The trial of fate came faster and more without warning than Aria had anticipated.
It was an exceptionally busy night. A new shipment had arrived at the supermarket, mostly heavy cans and cooking oil. The owner kept rushing her, complaining that the truck was late and holding up her closing. Aria had been working for nearly ten hours straight. Her arms were so sore she could barely lift them. She was relying entirely on willpower to move the boxes from the shopping cart to the shelves.
Just as she was carrying one of the heaviest boxes of olive oil, her foot slipped on something greasy—perhaps a spill from a previously broken can, or a cleaning solution someone had accidentally dropped. She lost her balance with a gasp and fell forward!
BANG—SMASH!
A heartbreaking sound of glass shattering rang out. The glass bottles of olive oil were shattered to bits. The golden, viscous oil, mixed with glass shards, instantly spread across the floor like a massive, ugly wound. The pungent smell of the oil filled the aisle between the shelves.
Aria fell to the ground, her elbow and knees in searing pain, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming despair brought on by the sight of the mess in front of her.
"My God! What have you done?!" The owner's shrill voice almost pierced her eardrums. She clattered over in her slippers. Seeing the expensive olive oil and broken glass on the floor, her face instantly turned ashen. Her heart ached from the loss, and fury contorted her features. "You idiot! You clumsy, good-for-nothing fool! Do you know how much a box of this is worth?! Even if I sold you, you couldn't pay for it!"
Aria struggled to get up, trying to explain that something had made her slip, but the owner gave her no chance. Her spittle almost sprayed onto Aria's face. "Enough! I don't want to hear any more excuses! You're a jinx! Nothing's gone right since you came here! The inventory is always wrong! Now you've caused such a huge disaster! Get out! Get out now! Your wages aren't even enough to cover the damage! Get out!"
Her last shred of hope was completely shattered. Aria sat paralyzed on the cold, oily floor, looking at the owner's face, twisted with rage, and listening to the vile insults. Around her, other night-shift employees who had been startled by the noise peeked out, their eyes full of gossip and curiosity. All the injustice, fear, fatigue, and anger came to a head at that moment.
She had lost her job. Lost her only source of income. She even "owed" a debt.
She didn't know how she eventually managed to walk out of the supermarket's back door. The owner had roughly thrown her pitiful belongings—an old water bottle and a jacket—out after her, then slammed the door shut and locked it, as if she were a plague.
The night grew deeper. The cold wind cut through her thin clothes like a knife. The scrapes on her elbows and knees stung. She stood in the empty, desolate alley, looking at the locked iron door. For the first time, she truly understood what it meant to have nowhere to go.
The Parisian sky was starless, only a murky orange-red from the city lights. A massive, palpable boulder of loneliness and despair pressed her down, leaving her unable to move. She didn't even have tears, just stood there, numb, letting the cold seep into every part of her body.
What should she do next? Where should she go? Penniless, she couldn't even afford the rent for her cheap shared apartment next month. Was she really going to sleep in a subway station? To beg?
Revenge? It felt like a distant, cruel joke.
She didn't know how long she stood in the cold alley until her limbs were numb. Finally, the instinct to survive drove her to take a step, like a soulless body, wandering aimlessly through the deserted streets of the early morning.
She couldn't go back to the apartment. She knew the owner would definitely come looking for her for "compensation" in the morning. She couldn't afford to pay and was powerless to deal with the trouble that would follow. She had to disappear immediately.
She walked mechanically along the banks of the Seine. The river flowed silently in the darkness, reflecting the brilliant buildings on both sides, but their lights could not reach the darkness she was in. Luxury cruise ships passed by, carrying faint sounds of laughter and music, a cruel contrast to her current situation.
Exhausted, she curled up on a bench under a bridge, trying to find a bit of pathetic warmth. The cold and hunger gnawed at her will like two hungry wolves. She buried her face in her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Just as her consciousness began to blur from fatigue and cold, a faint but distinct set of footsteps stopped in front of her.
Aria's head shot up, alert as a startled cat.
Standing before her was not a police officer, a homeless person, or a Gallardo family thug.
It was Max Bernard.
He was dressed in an impeccable dark overcoat, his face emotionless, like a ghost solidified from the night. In his hand, he held a clean white handkerchief, which he offered to her. His voice was perfectly steady, as if the person in front of him was not a miserable woman shivering under a bridge but an object that needed to be dusted off.
"Miss Russell," he used the surname she had tried to abandon. "Mr. Delacroix would like to have a word with you."
Aria's pupils constricted abruptly. All the blood in her body seemed to freeze instantly.
It was him, after all!
None of it was a coincidence! The rescue in the alley, the constant surveillance, the inexplicable "accidents" at the supermarket, and finally, this precise "invitation" that came at her most desperate and vulnerable moment!
A huge, icy net had been silently cast long ago without her knowledge, and the one who was pulling it in was sitting at the other end, waiting coldly for this very moment.
Fear, anger, humiliation, and a sliver of horror at being played like a puppet, surged like lava in her chest. She stared at Max, at the white handkerchief in his hand, a symbol of charity and absolute control. Her teeth chattered as she clenched her jaw.
Léon Delacroix, what exactly did he want?