What hope Costs..

CHAPTER 7 

Lexi's POV 

I stared at the notebook in front of me—the cheap spiral one I kept stashed beneath the microwave, hidden away from Aria's prying eyes. The numbers on the page seemed to mock me.

$13,420.

That’s what we had saved in three years.

Three years of side gigs, back-to-back shifts, missed birthdays, and sleepless nights. Three years of Aria quietly selling her paintings when her body didn’t betray her and of me tucking away tips like coins in a wishing well.

And what did we need?

$446,000. And counting, in twenty days. That didn’t even include the lifelong medication, follow-ups, or the possibility of something going wrong, God forbid.

I dropped my pen and pressed my palms to my face. Breathing through the pressure in my chest didn’t help. Nothing helped.

I pushed the notebook away as if it had insulted me. The worst part? I didn’t even have the luxury of a breakdown. Not when I had work. Not when Aria was still asleep in the next room. Not when the world kept moving, with or without me.

The kettle shrieked on the stove, as if it sensed my unraveling. I moved on autopilot, pouring water into two chipped mugs and adding sugar to one of them without thinking—just muscle memory. I didn’t even hear her walk in until she spoke.

“Wow. Two mugs? I didn’t realize we were inviting the ghost of stress to breakfast,” Aria teased, her voice light as she hopped onto the counter like she wasn’t recovering from near organ failure.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes and forced a smile as I handed her the sugared mug.

“Just staying hydrated,” I lied.

She didn’t press me, but she didn’t need to. She sipped her drink and tilted her head. “You didn’t sleep.”

I shot her a look. “Neither did you.”

She shrugged. “I have an excuse. I’m literally dying.”

I groaned. “Aria.”

“What? I can’t waste time being dramatic if I’m already dramatic by diagnosis.” Her grin was mischievous, but I saw the shadows beneath her eyes, the weight on her shoulders.

I took a long sip from my mug to keep from falling apart.

She leaned over, nudging my leg with her foot. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe me for a second. “Is it the money?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

I let the silence speak for me.

She didn’t push. She just sipped her coffee again and smiled like it was her job to keep my heart from shattering. “Well, lucky for you,” she said, stretching out the words, “you’re secretly dating a billionaire.”

I groaned. “Can we not?”

“‘Mystery Latina Tames the Ice King,’ remember? I’m telling you, this is better than cable. They think you’re out here whispering Spanish in his ear and melting his frozen heart one glance at a time.”

“Gross. Why are you like this?”

“Because I love you,” she said simply. “And also because if you are secretly dating Brandon Wilson, I feel like I deserve at least a 10% cut for moral support.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’d rather wrestle a crocodile.”

“Eh, same energy.”

She hopped off the counter and kissed the top of my head before grabbing her sketchbook from the table. “Don’t forget ‘I love you.’ And don’t let the stares get to you.”

“I love you too, and I won’t.”

“And if Brandon shows up again—”

“He won’t.”

“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before their engagement gets leaked.”

“Aria!”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

She shuffled off, humming to herself, and I just stood there—coffee going cold, notebook still open, hope slipping through my fingers like steam.

**Later That Day at Work**

The stares were getting harder to ignore.

A couple at table three kept glancing my way, whispering behind their menus. Someone at the espresso machine tried to sneak a photo. Dan had already told off two customers for asking if I gave out autographs with their muffins.

I was bone-deep tired of being looked at like I was some walking headline.

Dan slid me a croissant mid-shift. “You look like a girl on the brink.”

“I am a girl on the brink,” I muttered.

He didn’t press further.

Later on, I was wiping down a tray at the service bar when the door opened—and he walked in as if the universe had decided to make my day worse on purpose. He was perfectly put together, like he had been carved from spite and dressed in Armani.

Brandon. Freaking. Wilson.

I froze.

He looked up, and our eyes locked.

Not angry. Not annoyed.

Calculated.

It was as if I was already part of some plan.

Impossibly tall, sharp in black, his eyes were as unreadable as they were infuriating.

Frozen there, cloth in hand, I watched him cross the café like he belonged there. People turned, some whispered. Dan blinked in disbelief.

“Is that—”

“Don’t,” I warned him quietly.

Brandon’s eyes didn't start from mine, cold and focused.

And in that moment, I knew something was coming.

Not a lawsuit. Not an apology.

Because men like him don’t show up for nothing.

He didn’t belong here.

Not with our sticky menus, our too-loud espresso machine, and our tiny square napkins that folded like regrets. Not with his sharp jawline and a suit probably worth more than my annual rent.

Brandon Wilson, billionaire ice prince, business mogul, was standing five feet from the cinnamon rolls.

