk back at him yesterday.
Maybe he is plotting how he will end me once and for all.
By the time I nearly dropped a tray of oat milk lattes, Javier leaned over and muttered, "Go take five, Aria. You look like death reheated."
I didn't argue.
The employee bathroom was the size of a closet and smelled like lemon disinfectant and despair.
I locked the door, slid down to the floor, and pressed my forehead to my knees.
I can't do this. I can't lose this job.
I thought of Dad, lying in bed with hollow cheeks and eyes that still tried to sparkle when I made a joke.
I thought of my insulin vials, each more expensive than a luxury handbag.
I thought of how tired I was of being tired.
I splashed water on my face, stared at the ghost in the mirror.
Get it together, Aria.
Just a few more hours
When I stepped back out, I expected to see an empty corner table.
But Dalton was still there.
Only now, he wasn't alone.
A woman in ivory blouse tucked into a pair of tailored charcoal slack and heels that didn't clic , they announced leaned over, whispering something into his ear. Assistant, probably. The kind who made interns cry.
Dalton's jaw clenched. He stood quickly, tossing a few bills on the table like they were an afterthought.
And then he looked at me.
Our eyes met again. Not long. Just a flicker.
But something shifted.
I waited for words.
They didn't come.
He turned and walked out.
The rest of my shift passed in a haze of spilled foam and emotional whiplash.
There was no confrontation.
No "you're fired."
No threats.
But the silence was worse.
Dalton Gray wasn't a man who forgot things.
He also wasn't a man who forgave them.
Whatever this was it wasn't over.
And somehow, I knew I'd just become interesting to him.
The worst part?
I wasn't sure if I was terrified… or thrilled.