ELENA JOB HUNTS

Morning arrived without mercy.

Elena had learned that hospitals did not care about exhaustion. Bills did not care about grief and hunger did not care about pride.

The envelope waited on the small plastic table beside Luca’s bed. It was an unapologetic final notice in red ink. She stared at it long enough for the letters to blur.

Across the room, Luca sat propped up by pillows, conscious now but weak, his movements slow and deliberate. Recovery had come in fragments—eye contact first, then speech, then careful physical therapy sessions that left him trembling. He was healing but healing cost money.

“Elena?” he asked quietly, noticing her silence.

She folded the paper before he could read the numbers on her face.

“Just paperwork,” she lied.

She could not darethat the amount was larger than the monthly stipend they received from Uncle Vittorio even if they saved it for three months.Larger than her savings. Larger than what remained of the jewelry she had sold.

She had called Uncle Vittorio three times the night before. No answer. So she called again now. It rang twice, then three times.

Finally, his voice came smooth and distracted. “Elena.”

“I need an advance,” she said without preamble. “The hospital increased Luca’s therapy schedule. They need payment before continuing.”

A pause.

“Elena,” he began patiently, “we already sent you a stipend.”

“It’s not enough.”

Silence stretched thin.

“The company is stabilizing,” he said. “Liquidity is tight. We can’t just withdraw funds because you feel anxious.”

Anxious.

The word hit like an insult.

“This isn’t anxiety,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It’s treatment.”

“You signed the agreement,” he replied. “We assume risk. You receive fixed support. That was the arrangement and it is binding.”

“You promised—”

“I promised to protect the business,” he cut in. “Not indulge endless expenses. It's an advance now and maybe a loan in the future.”

The line went dead before she could respond. Elena stared at her phone. The worry in her eyes sharpened into something dangerous.

Somewhere in a private section of the hospital suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, Adrian Vale was having a different conversation about time.

“Dialysis is stabilizing him,” the doctor said carefully, “but we cannot predict deterioration patterns.”

Adrian stood with his back to the window, jaw rigid.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we wait for a match.”

Waiting was intolerable. Mr Giovanni watched his grandson from the bed, perceptive even through fatigue.

“You cannot bully kidneys into appearing,” the old man said dryly.

Adrian did not smile. His phone buzzed again with board updates, investor questions and Marcus checking in. Life demanded his presence. But fear demanded something else.

Back in the public ward of the hospital, Elena tucked the unpaid bill into her bag and kissed Luca’s forehead.

“I’ll fix it,” she said, and went away. She had stopped explaining how.

……….

Job hunting is humiliating when desperation shows on your face.

She tried boutiques first. Avertisements dominated storefront screens. Sleek, unattainable elegance designed by a man she had never met.

Hiring managers skimmed her resume politely.

“We’re not taking interns.”

“You withdrew from school.”

“Come back next quarter.”

Next quarter felt like a foreign concept. She tried cafés and restaurants, reception desks. Everyone of these posts wanted experience or availability she couldn’t promise.

Her phone remained silent except for automated rejections. By late afternoon, the sky had turned a heavy gray. Her steps quickened as she crossed the hospital entrance again, mind spinning with numbers.

If she sold the house—

No.

It was already leveraged.

If she stopped therapy—

Impossible.

She pushed through the sliding doors too fast.

And collided with something solid or someone.

The impact knocked her backward slightly. Papers flew from her open file, scattering across polished tile.

“I’m so sorry,” she said instantly, crouching to gather them.

A pair of expensive black shoes stepped into view. Immaculate and still.

Adrian Vale looked down at the young woman kneeling at his feet, hair falling forward, fingers scrambling over scattered documents. He had just left a tense consultation with Mr Giovanni’s transplant coordinator. No matches. No guarantees. Just patience that felt like poison.

“Watch where you’re going,” he said sharply.

She looked up and their eyes met. Hers were rimmed red but not from makeup, but pure exhaustion.

“I said I’m sorry,” she replied, breathless.

Her fingers brushed the red-stamped hospital bill as she tried to hide it beneath other papers.

Adrian noticed, he noticed everything. What kind of CEO would he be if he didn't notice.

“You’re in a hospital,” he said coldly. “Not a marketplace.”

Her spine straightened.

“And you’re not the owner of the corridor,” she shot back before she could stop herself.

Thomas, standing a few steps behind Adrian, stiffened. Adrian’s gaze hardened.

“Rude,” he said flatly.

Her laugh was brittle. “Insensitive.”

They stood like that for a second too long. Two strangers held together by irritation neither could afford but still refuse to move out of the way.

“Apologize properly,” he demanded.

“I already did.”

“Try again.”

Something in her snapped.

“My Black tux,” she said quietly but fiercely. “I’m not offering you any more apologies unless you gather them for a living. If my shoulder offended you, consider it even.”

