Jace stepped through the company doors, the soles of his polished shoes clicking against the tile. The suit he wore hugged his body perfectly, dark navy, sharp lines.
Heads turned. Whispers followed.
"Who's that? He looks familiar..."
"Wait... is that Jace? No way."
"Did he win the lottery or something?"
"Probably sugar-daddied himself to some granny."
He ignored all of it. Not a flicker of emotion. He walked straight down the corridor and shoved open the manager's office door without knocking.
The woman behind the desk snapped her head up, startled. Marissa Grant. Early thirties, cruel smile, always smug. That smile vanished the moment she saw him.
"You!" she barked. "You have some nerve walking in here. Two hours late. Again. What the hell do you think this is? A playground?"
Jace didn't answer. He stood silently, hands in his pockets.
She rose from her chair, face twisting with rage. "You skip work, ignore calls, and show up dressed like a wannabe millionaire. That's why your girlfriend dumped your sorry ass. Because she saw what I saw. A loser. A man who doesn't know how to manage his life. You think wearing a suit makes you better?"
Still, Jace didn't say anything. Just stared.
She squinted.
He reached into his coat slowly. Pulled out a plain white envelope.
She continued barking, "You're a pathetic excuse for an employee. With your little paper degree from some no-name university. I should've fired you long ago—"
He slapped the envelope onto her face.
The paper made a sharp sound. She froze mid-breath.
A red vein bulged at her temple. "How dare—"
Then she looked at the envelope.
One word printed across the front.
Resignation.
"What?" Her voice cracked.
Jace turned around.
At the door, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
"Don't worry. You'll hear from me soon when I report you for workplace harassment."
He paused, let the words sink in, then added with a cold smile, "Oh, and if you're lucky enough to keep your job, start getting used to cleaning toilets. You'll be demoted soon."
Her anger exploded. "What the fuck! You bastard! You'll regret this! You think you can survive without this job? You're nothing! NOTHI—"
The door clicked shut behind him.
He walked out, ignoring her sputtering behind him.
The office wasn't soundproof.
Everyone heard everything.
Whispers turned to low laughter.
"Holy shit."
"Did he just resign?"
"He handed it to her like a slap."
"She looked like she was about to explode."
Jace kept walking, eyes ahead, shoulders straight.
By the time he reached his building, the silence felt earned. He stepped out of the elevator, adjusting his cuffs, the weight of the day finally slipping off his shoulders.
The echoes of office politics still rang faintly in his ears.
He turned the corner and paused for a second.
Maribel stood at her apartment door, his next-door neighbor, grocery bag in one hand, keys trembling in the other.
She looked worse than usual. Pale. Eyes sunken. Shoulders hunched like life had pressed her down and forgotten to let go. Her work apron still hung from her neck, grease stains darkening the edge.
She noticed him and offered a faint nod. "Good evening, Jace."
He nodded back. "Evening."
That's when the System flickered to life.
"Target Selected."
"Name: Maribel Flores. Age: 38. Status: Single Mother. Occupation: Line Cook. Risk Level: Low. Funds Authorized: $20,000."
Jace blinked once.
He hadn't selected anyone.
Still, he pulled out his phone and checked his bank app.
Balance: $29,000.
He slipped the phone back into his coat.
Maribel unlocked her door, still struggling to lift the grocery bag with her key hand.
Jace stepped closer. "Let me help."
"Oh—thank you," she said softly. "It's nothing, I just... long day."
"I can tell."
She looked up at him, uncertain.
"You look worse than last time I saw you," Jace said gently. "Everything alright?"
She hesitated, then gave a faint smile. "Just tired. That's all."
"You sure?" He tilted his head. "You don't have to lie. I'm a neighbor, not a stranger."
That seemed to soften her.
She let out a weak laugh. "It's my daughter. Camila. College stress. Teen hormones. Or maybe just me being a bad mom."
"You're not," Jace said, without hesitation.
