Chapter 2

The man, Gabriel, though I didn't know his name yet didn't look at his phone. He didn't pull out a laptop or a briefcase.

He just sat there, his large hands wrapped around the thick cup of coffee I’d just poured.

He looked at the steam rising from the cup as if it held a secret I didn't know, or at least a way to forget whatever was weighing him down.

I should have moved away. I had salt shakers to fill and napkins to fold, but my feet remained glued to the floor behind the counter.

The man had this energy about him. It was strong. It felt expensive. This energy made everything in the diner seem dull and unimportant. He stood out in a way that you will not help but notice him.

"You’re staring," he said. He didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth went up a little bit.

It wasn't a mean comment; it was an observation.

"I’m waiting for the coffee to kick in," I shot back.

"I need to make sure I don't have to call an ambulance for you. I’m too tired for the paperwork."

Finally, he lifted his head. Up close, those blue eyes were even more intense. They weren't just blue. They were the color of the sky.

He looked at me not like I was a girl serving him coffee, but like I was a person.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me like that. Not as a sister who owed them money, or a waitress who was late with an order. Just Lyra.

"Trust me," he said, "It would take more than bad coffee to finish me off tonight. I’ve just spent twelve hours in a boardroom with people who have teeth like sharks. This is actually the most peaceful part of my day."

"Rich people problems?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

I knew I was being bold, maybe even rude, but after the morning I’d had with Katherine, I didn't have any 'polite' left in me.

He let out a short, dry laugh. It was a beautiful sound "You could say that. Though, money doesn't make the sharks any less hungry. It just makes the blood more expensive."

I leaned against the back counter, crossing my arms. "Must be nice. Having blood that's worth something."

His gaze sharpened. The boredom I’d seen earlier was gone, replaced by a deep, burning curiosity. "And what is your blood worth, Lyra?"

He read my name tag. The way my name sounded coming out of his mouth, low, smooth, and really nice. It gave me a feeling like a little chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

It was not because the room was cold. It was the way my name sounded when he said it.

"Tonight? It feels like it’s worth about twelve dollars an hour plus whatever change people leave under their plates," I said. "And most of that is already gone before I even earn it."

He didn't offer pity. I liked him for that. He just nodded slowly. "The cycle. You work to live, and you live to work, and you wonder when the 'living' part is actually supposed to start."

"Exactly," I whispered.

For the next hour, the world outside the diner ceased to exist. The rain turned into a downpour, drumming against the roof.

I stopped pretending to work, and he stopped pretending he was just there for the coffee.

He told me he’d just closed a deal that would put his name on another skyscraper, but he said it with as much excitement as someone describing a grocery list. He mentioned a divorce, a "public one," he called it.

Where the woman he thought he loved had tried to take not just his money, but his dignity.

I told him about the weight of being the only one left. I didn't mention Katherine’s name, or the school, but I talked about the suffocating feeling of having every door slammed in your face while you’re trying to hold the walls up for someone else.

"You're a fighter," he said, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. "I can see it. Most people would have cracked by now. You just... harden. Like a diamond."

"Diamonds are expensive," I joked, though my heart was beating fast again.

"I’m more like concrete. Dull, grey, and people walk all over me."

"Concrete is what we build cities out of," he countered. "It’s the only thing that lasts."

He stood up then, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet and laid a hundred dollar bill on the counter. The coffee was two dollars.

"Keep it," he said.

"I can't take this," I said, reaching for the bill to give it back.

His hand caught mine. His skin was warm, his grip firm but gentle. The contact felt like a physical shock. I forgot how to breathe.

I forgot about the debt and the sister who hated me. I just felt the heat of him.

"Take it, Lyra. It’s not a tip. It’s a thank you for being the only real thing I’ve seen in three years."

He started to walk toward the door, his long coat swishing behind him.

I watched him, my mind screaming at me to let him go. This was a billionaire. A man from a different planet.

Tomorrow, I’d be back here scrubbing floors, and he’d be in a helicopter.

But then I thought of Katherine’s sneer. ‘Pathetic. Just a common waitress.’

I thought of the two thousand dollars I didn't have. I thought of the fact that I was twenty-six and I hadn't felt ‘alive’ in so long I’d forgotten what it felt like.

"Wait!" I called out.

He stopped with his hand on the heavy glass door. He turned, the neon 'OPEN' sign casting a red glow over the side of his face.

"The coffee really is terrible," I said, my voice trembling. "If you want something better... I know a place. Or rather, I’m done with my shift in five minutes."

It was the most reckless thing I had ever said. I didn't know his last name. I didn't know if he was dangerous. All I knew was that I didn't want to go back to my empty apartment and wait for the sun to come up on another day of failure.

He looked at me for a long time. The silence was so heavy I could hear my own pulse.

Then, he stepped back into the diner and held the door open.

"I have a car waiting," he said. "And a view of the city that might make that 'terrible coffee' taste a little better."

I didn't take off my apron. I ripped it off. I didn't grab my coat. I just grabbed my bag and walked out into the rain, leaving the "common waitress" behind in the shadows.

Outside, a black sedan was waiting at the curb. A man in a suit opened the door, and for the first time in my life, I didn't have to open it myself.

As we sank into the leather seats, the smell of expensive cologne and old money filled my lungs. Gabriel sat beside me, so close our shoulders brushed.

"No names," I whispered as the car began to move, gliding through the wet Chicago streets. "No numbers. No history. Just... tonight."

He looked at me, his eyes dark with a hunger that wasn't just about the physical. It was the hunger of a man who had finally found something he couldn't buy.

"Just tonight," he agreed.

I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. For the first time in four years, I wasn't running. I was flying. And I didn't care where I landed, as long as it was far away from the life I was supposed to lead.