The alarm buzzed shrilly in the tiny room, a sound that echoed against cracked walls and a ceiling stained yellow from years of rain seeping through. Kasmine groaned, dragging her arm out from beneath the thin, threadbare blanket. The quilt had once been white, but now it was faded and patched so many times it was more stitches than cloth. She slapped at the alarm clock until it fell silent.
For a few seconds, she simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of another day press down on her chest. The same ceiling. The same smell of damp wood. The same endless heaviness.
Her grandmother coughed from the adjoining room, the sound harsh and rattling. That was all it took for Kasmine to swing her legs out of bed, ignoring the chill of the concrete floor. She padded over to peek in.
"Grandma?" Her voice was soft, hesitant.
The frail woman was sitting upright, her gray hair wild around her face. She waved her hand weakly. "I'm fine, child. Just the morning air."
Kasmine forced a smile, though her chest tightened. Her grandmother always said that, no matter how bad the cough sounded. She didn't believe it anymore, but what else could they do? A doctor's visit cost more than Kasmine made in two weeks at the café.
She pulled on her faded jeans and plain white shirt, tying her long, dark hair into a quick ponytail. She didn't own makeup, didn't have the time or money for luxuries. In the cracked mirror by the doorway, her reflection stared back—eyes too large for her thin face, lips pressed together in determination. Nineteen years old, but she felt decades older.
After a hurried breakfast of plain bread and tea that barely had flavor, Kasmine stepped out into the world. The air smelled faintly of fried food and smoke drifting from the roadside stalls that had already opened. Her shoes—scuffed sneakers—slapped against the dusty pavement as she walked toward the bus stop.
The café wasn't far, but every step felt like a reminder. Her life was measured by routines: wake up, work, come home, sleep. Repeat. No space for dreams.
By the time she arrived, the café's glass windows gleamed under the morning sun, mocking her. Inside, it was warm and fragrant, filled with the aroma of coffee beans. Customers laughed, their clothes neat and expensive, their eyes sliding over her like she was invisible.
"Kasmine, you're late again," the manager barked as soon as she slipped in through the back door. He was a round man with sweat stains already spreading under his arms.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, bowing her head. She wasn't late. She was five minutes early. But arguing would only make things worse.
She tied on her apron and rushed to take orders.
"Two cappuccinos and a slice of strawberry cake," a woman with glossy hair said, not even glancing at Kasmine as she handed over a gold credit card.
"Yes, ma'am," Kasmine replied, forcing her voice to stay polite.
As she moved between tables, balancing trays, she caught fragments of conversation. Students complaining about exams, office workers talking about vacations, lovers whispering and laughing together. They lived in a world far from hers, a world she couldn't touch.
By noon, her feet ached and her hands stung from hot cups and spilled coffee. The manager snapped at her again for moving too slowly. A group of teenagers giggled behind their hands, pointing at her patched uniform. She lowered her head, swallowing the humiliation.
When the lunch rush eased, she ducked into the corner for a quick sip of water. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the screen cracked across the middle. A message from her grandmother: Don't forget to bring medicine on your way back.
Her throat tightened. Medicine. Of course. She scrolled quickly through her balance. The number blinking at her was pitiful—barely enough for rent, let alone pills.
Kasmine shoved the phone back into her pocket, her eyes stinging. She couldn't cry here. Not in front of everyone. She straightened, plastered on the same fake smile, and returned to the floor.
But inside, her heart whispered the same question it did every day: Why does life have to be this cruel?
When evening came, the café lights softened to a golden glow. Customers lingered, sipping lattes and laughing, while Kasmine cleaned tables, the rag in her hand damp and cold. Her arms ached. Her legs trembled. And yet, she worked. Because she had no choice.
By the time she finally removed her apron, the city outside had already turned dark. Neon lights flashed on tall buildings, cars rushed past, horns blaring. She walked toward the bus stop again, clutching the small envelope with her pay for the day. Not even enough. Never enough.
She thought of her grandmother's cough. Of the empty medicine bottles on the shelf. Of her own stomach, grumbling from skipping dinner.
Her fingers tightened around the envelope until it crumpled.
"Hate my life…" she whispered into the night. No one heard. No one cared.
And tomorrow, it would start all over again.
The bus ride home was long and crowded. Kasmine stood wedged between a man in a rumpled suit and a woman carrying grocery bags that smelled of onions. Her fingers clutched the rail, her body swaying with every jolt of the bus. She stared out the window, watching the bright parts of the city blur past—the malls with glowing signs, restaurants full of laughter, sleek cars sliding through traffic.
