Tomorrow is all I have

A sleek red Maserati rolled to a stop in front of the luxurious, black-glass building of Maison L’Opale, the most elite restaurant in the district.

  The driver hurried out, but the first thing that touched the pavement was a pair of sharp crimson heels.

  Then Lady Vivienne emerged—elegant, cold, and beautifully dangerous.

  She pulled off her sunglasses with a slow, practiced motion, her gaze sweeping across the flawless architecture.

  She didn’t smile.

  Vivienne never smiled unless she wanted something.

  She walked inside.

  Gold lighting. Velvet booths. The kind of silence only the wealthy could afford.

  Vivienne spotted Madam Sera immediately—perfect hair, perfect diamonds, perfect reputation that everyone secretly knew was a lie.

  The two women exchanged soft, polite greetings, both pretending not to dislike each other.

  Vivienne sat first, crossing her legs, placing her sunglasses neatly beside her.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Madam Sera.”

  Sera gave a gentle shake of her head.

  “Of course not. I just arrived myself.”

  Vivienne leaned back.

  “Good. Then tell me—why exactly did you ask to meet me?”

  Sera inhaled, straightened her shoulders, and didn’t bother with small talk.

  “I’ll go straight to the point, Lady Vivienne. My daughter is… interested in your son. She’s hosting a birthday party tonight, and she wants him to be there.”

  Vivienne blinked once.

  “My step-son?”

  “Yes.”

  Vivienne crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You do realize he’s blind. You understand that, right?”

  Sera’s lips curved into a faint, almost smug smile. “Everyone knows that. It doesn’t make him any less… desirable. I trust you’ll handle the logistics.”

  Vivienne’s smirk was slow, deliberate, dangerous. “And what do I get in return? You know it won’t be simple to persuade him.”

  Sera smirked right back.

  “Lean forward,” she whispered.

  Vivienne did, curiosity narrowing her eyes.

  Sera murmured,

  “I’ll leave my husband to you.”

  Vivienne’s eyes widened—shocked despite herself.

  Sera’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You think I don’t know about your little affair? I have proof—letters, receipts, whispers from your own staff. But I don’t care about that. I’m not here to ruin you. I’m here for one thing.”

  Her voice dropped, soft and deadly.

  “Bring Xavier.”

  Madam Sera stood, smoothing her dress, and gave Vivienne a quick wink before turning and walking away.

  Vivienne watched her go, jaw tightening.

  “That… that woman,” she muttered under her breath. “What does she mean… having an affair with her ugly husband? Me? No way.”

  She hissed and then her lips parted in a quieter, almost guilty murmur.

  “And… so what if I do have an affair with him…?”

  Her voice trailed off as she stared at the floor, a small smirk forming. “He handles me well… in bed.”

  She shook her head slightly, as if trying to snap herself out of it, but the smirk lingered.

  *******************************

  Ayla finally made it home, her legs heavy, her body aching from the day. Every step up the narrow stairs felt like climbing a mountain.

  She reached the landing just outside her apartment when she froze.

  Her landlady was coming toward her apartment, heels clicking sharply against the concrete. And behind her… two men. Shadows stretching long in the dim light.

  Ayla’s heart slammed. She ducked behind the stairwell railing, pressing her back against the wall.

  Her breath came fast, shallow. Every instinct screamed at her to disappear, to vanish before they saw her.

  She stayed hidden, knees shaking, trying to steady her breath.

  Then the sound hit her—loud, sharp bangs echoing through the hallway.

  Ayla leaned forward just enough to peek.

  The landlady was pounding on her door like she wanted to break it down.

  “Oh perfect… just perfect,” Ayla whispered under her breath. “God, just take me already…”

  Another slam shook the thin wooden frame.

  “I know you’re in there!” the landlady shouted. “Six months, Ayla! Six! And you think hiding will change anything? Open this door!”

  The two men behind her crossed their arms, watching with bored, dangerous eyes.

  They weren’t here for conversation.

  Ayla pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound.

  Her heart felt like it was punching her ribs.

  She had nowhere to run.

  Nowhere to hide for long.

  And today… today was the worst possible day for this to happen.

  The landlady’s voice rang sharp.

  “Call the others! Bring them up! If she doesn’t open this door, we’re breaking it down!”

  Ayla’s stomach twisted. Her mind raced. They can’t do this… they can’t!

  Her eyes darted between the door, the landlady, and the two men. The shadows of the hallway seemed to close in on her.

  Then, without thinking, she stepped out from behind the railing.

  “I—I’m coming out,” she stammered, voice shaking so much it sounded like a whisper.

  Ayla stepped fully into the hallway, the dim bulb flickering just enough to expose her trembling hands. The landlady turned slowly, one brow raised, lips curling in a mean, satisfied smirk.

  “Well, well.” She folded her arms. “Where were you hiding?”

  Ayla forced a laugh—dry, shaky, almost painful. “Hiding? I just… came from work.”

  She lifted the torn strap of her bag as proof. “I wasn’t hiding.”

  The landlady hummed, unconvinced, the two men stepped forward slightly. 

  The landlady snapped. “Enough excuses. Let’s talk numbers. Six months, Ayla. Six. Where’s the money...The rent?”

  Ayla scratched the back of her neck, biting her lip. “Please… just give me until the end of this week. I promise I’ll—”

  The landlady stepped closer, her perfume heavy, her words sharp as knives. “You’ve been saying that for months. How many times now? Three? Four? This isn’t a game, girl.”

  Ayla’s chest tightened. “I know… I know. But my mother… she’s in the hospital. Heart problems. I have nothing right now. I’m trying to get it—please, just a little more time.”

  The landlady paused, studying her, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Then she leaned forward. “Tomorrow night. That’s all you get. One more day. If I don’t see that money by then…”

  The landlady’s lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smile.

  “I will kick you out. Myself. And these men—” she gestured behind her, “—will help make sure you don’t argue.”

  The men smiled—not kindly.

  Ayla’s stomach dropped.

  Tomorrow.

  Just one more day.

  One more impossible day.