Elena had already slipped back into her tiny apartment.
The heavy silence of the room contrasted sharply with the deafening club. She placed a plastic bag on the old wooden table.
"Auntie," she said gently, forcing a smile as she unpacked the simple meal she had bought with her day's earnings. "I brought your favorite."
Her aunt, pale and coughing, tried to sit up. "Elena, you shouldn't spend on me. You need it more—"
"Hush," Elena interrupted softly, sitting beside her on the bed. "We'll eat together. That way it tastes better."
They shared the small meal, Elena laughing lightly at her aunt's attempts at jokes, even though her own heart was heavy. She could see it—the sickness was worse. Her aunt's face was thinner, her breathing harsher.
Afterward, Elena tucked her into bed, smoothing her hair with gentle fingers. She sat there for a long moment, just watching her.
"I'll take care of you, Auntie," Elena whispered, determination burning in her chest. "No matter what it takes."
The next day;
Morning sunlight leaked through the cracked curtains of the small apartment. Elena barely had time to stretch before a loud bang rattled the door.
She rushed to open it, and there stood her landlord, his face hard and unforgiving.
"You have twenty-four hours, Elena," he barked. "If the rent isn't paid, both you and your sick aunt are out on the streets. I don't run a charity."
Her chest tightened. "Please, sir—just a little more time. I'll get the money, I swear—"
"No excuses. Twenty-four hours." He turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
Elena stood frozen in the doorway, trembling.
Behind her, her aunt's weak voice broke the silence. "Elena… I'm so sorry,. I've only brought you suffering."
"No!" Elena rushed back to her side, tears already spilling. She grasped her aunt's frail hands, shaking her head. "Don't say that. You're all I have. I'll fix this. I promise."
They clung to each other, crying quietly until Elena forced herself to pull away. She wiped her face and kissed her aunt's forehead.
"I have to go. I'll find a way," she whispered, grabbing her bag and heading out the door.
***
Damian Volkov sat in his penthouse office, the skyline stretching behind him, the room cloaked in shadows and cigar smoke. He leaned lazily back in his chair as one of his men entered with a file.
His mind briefly flickered to the stripper that had entertained him the night before. She had been eager, desperate to please him.
But as soon as the file was placed in his hands, his interest in her vanished. He sent her away with nothing more than a dismissive wave, She ran out immediately.
"We've gathered everything about her," the man said, placing it on the desk.
Damian flipped it open. Photographs. Records. Details. Elena Cruz. Age twenty-three. Orphan.Lives with a sick aunt. Works multiple jobs. Landlord breathing down her neck.
A slow, satisfied smile tugged at Damian's lips.
"Interesting," he murmured. "The mouse is cornered."
Damian poured himself a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid with studied calm before speaking.
He smirked faintly, sipping the drink. "It's time we remind her of reality."
Simon tilted his head. "You want us to pressure her?"
"No," Damian said, shaking his head slowly. "Not directly. Pressure leaves marks. I want her stripped of options. One by one, quietly, cleanly. By the time she realizes she's drowning, she'll look around and find only one hand offering rescue. Mine."
"So we cut off her income."
"Exactly," Damian replied. "Make sure every job she tries to hold slips through her fingers. Discreet sabotage. Missed calls she never made.
Orders she never received. Rumors whispered just loudly enough to be heard. No employer will want her within a month."
"And if she looks for new work?"
"Then her applications vanish before they reach anyone's desk," Damian said. His smirk deepened.
Whatever it takes. I want her to believe the world itself is conspiring against her."
The room was silent for a long moment, the cruelty of the plan settling like smoke in the air. Damian downed the rest of his whiskey, then leaned forward, his gaze steel-hard.
"Do you understand? I don't want her hurt. Not physically. She must remain untouched, unsullied. But she must have nowhere to go.
By the time I extend my hand, she won't just take it — she'll cling to it like it's the only thing keeping her alive."
Now, every thought was consumed by Elena.
***
Elena arrived at the café where she worked as a waitress during the day. She tied her apron quickly, eager to make her hours count.
But before she could even step onto the floor, her boss called her into the back. His expression was flat, uncaring.
"Elena, you're done here," he said coldly. "You're fired."
Her mouth fell open. "What? No, please—sir, I need this job. My aunt—she's sick. Please, don't do this."
She fell to her knees, hands clasped, begging. "At least pay me what I've earned. Please. I worked every shift—"
But the man simply shook his head. "You'll get nothing. Be grateful I don't make you pay for your mistakes."
Her throat closed up, her tears hot and blinding. She pressed her forehead to the cold floor, pleading, but the answer was final.
When she stumbled out of the café, stripped of hope, she didn't know that her greatest enemy—and perhaps her greatest salvation—was already watching her life unravel from the shadows.