I should've let her walk away.
I shouldn't let her run to the crowd
I should have shown her that she belongs to my world.
I had a lot of deals waiting, many worker people to fire, assets to review—but none of it mattered as much as her.
"Isabella". The name felt like I had been told before.
I didn't know her name yet, but it already felt like I should and there's a need for me to know her name. I believe that the universe had slipped up and introduced her to me late.
Unexpected and not up to my standard.
She had no idea who I was, and it seemed better that way, somehow I guess that was what made her harder to ignore.
She walked fast through the city, weaving between crowds like someone used to disappearing. Like she thought that we were watching her.
Her back was straight, her shoulders tense, and her pace screamed: "I don't need anyone."
But even warriors break.
I stayed back, a few paces behind, no longer in my driver's car. I'd told him to leave. That he has been dismissed.I didn't want anyone else seeing this—seeing me like this.
Following a girl like some obsessed stranger.
But I had to know. Regardless of whatever the people might think of…
She turned off the main road into a run-down neighborhood tucked behind the glitz and glass of my world. The buildings here were cracked, tired, leaning in on themselves like they were done fighting gravity and atmospheric temperature.
She stopped at a two-story structure that might've once been a hostel. Rust covered the gate dark in color. The walls were stained with rain and soot paint already fading out. But she moved through it like it was home.
No hesitation. No second thought.
I lingered on the other side of the road, watching as she climbed the narrow staircase and disappeared into a small room on the upper floor. A light flicked on behind the curtains.
I waited. And waited.
For some signs.
Like a part of me was expecting her to look out the window, sense me, something. But she didn't. She was gone from view—vanished like she had disappeared into the unseen.
I thought of going to the upper room, I will not allow her to vanish the second time again.
Except I wasn't letting that happen this time.
I crossed the street. I walked straight to the building. Knocked on her door.
A pause.
No response so I knocked again.
Then the sound of slow, cautious footsteps.
The door creaked open an inch.
And there she was.
Still fiery. Still guarded. But this time barefoot, wrapped in an oversized hoodie with a pen stuck in her messy bun like she'd been writing.
Since she entered inside.
"What—how do you know where I live?" she asked, eyes wide in surprise.
"I followed you," I said without blinking, without hesitation.
"You… what? Are you serious right now?" Her voice rose, laced with both disbelief and anger.
"You walked away like the conversation was over. It wasn't." And you left me with no choice but to follow you down here.
She scoffed and tried to shut the door.
I stopped it with my palm and a little push from behinde.
"I'm not here to harass you," I said. "I just want to talk."
"Why? So you can throw your money at me again?" she snapped. "I told you, I don't need saving."
I studied her—really studied her for sometime. Her eyes were tired. Not just from a long day, but from life. The kind of tiredness you carry in your bones.
"I'm not offering a rescue," I said quietly. "I'm offering an opportunity."
"You think I need your opportunity?"
"No. I think you deserve more than what this place is giving you."
That made her pause. Just for a second. But it was enough.
The door opened a little wider.
"Five minutes," she said. "Then you leave."
I stepped inside.
Her room was small—just a mattress, a stack of notebooks, and a tiny desk with a chipped lamp. No luxury. No waste. Just survival.
It smelled like cheap air freshener and something warm—maybe coffee or the candle burning near her window.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, arms crossed. "Talk."
I stayed standing. "What's your name?"
She frowned. "You came all the way here without knowing that?"
I didn't respond.
She sighed. "Isabella."
Isabella.
It fit her. Soft and elegant, but full of weight.
"Why'd you leave the restaurant scene like that?" I asked.
"Because I'm tired of being embarrassed. I work two jobs, and none of them pay on time. That plate cost me an entire shift's worth of money."
"Then why not take the offer? Why refuse me?"
Her eyes lifted to mine, defiant. "Because I've seen what men like you do. You walk in, throw your weight around, play savior… but you always expect something in return."
I smiled…
"What do you think I expect?"
She stood. Now we were eye-to-eye.
"I don't know," she said. "But I don't trust you."
I respected that.
I wasn't used to resistance. Especially not from women. But this wasn't some game.
This wasn't lust.
It was something deeper.
I reached into my coat, pulled out a card, and handed it to her.
"My number. If you ever change your mind."
She didn't take it.
"I won't," she said, stepping back.
"I've heard that before."
I left it on the desk beside her notebooks.
Then I turned to leave.
I was almost at the door when a soft cough echoed from the back room.
Isabella froze.
So did I.
I thought it was her who coughed.
Another cough. This one raspier. Weaker.
She moved quickly, stepping between me and the room like a wall where the cough sound was coming from.
"Is someone else here?" I asked, brows furrowed.
"It's nothing," she said too fast. "You should go."
Her eyes were different now—scared.
And I knew fear when I saw it.
"Isabella—"
"Please, Micheal," she whispered. "Just leave." I noticed the sudden gathering of tears in her eyes that she is holding it not to drop out.
And that was when it hit me.
She wasn't just some strong girl with a sharp mouth and worn-out shoes.
She was hiding something.
No. She was protecting someone.