Silence fell between them. Adrian did not step aside immediately. He studied her, defiance in grief’s clothing. Then he moved without another word and walked past her.

Elena watched him go, anger mixing with embarrassment. She hated that he had seen the red stamp on the bill. She hated that he looked like someone who had never worried about money a day in his life. She hated that she apologised but he still put up a fuss.

Thomas lingered half a second longer than his employer. His eyes flicked briefly to the hospital bill before following Adrian. Elena gathered the last paper and exhaled shakily. She did not know that upstairs, Giovanni Vale was asking for his grandson again. She did not also know that the man she had just called insensitive was running out of time.

………..

Night came quickly.

Elena stood outside the club entrance, staring at the red glow spilling from within.

Temporary, she told herself. Survival first and dreams later. Inside, music pulsed low and steady. The manager glanced at her once, assessing.

“You’ve bartended before?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“You can start tonight.”

Relief flooded her so fast she nearly swayed. She could not believe he did not ask for anything the rest asked for.

“Thank you,” she said too gently and slow because of the surprise, but her eyes were so lit that it could tell you how grateful she was

No interview. No paperwork. Just an immediate job offer that converts cash. She was so grateful, as she would have just enough to live by.

She was shown around the bar and taken even to the construction site where they were building a club, before they assigned her to a colleague to learn from. She tied her hair back and stepped behind the bar, the rhythm of orders grounding her.

“Pour, wipe and smile,” she said repeating after her colleague, as she urged herself not to think about hospitals.

Across the city, Adrian sat in the back of a car while Marcus talked beside him.

“You can’t live at the hospital,” Marcus was saying. “Have a drink. Clear your head.”

“I don’t need alcohol,” Adrian replied.

“You need distraction.”

Ten minutes later, he stepped into the same club Elena now worked in. Red light bathed the room in artificial warmth. He rarely came here anymore. It had been neutral ground once he was away from boardrooms and from expectations.

He approached the bar.

“Corridor girl?”

She froze. Of all the places in the city, of all the bars.

She looked up slowly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath.

Adrian recognized her immediately.

The hospital corridor girl. The rude one.

Her eyes flashed with the same irritation.

“You work here,” he observed coolly.

“Congratulations,” she replied, already reaching for a glass. “You can see.”

Marcus glanced between them, amused.

“Friend of yours?” he asked Adrian.

“Hardly.”

“ Whiskey,” Adrian said.

Elena poured the drink with precise movements, refusing to let her hands shake. She slid it toward him without comment. He didn’t touch it immediately.

“You’re calmer when you’re not running into people,” he said.

She leaned slightly closer across the bar.

“And you’re less arrogant when you’re not blocking hallways.”

Marcus choked on a laugh.

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“You should be careful,” he said softly.

“Of what?” she asked.

“Burning bridges.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I don’t build bridges with strangers who insult me.”

For a moment, something like reluctant admiration flickered through him.

Then it vanished.

“Keep the change,” he said, placing cash on the counter.

She didn’t look at the amount. She didn’t want to know if it equaled a week of therapy. The night blurred into orders and noise. Adrian remained longer than he intended. Not watching her. At least not intentionally. But noticing the way she moved with controlled efficiency.The way her shoulders only relaxed when customers turned away. The way exhaustion clung to her like perfume.

In her head she was only pouring drinks like she did at family gatherings and factory functions. When her shift ended, the manager handed her an envelope. She opened it discreetly and her face lit up at the sight of the cash. She was almost in tears when she counted it and saw that it was enough to cover a substantial amount of the hospital debt if she worked for a week.

Relief filled her heart,pure and unfiltered and it softened her features. For the first time in days, she smiled without forcing it.

Adrian saw it. And something unfamiliar tightened in his chest. She looked younger when she smiled. Less defiant and more human. Their eyes met across the room again. This time, the irritation carried something sharper like recognition. Two people orbiting crisis in different worlds. Family pressure sat heavy on both shoulders.

Elena tucked the envelope safely into her bag.

One problem solved for tonight.

Adrian finished his drink and stood. As he turned to leave, his phone vibrated. The hospital’s number flashed across the screen. His pulse spiked instantly.

Marcus and even Elena watched the color drain slightly from his face. He answered without hesitation.

“Yes?”

They couldn’t hear the words on the other end.

But they saw the way his posture changed. Rigid, alert and a feeling of fear disguised as control. Silence fell despite the music. When he ended the call, his expression was unreadable.

Adrian slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Thomas was already moving toward the exit, to get the car ready.

Elena’s fingers tightened around the envelope in her bag. The red glow of the club suddenly felt too bright. Just as she made to leave,they locked eyes again.

And neither of them knew what that meant. Maybe the beginning of something far more complicated.