Riley's POV
Morning light streamed through the thin curtains of Riley's apartment, soft and golden, falling across the cramped little living room. The walls were a pale cream, chipped in corners, but she'd done her best to make it home. A secondhand couch with a faded floral pattern, a little round table stacked with bills and Caleb's coloring books, and the faint smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.
It wasn't much. But it was hers.
"Mommy!" Caleb's high-pitched voice rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of something clattering onto the floor. Riley rushed into the kitchen just in time to see her two-year-old son standing on a chair, his small fingers buried in a cereal box, milk spilling across the counter.
"Caleb Ross Levine!" Riley gasped, though her lips twitched with a reluctant smile. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Hungry…Hungry" He looked up at her with those stormy gray eyes, his father's eyes, though Riley tried not to think about that and gave her a cheeky grin that melted her scolding.
Riley shook her head, snatching the cereal box from him. "Sweetheart, you can't climb up here. You'll break your neck before breakfast." She lifted him into her arms, his tiny body warm against hers. He smelled like baby soap and mischief.
"Cereal…Cereal good," he mumbled, snuggling against her shoulder.
"You want Cereal, baby?" She kissed the top of his head, her chest squeezing. "Cereal is fine. Heart attacks before nine in the morning? Not so fine."
Behind her, Chloe wandered in, yawning, her wild curls even wilder than usual. She wore an oversized t-shirt with a cartoon duck on it and mismatched socks. "What disaster did I hear this time?"
"Your godson tried to scale Mount Countertop for breakfast." Riley shot her a look over Caleb's head.
Chloe smirked, grabbing a mug and pouring herself coffee. "Takes after his mom. Always climbing things she shouldn't."
Riley rolled her eyes, setting Caleb in his high chair and sliding a bowl of cereal in front of him. "Ha-ha, you are so funny."
Chloe leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. Her sharp brown eyes softened as she watched Riley bustling around the kitchen. "You know, for a girl who swears she's drowning, you make it look easy."
"Easy?" Riley laughed bitterly. "You should check my bank account before you say that." She pulled a crumpled envelope off the table and waved it. "Rent. Due in two weeks. And Caleb needs new shoes again. His feet grow faster than weeds."
Chloe frowned. "We'll manage. We always do."
Riley hesitated, then bit her lip. "I've…been applying for other jobs."
"You were serious when you said that earlier?", Chloe narrowed her eyes instantly. "What kind of jobs?"
Riley avoided her gaze, setting Caleb's sippy cup in front of him. "Bars. Clubs. Late-night shifts. They pay more in one night than I make in a week at the diner."
"Absolutely not." Chloe's voice was sharp. "Riley, those places are dangerous. Drunks, creeps, late hours? What happens if something happens to you? What about Caleb?"
"I'd still be here for him," Riley argued, though the words wobbled. "I'm careful. I would be more careful. I don't drink. I'd be in and out. Chloe, I can't just…sit and hope the diner pays enough. It doesn't. I need more."
Chloe slammed her mug onto the counter, making Caleb jump. Her eyes softened when she saw the toddler's startled face, but her voice remained firm. "You're not doing this alone. We'll find another way. But bars? No. You don't deserve to be stuck in a place like that, Riley. You're meant for more."
Riley's throat tightened. "I'm meant to be a chef," she whispered. "That was the dream. To have my own restaurant, to create something beautiful. But dreams don't buy diapers, Chloe."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Chloe sighed, brushing a curl from her face. "You're too stubborn for your own good. But fine. Just…promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't throw yourself into something that'll chew you up and spit you out."
Riley nodded, though inside, she wasn't sure she could promise anything. Desperation didn't give her many choices.
Later that afternoon, Riley bundled Caleb into his stroller for a walk to the market. The city air was crisp, tinged with the scent of exhaust and roasted chestnuts from a street cart. Caleb babbled happily about birds overhead, pointing his tiny finger at every pigeon they passed.
For a fleeting moment, Riley let herself breathe. This was their little bubble. Small, fragile, but theirs.
Until she saw it.
A car. Sleek. Black. Engine idling at the curb just down the block. Its windows were tinted, impossible to see inside.
Riley's breath caught, her body freezing mid-step.
Her heart hammered as her gaze fixed on it. She knew that world. That kind of car didn't belong in this neighborhood, on this cracked sidewalk with peeling lampposts. That car belonged to men like Damian Blackwood. Men who never had to worry about rent or daycare or bills stacking like graves.
What does he want?
Caleb shifted in his stroller, humming to himself, oblivious. Riley's hand tightened on the handle until her knuckles turned white.
The car didn't move.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. For a split second, she imagined the door swinging open, a tall figure stepping out, stormy gray eyes pinning her in place.
But nothing happened.
"Riley?" Chloe's voice broke her trance. She jogged up, arms full of grocery bags, brows furrowed. "What are you staring at?"
"The car," Riley whispered, jerking her chin toward it.
Chloe followed her gaze, then shrugged. "Probably some rich guy lost on the wrong side of town. Don't freak out."
Riley tore her eyes from the car, forcing her feet to move again. But the unease lingered like a shadow.
Because she knew better.
_____________________________
That night, the diner was half-empty, the hum of neon lights casting the room in a tired glow. Riley moved between tables with her usual grace, though her mind kept drifting back to that car.
Was it still there? Had it followed her?
She tried to shake it off, balancing plates, scribbling orders. A family left, leaving behind crumpled napkins and a few dollar bills. Riley cleared the table quickly, eager to finish her shift.
But when she reached for the salt shaker, she froze.
An envelope lay there. White. Plain. Her name written across it in bold, slanted handwriting.
Riley's stomach dropped. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, glancing around the diner. No one was watching her. No one seemed out of place.
Slowly, she tore it open.
Inside was a single card. Heavy. Expensive. Black with a silver crest embossed at the top.
Her heart stopped.
The Blackwood family crest.
The card slipped from her fingers, landing on the table with a soft thud. Her breath came fast, shallow, panic clawing at her chest.
No. No, no, no.
He couldn't know. He couldn't have found her.
But deep down, Riley knew the truth she'd been running from.
Damian Blackwood's shadow had just crossed her doorstep.
And her carefully built little world was about to shatter.