CHAPTER 6 — THE CONVERSATION
The dining room was warm, sunlight spilling through the wide windows, dancing over the polished surface of the long mahogany table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of Mamita's baked pandesal, making the room feel deceptively cozy.
Amber sat stiffly, hands resting on her lap. Her heartbeat seemed too loud in her ears.
Across from her, Zach gave the smallest nod at her greeting, the corners of his mouth tilting—just a fraction. Not quite a smile. Not enough to soften the sharp lines of his face, but enough to suggest a flicker of amusement. His gaze didn't linger on her for long. Instead, it drifted toward Mamita, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke.
"You can call me Zach," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We're almost the same age. No need for formalities."
Amber blinked at him. Almost the same age? She doubted that. His presence felt… older. Not in years, but in weight. In the kind of authority that didn't require raising a voice.
Mamita chuckled softly, rescuing Amber from having to respond. "Alright, you two. There'll be time for introductions and stories later. For now, let's eat."
"Agreed," Bri said cheerfully, already reaching for the bread basket.
Plates clinked, forks scraped gently against porcelain, and the occasional polite comment floated across the table. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a pleasant, quiet breakfast.
But Amber could feel it—the undercurrent of something else.
Zach's glances were subtle, brief, but each one sliced through her composure like a cold blade. It wasn't just the way he looked at her—it was the weight of his gaze, the strange pull it carried. It was like being studied, evaluated, measured down to her bones.
What is this feeling? she wondered, fighting the urge to squirm in her seat. Why does it feel like he already knows things I haven't even told him?
She kept her eyes locked on her plate, refusing to meet his gaze.
Unbeknownst to her, Zach was listening. Not just to her words—there were none—but to the tangled threads of her thoughts. They unraveled in his mind like whispers in the wind, and though a part of him enjoyed her discomfort, another part… didn't.
A faint smirk ghosted across his lips, but he said nothing.
Breakfast ended without ceremony. The clink of cutlery faded, chairs scraped against the floor, and Mamita began clearing plates. Zach stood, straightening to his full height.
"Amber," he said, his tone low and firm, the kind of voice that expected obedience. "Follow me to my office. There are important things we need to discuss before you start working with me."
Amber froze for a second. Work with him? Her mouth opened, then closed again. She rose slowly, her chair legs dragging lightly against the floor.
As she followed him down the hallway, she cast one glance back.
Bri winked at her, like this was some kind of inside joke. Mamita smiled faintly, a knowing look in her eyes. That look made Amber's stomach twist. What do they know that I don't?
⸻
The office was nothing like the dining room.
It was a world of shadows and quiet authority. Rich, dark shelves lined the walls, heavy with books that smelled faintly of leather and dust. A wide window stood behind a massive desk carved from aged Nara wood, its grain deep and intricate. A faint scent of sandalwood hung in the air.
"Sit," Zach said, gesturing toward a chair opposite his desk.
Amber obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat. She glanced around, letting her eyes trace the details—the neat stacks of papers, the glint of a silver pen holder, the faint grooves on the desk's surface as if it had survived years of intense conversations.
Zach didn't sit. He remained standing a few feet away, his presence filling the space between them.
Then, without warning:
"I want to buy Luna Café."
Amber blinked. She thought she'd misheard him. "Wait—what?"
"I want to buy Luna Café," he repeated, his voice calm, unshaken.
Her hands shot up in protest. "What—No! I'm not selling Luna Café! Why would you—" She broke off, shaking her head. "Why are we even talking about this?"
Zach's eyes stayed locked on hers. "Because it's the only way I can help you rebuild it."
Amber frowned. "I never asked for your help. I haven't even mentioned Luna Café or—"
"You didn't have to," he cut in, his voice carrying quiet steel. "Your father is planning to sell it. Probably under your stepmother's influence. According to my sources, negotiations are already happening. If you don't act now, you'll lose it."
Her breath caught. "That's… impossible."
"You and your stepmother are the only legal owners," Zach continued. "She has no interest in keeping it. They're waiting for you to return so they can finalize everything. If you sell it to me first, I can stop them."
Amber shook her head, trying to process. No. This can't be true. Dad wouldn't—
Zach opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of documents. He slid them across the table.
"See for yourself."
Her hands trembled slightly as she took them. Her eyes scanned each page, the words blurring together until the signatures came into focus—her father's, Liza's. The dates. The clauses. All real. All binding.
"I… don't understand…" she whispered. "Why would he do this? Why wouldn't he tell me?"
"Because he was pressured," Zach said. "And because Liza has more influence than you think. This isn't just about the café—it's about control."
Her head snapped up. "Control of what?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Of you."
The air between them thickened.
Amber's mind was a storm—her stepmother's smirk, her father's silence, the memories of her mother's laughter in the café kitchen.
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why would you protect me? What does this have to do with you?"
For a long moment, Zach said nothing. Then: "Because Luna Café matters to me too."
Her brows furrowed. "Why?"
Their eyes locked, unblinking. She could almost feel something else behind his words—a thread of history, of pain, of something deeply personal.
"It's a long story," he said at last, his voice softening. "But before I tell you, we need to make an agreement."
"No," Amber said instantly, leaning forward. "You tell me now." She jabbed a finger at the desk between them. "I deserve to know."
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly. "When you learn the truth," he said quietly, "you'll wish you hadn't. It's heavy. And it will make you blame yourself for your mother's disappearance."
The words hit her like a physical blow.
Her throat tightened. "What… did you say?"
"I'm not trying to take Luna Café from you," Zach went on. "If I don't step in, it will fall into the wrong hands. I need your trust, Amber. I'm not your enemy."
His voice lowered further, gentler now. "I can feel how much you're still holding onto hope… that your mother's alive. If you trust me, I'll protect you—and the café."
Amber stared at him, searching his face for cracks, for anything that might betray a lie.
Finally, she drew a slow, shaky breath. "Let me think about it," she murmured. "I need to rest."
A quiet pause settled over them. Zach gave a single nod. Then he picked up the phone.
"Mamita," he said, his voice returning to its calm authority. "Come to my office and escort Amber to her room."
Amber stood, her pulse still hammering. As she left the office, she could feel his gaze following her—not with malice, but with a strange, unshakable promise.
And she didn't know whether to fear it… or want to believe it.