"Do you have a death wish?" His voice cut through the rain like a blade. "Don't you ever watch where you're going?"
Mara blinked, water streaming down her face. Something inside her snapped.
"You're the one who almost hit me!" she shouted back, voice cracking. "Maybe learn how to drive your stupid rich-boy car!"
His eyes narrowed, storm-gray and icy. "Get out of the road before you get someone killed."
"Gladly. Wouldn't want to dent your precious bumper with my broke ass."
He stared at her for a beat, jaw tight. Then he reached into his coat, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled something fast. He tore the check free and flicked it at her.
It fluttered against her soaked chest and stuck there.
"Buy yourself some common sense," he said coldly. "Or a cab. I don't care."
Mara looked down.
$10,000.
Rage exploded behind her eyes.
She ripped the check off her shirt, tore it into tiny pieces, and threw the confetti of money at his polished shoes.
"Take your money and shove it up your entitled ass," she hissed. "I'm not a charity case, and I'm definitely not for sale. What kind of person throws cash at someone they almost murdered? What did your parents teach you, 'manners are for poor people'?"
His face went very still. Dangerous-still.
"You'll regret speaking to me like that," he said quietly.
"Good," she spat. "Add it to the list of things I regret tonight."
She turned and stormed off, shoes splashing, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Behind her, he muttered something that sounded a lot like "Fucking insane," then slammed back into his car and roared away.
Mara kept walking, muttering under her breath.
"Arrogant prick. Probably never heard no in his life. Hope he chokes on his platinum card."
By the time she reached her old apartment, it was almost 2 a.m.
Her key still worked. The landlord hadn't changed the locks yet, But the eviction notice was still trapped to her door.
Inside smelled like old pizza and betrayal.
Her stuff was in two trash bags by the door.
Her roommate really had bounced.
She slid down the wall, hugged her knees, and finally let herself cry. Not pretty crying. Ugly, shaking, snot-running crying that tore her throat raw.
Knock knock knock.
"Mara, open the door. I know you're in there."
Lucas.
She wiped her face with her sleeve and opened the door two inches.
He looked like hell. Shirt inside out, hair a mess, lipstick smudged on his collar, Obviously camille's shade.
"Mara, baby…"
"Don't."
"Let me explain…."
"You already did. With your dick."
His jaw tightened. "Look, I messed up. But Camille threw herself at me. I was drunk…."
"Stop."
"I love…"
"You never loved me," she cut in, voice trembling. "You loved that I paid the bills while you 'figured things out.' You loved that I cooked, cleaned, and kept my legs closed because I actually believed in waiting. You hated that I said no."
His mask slipped.
"You think I stayed for your personality?" he sneered. "You were a safe place to land. Uptight little church girl who wouldn't even blow me. I'm a man, Mara. I have needs. At least your sister camille understands that. She's sweet, she's fun, she actually enjoys sex…"
Every word was a knife.
"....and she doesn't make me feel like a pervert for wanting it."
Mara's voice shook. "Get out."
"Good luck finding someone who'll settle for your little virgin act," he threw over his shoulder as he walked away. "You're gonna die alone with your legs shut tight."
The door slammed.
She slid down it and cried until there was nothing left.
Camille had always been like this.
Even when they were kids, she'd take Mara's toys, her friends, her birthday spotlight, then cry to their parents when mara dared complain.
Camille always mocked her for still being a virgin at her age, and that no one wanted her.
When Mara started dating Lucas, Camille waited exactly six months before sliding into his DMs.
Mara never saw it coming.
She didn't know when she fell asleep curled against the door, mascara streaked down her cheeks, still wearing her wet clothes.
The next morning, Mara woke up on the floor, cheek stuck to the door, mascara crusted like war paint.
Her phone alarm screamed 6:45 a.m.
Shift at Luxe Grill started at 8:00.
Today was supposed to be her day off, but Jenny had begged her to cover.
Double pay. She needed it.
She peeled herself off the hardwood, legs numb, mouth tasting like metal and regret.
The mirror showed a stranger: swollen eyes, hair matted, lips bitten raw.
She showered in cold water because the hot was gone.
Put on the same black skirt and white blouse she'd worn yesterday.
The blouse still smelled faintly of Lucas's cologne and Camille's perfume.
She nearly threw up.