My jaw clenched as he scanned the café like it was beneath him—which, to be fair, it probably was.

I could feel everyone watching. Dan was frozen in place behind the espresso machine, eyebrows basically in orbit. The girl at table five was full-on recording.

Of course, she was.

I turned my back quickly, retreating behind the counter and pretending to check a receipt I couldn’t even read. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Did the universe really hate me that much?

My hands trembled slightly. I took a deep breath.

Get it together, Lexi.

When I looked up again, he was walking toward me.

No. Nope. This wasn’t happening.

I moved around the counter fast and met him halfway. “No,” I said firmly, holding up both hands like I was stopping a wild animal. “Absolutely not. You need to leave.”

His face didn’t move. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Whatever this is, whatever you’re doing, I don’t have time for it. You can’t just show up at my workplace like it’s your private boardroom.”

“I wasn’t aware you owned the building.”

“You might as well think you own the city at this point,” I muttered.

He tilted his head slightly. “And what makes you think I’m here for you?”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He raised a brow, completely unreadable. “This is a coffee shop, isn’t it? Maybe I just wanted coffee.”

I actually laughed. “Right. Because someone like you—who probably has his own imported Colombian blend at home—woke up this morning and decided to come slumming for burnt lattes and stale croissants.”

His eyes glinted faintly. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” I hissed. “You’re trending. I’m trending. And I have a job I can’t afford to lose, thanks to a whole world that thinks I’m your secret girlfriend. And now you’re here? You’re going to get me fired.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then leave.”

“No.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice to a whisper-shout. “Please. Just go. I don’t know what you want, and I don’t care. But if my manager sees you here, he’s going to think something’s going on, and I can’t afford any more drama. Please.”

He paused for a second, long enough to study my face.

His voice was softer now. Still unreadable. “I won’t take long. I just need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Well,” he said calmly, “you might want to listen.” 

I looked around frantically. Dan was pretending not to watch, but he was watching. Everyone was. My boss hadn’t come out of his office yet, but if he saw Brandon Wilson here talking to me again, I would be toast.

“Brandon,” I whispered, my voice sharp but low, “whatever this is, whatever you think you need to say, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t.”

“Are you kidding me?” I stepped in closer, eyes narrowed. “You have every other place in New York to play out your billionaire problems. Why are you here?”

His voice was maddeningly calm. “Because I wanted to speak to you privately.”

“In a public café? During my shift?”

He shrugged, like the logic made perfect sense.

“Do you enjoy ruining my life, or is it just a hobby?”

He blinked once. “That’s dramatic.”

I laughed bitterly. “You know what’s dramatic? Walking into someone’s workplace with your tailored coat and your silent entitlement like you’re doing me a favor by showing up.”

“I’m not here to fight with you.”

“Then leave.”

He didn’t move. “I’ll wait outside.”

“You can’t wait outside! You being here at all is a disaster.”

“I’m not leaving until we talk.”

I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. “Why can’t the universe give me one normal day? Just one! First the pictures, then the comments, then my boss threatening to fire me, and now—now you?”

I turned away, pressing my hand to my forehead, willing myself not to scream.

Then, softer, to myself, “I just needed one damn break.”

He didn’t say anything.

I took a breath and turned back to him, crossing my arms. “What do you want, Brandon?”

His grey eyes were steady. “Two minutes. Somewhere quiet. That’s all I’m asking.”

“And if I say no?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day.”

I stared at him, heart pounding, head throbbing.

He was serious.

I stared at him for a long moment.

This man. This arrogant, immovable mountain of a man.

He wasn’t bluffing. He would come back. And each time he did, it would get harder to explain to my boss, harder to hide from the whispering customers, and harder to protect what little normalcy I had left.

I sighed. “Two minutes. That’s it.”

He nodded once. “Fine.”

I untied my apron, grabbed my coat from the hook, and ignored the way Dan raised his eyebrows at me from the bar. I’d explain later. Maybe. Probably not.

Outside, the air was sharp and cool, a nice slap to the face after the heat inside. I folded my arms tightly as we walked to a side alley near the café, away from the windows. I didn’t like how isolated it felt, but at least no one could hear us here.

Still, I kept glancing around.

“People are going to think this is all true,” I muttered bitterly. “The rumors, the headlines, the pictures. They’ll think we’re actually together.”

Brandon leaned against the brick wall casually, unbothered, his eyes catching mine.

“So why don’t we let them?”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch.

He meant it.

My stomach twisted. “¿Estás loco?” I hissed. (Are you insane?)

He said nothing.

But the silence… The silence said everything.