She looked away.
"She's angry a lot these days. About money, mostly. Tuition's overdue. Rent's behind. I'm working doubles, sometimes triples. But it's never enough."
She tried to smile, like it made the truth easier. "Anyway. You didn't come to hear me vent."
Jace reached into his coat. Pulled out a plain, fat envelope of $5,000 in cash.
"What's… this for?" she asked, frowning.
"Help," he said simply. "For you. For your daughter."
She took a step back. "No. I—no, I can't take that. Absolutely not."
"You can," Jace said calmly. "And you should."
"I appreciate the offer. But I can't afford debt right now."
"I won't ask for it back. If you want to repay it, do it slowly. Or don't. I really don't care."
She opened her mouth again, but he gently cut her off.
"Maribel," he said, his voice quieter now. "I live next to you. I hear the yelling. I hear you crying at night. Just let someone help."
Her eyes glistened, and after a long pause, she nodded. Hands trembling, she took the envelope.
"I don't know what to say," she whispered.
"You can say yes to one more thing," Jace said.
She raised an eyebrow, wary.
"Let me eat here. Breakfast. You're a good cook, I know. I've smelled it through the walls."
She laughed. Tired, but real.
"…Sure."
Days passed.
He came every morning now.
Maribel cooked. Eggs. Toast. Sometimes rice and beans. Simple food. Warm food. The kind that softened a man's armor.
Camila, her daughter, was usually there too. Early twenties. Bright smile. Tight tank tops. Energetic. Friendly. She called his name in a way that made him sometimes wonder if she was trying to flirt.
He handed her twenty-dollar bills for the meals sometimes.
"Your mom's cooking is too good," he said.
"You're the best customer we've got," she teased back.
Her mother watched all of it silently, eyes flicking between them, grateful, but sad. Like she was trying to remember what normal looked like.
At night, he sometimes stayed for dinner. Paid for groceries. The fridge filled. The tension in Maribel's face began to ease.
The next week, he handed her another envelope. "For rent."
"I don't—"
"It's a thank you for your delicious food."
She opened it. Counted it. Another $5,000.
This time, she didn't protest. She just nodded.
Eventually, she stopped asking questions.
Two more weeks passed. Jace became a fixture in their apartment. His coffee sat ready by the time he knocked. Sometimes he didn't even have to. Camila started leaving the door unlocked.
Then came the night Camila stayed out late.
Maribel got the text at 8:12 p.m.
Out w/ friends. Don't wait up.
The apartment felt quiet without her.
At 8:42, there was a knock on the door.
She opened it to find Jace standing there in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, top buttons open. His collar hung crooked. His hair was slightly damp. His breath smelled faintly of whiskey, and his eyes were heavy but focused.
"Hey," he said. "Hope I'm not intruding."
She looked him over. "How much have you drunk?"
"A little bit. Just enough to feel like someone else for the night."
She opened the door wider. "Come in."
Jace stepped inside. He didn't stumble. Just moved slower, heavier.
She closed the door behind him, turning to face him.
He looked around. "Camila?"
"Out," she said.
He nodded once and gave a dry laugh.
He leaned against the sofa, exhaling. "I quit."
Maribel blinked. "What?"
"My job. Today."
She studied his face. "Are you okay?"
He gave a crooked grin. "I feel amazing."
She didn't believe him.
"Seriously," he said. "Boss screamed at me, so I slapped my resignation letter across her face. The whole office heard it."
Her lips twitched in shock. Concern flickered behind her eyes.
He looked down at the floor for a moment. "She said I was a failure. That I'd end up with nothing."
Maribel's expression softened. She stepped closer. "She was wrong."
He met her eyes. "You think so?"
She gave a faint nod. Her voice barely more than a breath. "Yeah. I do."
Jace stared at her for a long second. The warmth of her body just inches from his.
His voice came out low. Rough. A whisper wrapped in heat.
"I love you."