CHAPTER ONE - THE SPILL

“Amara, the man at table three is glaring again. Go charm him before he complains,” her manager hissed from behind the counter, shoving a tray into her hands.

“Charm him? I’m not a magician, Mrs. Kent. If he wants miracles, he should pray, not order coffee,” Amara muttered, straightening her apron. The tray wobbled in her grip, a reflection of the fatigue etched into her bones.

She turned, and her eyes locked on the stranger in the corner. He sat impeccably straight, suit pressed like it had never known a wrinkle, his expression sharp enough to cut glass. His watch gleamed under the café lights, probably worth more than her entire year’s rent.

And he was glaring at her.

Amara swallowed the instinctive roll of her eyes and walked toward him. Another entitled man in an expensive suit. Another evening of swallowing her pride to keep her job. She pasted on the thinnest version of a smile.

“Your order, sir.”

He barely looked at her as she set the cup on the table. His voice was deep, calm, and utterly unimpressed. “This is late.”

Amara blinked. “It’s two minutes, not two years.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. Steel-gray eyes, cold as winter rain. The kind that made people flinch. But Amara wasn’t in the mood to flinch tonight. Her mother’s medicine was due, Clara’s tuition deadline was tomorrow, and her feet ached from a double shift.

“I don’t pay for late service,” he said smoothly.

“You don’t pay for service at all,” she shot back before she could stop herself. “You pay for coffee.”

For a second, something flickered across his face - surprise, maybe, or the shadow of a smile - but it vanished as quickly as it came. He leaned back in his chair, studying her the way one might study an insect. Amara’s cheeks warmed, though she lifted her chin higher, refusing to back down.

“Name,” he demanded.

Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Your name. Unless you’d like me to continue referring to you as… coffee girl.”

Her fists clenched around the tray, but she forced her tone even. “Amara. Amara Blake.”

“Amara,” he repeated slowly, as though testing the sound of it. His gaze lingered a beat too long before he looked away, dismissing her with a flick of his hand. “That’ll be all.”

The dismissal stung more than it should have. She wanted to retort, to throw the coffee in his smug face, but she bit her tongue. Rent first, revenge later. She turned on her heel and marched back to the counter, muttering under her breath.

Mrs. Kent raised her brows. “Well? Did you charm him?”

“If by charm you mean resist the urge to drown him in espresso, then yes.”

Her manager groaned. “Amara, for heaven’s sake - don’t get yourself fired. Not again.”

Amara didn’t answer. She couldn’t afford to be fired again. Not with her family depending on her.

When she glanced back at the corner table, the man was gone. Only an untouched cup of coffee remained, steam curling faintly into the air. For reasons she couldn’t name, the sight left her unsettled.

By the time she trudged home, the city had grown quiet, its neon signs buzzing lazily against the night sky. Their apartment smelled faintly of disinfectant and boiled rice. Clara, her eighteen-year-old sister, was hunched over textbooks at the kitchen table.

“You’re late,” Clara said without looking up.

“You’re welcome for keeping the lights on,” Amara replied, dropping her bag with a sigh.

Clara smirked faintly, but her eyes softened when she saw Amara’s slumped shoulders. “Bad night?”

“Bad customer,” Amara corrected. She slumped into a chair. “The kind who thinks the world owes him a throne and a crown.”

Clara giggled. “Maybe he’s just lonely.”

Amara rolled her eyes. “If he’s lonely, he can buy a dog. Preferably one with less attitude.”

Their laughter faded when their mother coughed from the bedroom. The sound was harsh, rattling, a reminder of the pills Amara still hadn’t picked up from the pharmacy. Her stomach tightened. Tomorrow she’d find a way. She always did.

But as she lay awake hours later, the image of steel-gray eyes lingered in her mind, uninvited and unwanted. She hated that she remembered them at all.

Somehow, she had the strangest feeling their paths hadn’t truly crossed yet - that tonight had only been the beginning.