Ayla's POV
The living room didn't even feel like ours anymore.
Drawers were yanked open, the wall where our picture frames used to hang was bare, and even the center table had vanished.
Ema was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, aunt Clara pacing. Uncle sat on the ground, looking like a guilty child.
"What happened?" I blurted, my voice a little too loud and shaky.
"They came," Ema said flatly, not looking at me. "Debt collectors."
Aunt Clara stopped pacing and turned. "Your uncle borrowed money and lost it gambling."
The words knocked the breath right out of me. "What?"
"They took our furniture and anything worth money," she snapped. "And they'll be back next week for the rest if we don't pay up."
"How much?" My throat was already closing up.
"Five thousand," Uncle mumbled, still staring at the floor.
The number was heavy. My first paycheck hadn't even arrived yet.
"You're working now," Aunt Clara said sharply. "Ask your boss."
"What?" I blinked.
"I just started. I can't"
"Ask for an advance then!"
I could feel my face heating. "It doesn't work like that."
"Oh, so you're too proud now?" Her laugh was bitter. "Too good to help the people who raised you?"
Ema smirked. "Knew she'd be useless ."
"I'm not asking my boss," I said quietly, though my hands trembled. "I won't start my career by begging."
Aunt Clara's smile was cold. "Then don't bother living under this roof like a queen."
I shut myself in my room. My heart pounded, but the tears wouldn't come. The next few days, I left early and came home late just to avoid them.
A few days later — after the gala.
My head was throbbing from staring at a screen all day, and my feet were killing me in the stiff shoes I'd worn to look "professional."
All I wanted was some quiet and just hoped Aunt Clara wouldn't start in on me again tonight.
But as soon as I stepped into our street, neighbors stared.
When I opened the door, voices slammed into me.
Ema and Aunt Clara stood in the middle of the stripped-down living room, their phones in hand, glaring at me like I'd just dragged dirt across a clean floor.
"So this is what you've been doing?" Ema's tone was pure venom. "Pretending to be all shy and innocent while sneaking around with a billionaire?"
"What?" My pulse was already in my throat.
Aunt Clara stepped forward and slapped! The sharp sound cracked through the air before the sting even reached my cheek.
"You shameless girl!" she spat. "Sleeping with rich men like some cheap slut!"
My hand flew to my face. "I don't understand"
Ema shoved her phone into my hand.
The headline glared back at me: Liam Cross Spotted With Mystery Woman "Secret Girlfriend?"
The photo was slightly blurred, but clear enough it was me, outside the gala, holding a folder in my hand, Mr Cross leaning toward me. I remembered that moment, he'd been giving me instructions, nothing more.
"It's not like that," I said, my voice shaking. "I just work for him."
Before I could explain further, a sharp knock came from the door.
Aunt Clara swung it open.
A short woman stood there, her eyes hard and glittering. My stomach dropped.
Her. From the café.
"You," she said, pointing straight at me. "Almost a month. I've been patient, too patient!. Where's my money?"
Aunt Clara's brows shot up. "Your money?"
The woman stepped in like she owned the place. "We had a deal. She'd pay me back in a month for the hospital bill after she gave me dairy milk instead of almond milk. I ended up in the ER with an allergic reaction. Well," she glanced at her watch "the month is almost up. I want it now."
Ema's mouth fell open. "You almost killed someone?"
"It wasn't like that," I said quickly. "It was an accident, and I apologized"
"And promised to cover the bill," the woman cut in, her voice sharp as glass. "$ 1,200, I don't care how sorry you are, I want my money."
Aunt Clara's eyes narrowed. "Anything else you've been hiding from us?"
"I was going to pay her," I said, my voice small. "I just haven't gotten my first salary yet."
"Not my problem," the woman said, already walking toward the door. "If I don't have it by tomorrow, I'll make sure your shiny new boss knows you nearly sent me to the hospital and lied about paying me back."
The door slammed.
Clearly, she had also seen the online picture, I muttered
The door slammed.
That night, I curled on my bed, my breath dampening the pillowcase. The blanket couldn't block out the noise in my head, debt collectors, Aunt Clara's slap, the woman's threat, the headline that made me look like a liar.
I felt like I was trapped in a glass box, the air thinning with every passing second.
The next day, work felt heavier than usual. My fingers moved over the keyboard, but my mind kept drifting. What if I asked him?
The thought made my stomach knot. For him, five thousand or fifty thousand would be nothing. I could pay him back bit by bit, but I didn't even know what my salary was yet, or how many months, maybe years, it would take to return it all.
But what if I ask him and he says no? Worse, what if he looked at me the way Aunt Clara did? Like I was nothing more than a burden.
By the afternoon, my chest felt tight with the weight of it all. I had to deliver a file to Mr Cross's office, still deliberating if I should or should not ask him, I opened the door and went in.
The office was still when I stepped in. Afternoon light slanted through the blinds, dust motes drifting in the beams. He was bent over some papers.
"Here's the file you asked for, sir," I said, placing the folder down.
He reached for it, but my fingers brushed the glass.
It tipped.
Cold water rushed across the desk, soaking the papers. His chair scraped back as he stood abruptly. "Damn it, Ayla!"
The sharp edge in his voice sliced through me. My lungs forgot how to work. "I..I didn't mean to"
"Just go," he said, clipped. "Take a break or something."
My body wanted to turn away, but my feet stayed rooted. My throat burned and a shaky breath slipped out, and then a sound I didn't want him to hear, a small, broken sniff.
And then another.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, but the words came faster now, tumbling out. "I'm so, so sorry."
His expression shifted, but I couldn't stop. "I didn't mean to ruin your work. I just..why does everything I touch fall apart?"
"Ayla"
"I lost my parents. I lost my home. I owe debts I didn't even make. And now even my boss hates me."
"I don't hate you," he said softly, the coldness gone from his voice.
"I'm just tired," I whispered. "Tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm not. Every time I think maybe things will get better, something else comes crashing down."
He moved around the desk, slow and careful, as if I might shatter. "Ayla, there's nothing wrong with you. You've just been through too much."
I kept my eyes on the floor. "I don't want sympathy."
"I want to help you."
I almost laughed, but my voice failed me. Help me? Why would someone like him, untouchable, composed, living in a world I could barely imagine want to help a stranger like me? Or was this some kind of cruel joke? But Mr. Cross didn't seem to me as the type to joke.
"Why?" I finally asked.
"Because no one should have to carry all of that alone. Especially not you."
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
"I don't want to owe you, and I know this kind of favor doesn't come for free" I murmured. "Is there anything I can do in return?"
He hesitated. "There is one thing."
The air between us seemed to thicken. "What?"
"I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."
I stared. "Wait… what?"
"It's just for a while. There is a dinner on Friday with a client who thinks I'm engaged. It's complicated, but it would help me and I was going to help you anyway."
I searched his face, looking for the catch. "Is this because of that photo?"
"It's connected," he admitted.
The clock ticked in the quiet.
Finally, almost too softly, I said, "Okay."
His shoulders eased. "Okay?"
I nodded once. "I'll do it. But only because… I don't know what else to do right now."
We didn't smile, neither of us said anything. We just stood there, knowing our lives had just shifted in a way we weren't ready for.