That life felt like a distant planet, unreachable for someone like her.
By the time she finally stepped off, the neighborhood was quieter. Streetlights flickered weakly, casting pale shadows over cracked sidewalks. A stray dog nosed through a pile of trash. The air was damp, smelling faintly of mildew and rust. This was home.
Kasmine's pace quickened. Her grandmother worried whenever she was late, though she never said so aloud. The small one-room house came into view, its wooden door hanging crooked on rusted hinges. Warm yellow light spilled out through the cracks.
Inside, her grandmother was waiting at the table, a blanket draped over her shoulders. A weak smile lit her wrinkled face. "You're back."
Kasmine forced cheer into her voice. "Yes, Grandma. How are you feeling today?"
Her grandmother coughed, covering her mouth with a handkerchief. The sound was harsher than in the morning, scraping like broken glass. "Better. Don't worry."
But when she lowered the cloth, there was a faint stain of red. Kasmine's eyes widened, but her grandmother quickly folded the handkerchief away. "It's nothing."
Nothing. The word stabbed into Kasmine's chest. She set her bag down and went to boil water for tea, hiding her trembling hands.
Dinner was meager—rice with a thin vegetable soup. Her grandmother insisted on giving Kasmine the larger portion, but Kasmine pushed it back, pretending she wasn't hungry. They ate in silence, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock.
Afterward, Kasmine spread her small earnings on the table. Crumpled bills, coins that clinked as she counted. Not enough for rent, food, and medicine all together. Something had to be sacrificed.
Her grandmother's eyes softened when she noticed. "Child, don't tire yourself so much. I've lived a long life. You should think about yourself too."
Kasmine shook her head fiercely. "No, Grandma. You're all I have. I'll take care of you no matter what."
Her grandmother's hand, fragile and bony, reached across the table to rest on hers. "You're still so young, Kasmine. You should be out studying, making friends, enjoying life. Not working yourself to the bone for me."
The words brought a lump to her throat. She looked away, blinking hard. "That kind of life isn't for me. Not anymore."
When her grandmother went to bed, Kasmine stayed up, sitting by the small lamp. The bills stared back at her, accusing. She picked up her phone and scrolled through job postings—temporary cleaning work, night shifts at convenience stores, dishwashing. All paid scraps, barely more than what she already earned.
Her fingers hovered over one listing: Hostess wanted. High pay, no experience required. She bit her lip, her stomach twisting. She knew what that meant. Fast money, but dirty. A path she didn't want to step onto.
With a frustrated sigh, she tossed the phone aside and buried her face in her hands. She hated this. Hated the feeling of being cornered with no way out.
Outside, the rain started, pattering softly on the roof. Drops leaked through the old wood, landing in a metal basin Kasmine had placed weeks ago. The rhythmic plink, plink echoed through the night.
She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the damp floor. Every sound of her grandmother coughing through the thin wall was another weight pressing on her chest.
Tomorrow, it would all repeat. Wake up, work, count pennies, worry. A cycle that left no space for light.
Lying down on her narrow bed later, she stared into the darkness. Her body was exhausted, but her mind refused to rest. She thought of her classmates from high school—the ones who had gone to college, who posted pictures online of dorm rooms, parties, books, laughter. She used to dream of that, too. Of wearing neat uniforms, of sitting in bright classrooms.
Instead, here she was, trapped in a cage built of poverty and duty.
She turned on her side, pulling the thin blanket to her chin.
Maybe… maybe this is just my fate.
Her chest tightened at the thought, but she closed her eyes, pretending to believe it. Pretending to accept. Because what else could she do?
The rain outside grew heavier, a steady drumbeat. Kasmine drifted into uneasy sleep, unaware that fate was already preparing to twist her path in ways she couldn't imagine.
The morning came too soon.
Kasmine's body felt like lead as she dragged herself out of bed, her eyes swollen from another restless night. She had barely slept—her grandmother's coughing, the sound of rain dripping through the roof, the relentless worries gnawing at her chest. She splashed cold water on her face, hoping to chase away the dull ache in her head. It didn't work.
By the time she arrived at the café, the sun was already high. Today, the atmosphere was different. The manager was fussing over every detail—the polished counter, the arrangement of pastries, the spotless tables. Even the staff uniforms had been freshly pressed.
