Although Ben had promised he would get the money ready by the next day, Adrian didn't return home immediately. Instead, he decided to take a walk. Going home now would only make things worse—Maria and Jenna would grow tense, quiet, watching his every move like he might snap again.
It was going to take a long time before they could trust him enough to look at him without fear. For now, that was nothing but wishful thinking.
He walked aimlessly through the narrow streets of the district. The area was small but busy, street vendors shouting prices, old signboards flickering weakly in the sunlight, buildings leaning tiredly against one another like drunks after a long night.
That was when he saw it.
A faded sign hung crookedly on a cracked concrete wall:
SHOP FOR SALE – CALL THIS NUMBER.
The paint had peeled off so much that the words were barely readable. The shop itself was wedged between two stalls—one selling spare phone parts, the other a rundown laundry shop. The walls were discolored, chipped, and swollen from years of neglect. The roof looked like it could cave in at any moment.
Through the dusty glass door, Adrian could see a flickering lightbulb and a few employees inside, slumped in silence. The counter was stained, the sink rusted and dripping. Shelves were half-empty, stocked with expired goods and dusty bottles. It was clear the place was dying.
Yet despite its ruin, people still worked there. A man sat by the register dozing. A young girl wiped the counter with a rag that looked dirtier than the table itself. Their faces carried the same expression, exhaustion mixed with quiet hopelessness.
From the looks of it, the business was bleeding out plenty of dollars every single day. And whoever owned it had finally given up hope.
Bad luck, Adrian thought. That's what people would call it.
But he didn't believe in luck anymore.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the cracked window and faded lettering. It was ugly.
He took out his phone and saved the number written on the wall.
"Not bad," he murmured under his breath. "This could work."
Somewhere deep down, a spark flickered to life.
The same spark that had once built empires before everything fell apart.
Tomorrow, when he got the loan from Ben, this would be the first step.
His rebirth would begin right here—
in a crumbling little shop everyone else thought was cursed.
With that, he returned home at exactly 7 p.m. Maria stared at him blankly before turning wordlessly toward the kitchen. A few minutes later, she set a plate on the table, spaghetti and beef stew, his favorite.
Despite everything he had put her through, she'd still made his favorite meal. Still cared enough to remember.
Adrian's throat tightened. For a second, he almost teared up, but he forced himself to stay composed.
"Thank you so much, dear," he said softly, managing a small, almost boyish smile.
Maria didn't reply. She just stepped back, arms folded, and watched him from a distance.
Adrian began to eat, savoring every bite. The warmth of the stew, the rich tomato flavor. He couldn't help but release a groan of satisfaction which of course wasn't loud enough for Maria to hear.
He was halfway through the meal when his stomach twisted sharply. He paused, frowning. Maybe he'd eaten too fast. Then came a strange tightness in his chest, followed by a burning itch crawling up his neck.
He set the fork down, trying to breathe, but the air seemed to thicken. His vision blurred, spots forming around the edges. His hands began to tremble.
"Maria…" he croaked, clutching at his throat. Red blotches were already spreading across his skin.
She turned sharply, eyes widening.
"Adrian? What's wrong?"
He couldn't answer. His tongue felt heavy, his chest constricting as he staggered backward, knocking over the chair. The plate shattered on the floor, sauce splattering across the tiles.
Maria rushed to him just as his knees gave out, his body hitting the ground hard.
"Adrian!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
.