THE SPILL

The coffee was scalding hot when it splashed across Juliet's uniform.

She bit back a curse as the brown liquid soaked through her polyester shirt, burning her skin underneath. The customer who'd bumped into her didn't even apologize. He just kept walking, phone pressed to his ear, designer shoes clicking against the cracked tile floor of Quick Bite.

"You okay, Jules?" Rashida called from behind the register.

Juliet grabbed a handful of napkins and dabbed at the stain. It was useless. The coffee had already spread across her chest like a map of her terrible morning. "Yeah. I'm fine."

She wasn't fine. Her alarm hadn't gone off, so she'd missed the early bus. That meant taking two different minibuses to get to work, which ate up money she didn't have. Then her manager had scheduled her for a double shift without asking. Now this.

The lunch rush was starting. People streamed through the doors, all of them in a hurry, none of them seeing her as anything more than the girl who handed them burgers and fries.

Juliet tied her apron tighter and headed back to her station. The smell of grease hung thick in the air. It would cling to her hair and clothes for hours after her shift ended. She was used to it by now.

"Order up for table six," the cook shouted.

She grabbed the tray and wove through the crowded restaurant. Table six was near the window. A man in a rumpled suit sat there, scrolling through his phone. He didn't look up when she set down his food.

"Anything else?" she asked.

He grunted. She took that as a no.

Back at the counter, Rashida was dealing with a woman who insisted her order was wrong. The woman's voice got louder with each sentence. Other customers were starting to stare.

"Ma, I can remake it for you," Rashida said, her customer service smile firmly in place. "It'll just take a few minutes."

"I don't have a few minutes. Do you know who I am?"

Juliet had heard that question at least once a week. Rich people loved asking it, as if their money made them more real than everyone else.

She pulled out her phone during a brief lull. Three missed calls from Nkechi. Her stomach dropped.

Nkechi never called during work hours unless something was wrong.

Juliet stepped into the narrow hallway by the bathrooms and called her sister back. Nkechi picked up on the first ring.

"Jules, thank God. It's Mama."

The world tilted. "What happened?"

"She collapsed this morning. We're at the hospital. They're running tests."

Juliet pressed her back against the wall. The sounds of the restaurant faded into white noise. "Which hospital?"

"General Hospital Lagos. Jules, they're saying we need to pay before they'll do anything else. I don't have enough."

Of course they didn't. Their mother's medication already ate up most of what Juliet earned. An emergency room visit would wipe them out completely.

"How much?" Juliet asked.

Nkechi's voice cracked. "Fifty thousand naira. Just for the initial tests."

Fifty thousand naira. Juliet did the math in her head. Even if she picked up extra shifts, even if she skipped meals for a week, she couldn't come up with that kind of money fast enough.

"I'll figure something out," she said. "Stay with Mama. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She ended the call and stared at her phone screen. Her bank account balance stared back at her: twelve thousand naira. It might as well have been twelve cents.

"Fredrick, break's over," her manager called.

Juliet shoved her phone in her pocket and went back to work. Her hands moved on autopilot. Take orders, deliver food, clear tables, smile. Always smile, even when your world was falling apart.

The afternoon dragged on. Every minute felt like an hour. She couldn't stop thinking about her mother lying in a hospital bed, waiting for tests they couldn't afford.

By four o'clock, the restaurant had emptied out. Just a few stragglers remained, nursing cold sodas and staring at their phones.

Juliet was wiping down tables when the door opened.

She glanced up out of habit and froze.

Three men walked in. No, that wasn't right. Two men walked in. The third one commanded the space like he owned it.

He was tall, easily over six feet, with dark skin and sharp features that looked like they'd been carved from stone. His suit probably cost more than she made in a year. Everything about him screamed money and power.

But it was his eyes that made her breath catch. They were cold. Not cruel, just empty, like he'd seen too much of the world to be impressed by any of it.

The two men with him fanned out, scanning the restaurant with the efficiency of trained security. One of them was built like a wall, muscles straining against his fitted shirt. The other was leaner but moved with the same predatory grace.

The tall man's gaze swept across the room and landed on her.

Juliet felt pinned in place. She'd never been looked at like that before. Like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

Then he looked away, and she could breathe again.

The three men took a corner booth. The one who'd captured her attention pulled out his phone and started typing. His fingers moved with precise, economical movements.

"Jules," Rashida hissed. "That's Ejike Olatunji."

The name meant nothing to her. Juliet raised an eyebrow.

Rashida stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Ejike Olatunji. The tech guy. He's literally the richest man in Africa."

"Oh." Juliet looked at him again. He didn't look like what she'd imagined a zillionaire would look like. No gold chains, no flashy watch. Just quiet, controlled power.

"What's he doing here?" Rashida whispered.

"Same thing as everyone else. Eating."

"Quick Bite? Girl, this man probably has five-star chefs at his house. He doesn't eat at places like this."

But he was here. And someone needed to take his order.

Juliet grabbed her notepad and walked over to their table. The muscular bodyguard watched her approach with the intensity of a hawk tracking a mouse.

"Welcome to Quick Bite," she said, falling into her well-practiced script. "What can I get you?"

Ejike Olatunji looked up from his phone. Up close, he was even more intimidating. There was something predatory about the stillness in his face.

"Coffee," he said. His voice was deep and clipped. "Black."

"And for you?" she asked the bodyguards.

"Same," the muscular one said.

The leaner one just shook his head.

"Three coffees," Juliet confirmed. "Anything else?"

Ejike's eyes flicked over her uniform, lingering for half a second on the coffee stain. Something shifted in his expression, too quick for her to read.

"That's all," he said.

She nodded and headed back to make their order. Her hands shook slightly as she poured the coffee. This was ridiculous. He was just another customer. It didn't matter that he had more money than she could imagine. It didn't matter that looking at him made her skin prickle with awareness.

She needed to focus on her mother, not some rich stranger.

Juliet carried the coffees back to their table. As she set them down, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

"Thank you," Ejike said.

She blinked. Rich people rarely said thank you to service workers. "You're welcome."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"You're injured."

Juliet looked down at the coffee stain. "It's nothing. Just a small accident."

"You should treat burns immediately." He pulled out his wallet and extracted several crisp bills. "For your trouble."

She stared at the money. It was easily ten times what the coffees cost. Pride warred with desperation in her chest.

Her phone buzzed again. Nkechi.

Juliet took the money. "Thank you."

Something flickered in Ejike's eyes. Curiosity, maybe. Or calculation.

She walked away before he could say anything else. Her phone was buzzing constantly now. She stepped into the back room and answered.

"Jules, where are you? They're saying if we don't pay in the next hour, they're going to discharge Mama."

An hour. She had an hour to come up with fifty thousand naira.

"I'm leaving now," Juliet said. She untied her apron with shaking fingers. Her manager would be furious, but she didn't care. Her mother was more important than this job.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the exit. As she passed the corner booth, she felt Ejike's eyes on her again.

Their gazes met for a fraction of a second.

Then she was out the door, into the chaos of Lagos traffic, running toward a future she couldn't afford.

Behind her, in the quiet corner of Quick Bite, Ejike Olatunji watched her go.

"Dami," he said to the muscular bodyguard. "Find out everything about that girl."