"VIP guest today," one of her coworkers whispered, wide-eyed. "Someone really important."
Kasmine nodded but said nothing. Important people didn't matter to her. Whoever it was, they'd sip their coffee, conduct their business, and walk out without ever remembering her face.
The bell above the door chimed, and a hush fell over the café. Heads turned.
He walked in.
Bryce Stone.
Tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him radiating power. His suit was pristine white, tailored so perfectly it seemed woven onto his frame. The fabric shimmered faintly under the café's lights, whispering of luxury and wealth. His dark hair was sleek, his jaw sharp, his expression calm yet commanding.
Kasmine froze for a moment, her breath catching. He wasn't just handsome—he was untouchable. The kind of man who belonged in glass towers and boardrooms, not in her shabby little world.
Beside him walked a woman. Elegant, beautiful, dressed in designer heels and a fitted dress that hugged her curves. Her lips curved into a smile that was all sugar and steel as she leaned closer to Bryce, her hand brushing his arm.
The manager rushed forward, bowing and ushering them to the private section at the back. "Mr. Stone, this way, please. We've reserved the best spot for you."
Mr. Stone. The name rang in Kasmine's mind. She'd heard of him—Bryce Stone, the CEO of Stone Enterprises, one of the most powerful men in the city. His face was often in magazines, his name whispered with awe.
And now he was here.
"Kasmine!" The manager's voice snapped her back. "You, serve Mr. Stone's table. And don't make any mistakes, do you hear me?"
Her stomach clenched. Out of all the staff, why her? She wiped her damp palms on her apron, smoothed her hair, and carried the tray of tea to the private corner.
Bryce sat there, his posture regal yet relaxed, listening intently as the woman beside him spoke in a low, sultry tone. Papers lay spread on the table, the glint of a gold pen resting atop them. His eyes, cool and unreadable, flickered up as Kasmine approached. For the briefest second, their gazes met.
Her heart stuttered.
She set the tray down, trying to steady her trembling hands. But the exhaustion from sleepless nights pressed down on her. Her vision swam, her grip faltered—and the cup tipped.
Hot tea splashed across the immaculate white suit.
Time stopped.
The golden liquid spread across the fabric, darkening it instantly. Gasps rose from nearby staff. Kasmine's blood drained from her face.
"I— I'm so sorry!" she stammered, grabbing napkins, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "I didn't mean—"
The woman beside Bryce shot to her feet, fury flashing in her eyes. "You clumsy little thing! Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her manicured hand lashed out, striking Kasmine's cheek with a sharp crack.
Kasmine staggered back, heat burning her skin. She bowed her head quickly, whispering apologies, shame flooding her.
"This suit—" the woman sneered, her voice rising, "is worth three billion! You've ruined it! Do you think a girl like you could ever repay that?"
Before Kasmine could answer, another slap landed. Then another. Three in total, each one harder than the last, each one shoving her deeper into humiliation. Her vision blurred with tears she fought desperately to hold back.
But Bryce hadn't moved. He simply sat there, watching. His eyes were unreadable, deep pools of something she couldn't name.
Finally, as the woman raised her hand again, Bryce's voice cut through the air. Calm. Low. Dangerous.
"That's enough."
The woman froze, her arm dropping. "But Bryce—"
"I said enough." His gaze flicked to her, sharp as a blade, then softened almost imperceptibly as it settled on Kasmine.
Her breath hitched.
He rose slowly, unbuttoning his jacket with measured grace. Even stained, the suit seemed to cling to his aura of power. He looked down at her, his voice steady. "You'll work for me from now on."
Kasmine blinked, stunned. "W-What?"
"You can't pay back this suit," he said simply. "But you can repay me in other ways.starting immediately."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She was too shocked, too overwhelmed.
The woman beside him bristled. "Bryce! You can't be serious. She's—she's nothing! A waitress!"
His gaze didn't waver. "She'll work for me."
Something flickered in his eyes then—something Kasmine couldn't place. Not anger. Not indifference. Something gentler, buried deep beneath the cold CEO façade.
The world spun around her. Her cheek stung, her heart raced, her body trembled from exhaustion and fear. His words echoed in her ears, blurring into a haze.
"You'll work for me…"
The last thing she remembered was his figure standing tall above her, his white suit glowing under the café lights, his expression unreadable yet strangely protective. Then darkness closed in as her knees gave way.
She fainted.
And he cought her
And though she didn't know it yet, her life had just changed forever.