On the subway she stood the whole way, clutching the pole, staring at nothing.
Luxe Grill was already busy when she clocked in at 7:58.
The manager, Greg, gave her one look and sneered.
"Rough night, princess?"
She ignored him, tied her apron, and started refilling salt shakers.
Table 12 complained their eggs were cold.
Table 8 sent back the pancakes twice.
Table 5 left a $2 tip on a $180 bill and wrote "learn to smile" on the receipt.
At 10:17 a.m. the breakfast rush died.
Greg called her to the back office.
"Close the door."
Mara's stomach dropped.
He didn't sit. Just crossed his arms.
"Yesterday you spilled iced tea on a $3,000 suit. Customer posted the video online. Has 1.2 million views. Caption says 'Luxe Grill hires clumsy trash.' Corporate is breathing down my neck."
"I said I was sor—"
"You're done."
He slid her final paycheck across the desk.
"Tips minus the dry-cleaning bill the customer demanded. Which is everything you earned this week."
She stared at the check: $41.89.
"That's it?"
"That's it. Don't come back."
He opened the door, waited.
Mara walked out the back exit into the alley that smelled like grease and garbage.
She stood there for ten minutes, rain starting again, light and cruel.
Fired.
Again.
She had $32.17 in the bank yesterday.
Now she had $74.06 total to her name and no job.
She started walking.
Didn't know where.
She ended up in a tiny bodega café, bought the cheapest coffee with the last cash in her purse, and sat at the window table staring at nothing.
Her phone was on 4 %.
She opened it anyway, scrolled through job listings she'd already applied to weeks ago.
Rejections. Rejections. Radio silence.
She opened her banking app just to punish herself.
Balance: $32.17
Today's deposit from Luxe Grill: +$41.89
New balance: $74.06
She laughed. It sounded like crying.
She was still staring at the pathetic numbers when a notification banner slid down.
Unknown number.
Email preview.
Subject: INTERVIEW RESCHEDULE – VALE INDUSTRIES – TODAY 2:00 P.M.
Her heart actually stopped.
She clicked it with shaking fingers.
Dear Miss Whitlock,
Due to an immediate opening, your interview has been rescheduled to be moved today, 14:00.
Please report to the 62nd floor. Do not be late.
She rubbed her eyes and read it four times.
She looked at the time: 11:48 a.m.
She was still wearing yesterday's uniform, hair frizzing in the humidity, eyes swollen, smelling like fryer oil.
She had three hours to get across town, look human.
She stood up so fast the chair screeched.
The barista looked over. "You okay?"
Mara laughed, real this time, wild and disbelieving.
"I just got fired… and offered the only job that might save me".
She wrestled her hair into a low bun, grabbed her bag,left the coffee half-drunk and sprinted.
By the time she reached the towering glass building of Vale Industries, she was panting, her hair escaping in frizzy strands, heart racing.
She rushed through the revolving doors, head down, phone in hand….
And crashed straight into a wall of muscle.
Her bag slid down her arm. Papers fluttered.
"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered.
The man she collided with lowered his sunglasses slowly, revealing the same infuriatingly perfect face from last night.
He smirked. "Good morning to you too."
Mara glared. "You again!.....Last night you almost…."
"Almost ran you over, yes," he finished, voice silk over steel. "But you walked into me this time, sweetheart."
"I wouldn't have if you weren't blocking the damn walkway like some overpriced statue."
His eyes gleamed. "Stalking me now?"
"Please. I'm here for an interview, Not that it's any of your business"
"Is that so?" He tilted his head, amusement sharpening into something darker. "Oh, trust me, it very much is my business."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the elevators with mock gallantry.
Mara stormed past him, cheeks burning.
She reached HR exactly one minute before her name was called, answered every question without letting her voice crack, and walked out thirty minutes later in a daze.
The hiring manager smiled. "Congratulations, Miss Whitlock. You got the job. Personal assistant to Mr. Vale himself. You start tomorrow."
Mara floated out on pure adrenaline.
And then she saw him.
Leaning against the glass railing on the executive floor above, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk that had already decided where to strike.
Their eyes locked across the atrium.
His sm
irk deepened.
She frowned.
What was he even doing up there?
Why did he look so damn satisfied?
Anyway she she shook it off and strode off happily.