Bar

Chapter Six

Martina’s POV

“Make sure you don’t come late,” Miss Lily repeats, already turning to leave.

Her heels click sharply against the tiled floor, fading into the quiet hum of the office. I remain frozen, staring down at the card in my hand as if it might disappear if I blink.

A job card.

My name printed neatly on it.

I swallow hard.

I can’t believe this is real.

Miracles like this don’t happen to people like me… do they?

For a long moment, I just stand there, my fingers tightening around the card. The edges press into my skin, grounding me, reminding me that this isn’t a dream.

A secretary job.

Not delivery.

Not rushing through traffic under the scorching sun.

Not carrying packages that aren’t mine to people who don’t even look me in the eye.

This… is different.

This is a real job.

I slowly step out of the office building and pause just outside the glass doors, tilting my head back to take in the towering structure. The company isn’t small—not even close. The polished exterior reflects the sky, making it look untouchable, like a world I don’t belong in.

My chest tightens.

Someone like me… a dropout with no real experience—what am I doing here?

All I know is deliveries. Running errands. Surviving.

Not this.

Never this.

I let out a shaky breath.

What if I fail?

What if I mess everything up?

What if they realize I don’t belong here and send me away?

The questions pile up, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on the fragile excitement blooming in my chest.

Suddenly, my phone rings—loud and jarring against the silence.

I flinch, quickly pulling it out of my pocket.

The screen lights up.

My stomach drops.

It’s my mother’s caregiver.

Of course.

A familiar dread settles over me as I stare at the name flashing on the screen.

I don’t need to answer to know why she’s calling.

Money.

She’s calling to ask for money again.

My grip tightens around the phone, the job card still clutched in my other hand—hope and burden colliding all at once.

For a second, I hesitate… caught between answering the call and holding on to this tiny, fragile miracle.

I close my eyes briefly, then exhale and swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

“Martina?” the caregiver’s voice comes through, tight and urgent. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since morning.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I… I was at an interview.”

There’s a pause—just a second—but it’s enough for my heart to start racing again.

“Oh,” she says, her tone softening slightly, but not enough. “That’s good. That’s very good, actually. But your mother—she’s not been stable today.”

My chest constricts instantly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“She needs her medication refilled. The doctor adjusted the dosage, and the pharmacy won’t release it until we clear the outstanding balance. I tried to hold them off, but…” She sighs. “They’re insisting.”

Of course they are.

They always do.

“How much?” I whisper.

She mentions the amount.

The number hits me like a slap.

For a moment, I can’t even breathe.

It’s more than what I made in weeks of deliveries.

More than what I have.

My eyes drop to the card still in my hand—the crisp paper now slightly crumpled from how tightly I’m holding it.

“I’ll… I’ll find a way,” I say, though I have no idea how.

“Please try,” she replies gently. “She’s been asking for you.”

That one hurts more than the money.

“I’ll come by later,” I murmur.

“Alright. Don’t be too late.”

The call ends.

Silence crashes over me again.

I lower the phone slowly, staring at nothing in particular. The world around me keeps moving—cars passing, people walking, voices blending into noise—but I feel stuck, like I’m standing still while everything else rushes forward.

A bitter laugh escapes me.

A miracle?

Yeah… right.

Reality doesn’t wait for miracles.

I look down at the card again, smoothing out the crease with my thumb.

This could change everything.

If I don’t mess it up.

If I can hold on long enough.

If life doesn’t drag me back down before I even get the chance to climb.

My stomach twists.

Money. I need money—now.

Not tomorrow. Not next week.

My mind races through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Borrowing? Impossible. Everyone I know is barely surviving, just like me. More deliveries? Even if I work through the night, it still won’t be enough.

A tight knot forms in my chest.

I don’t have a choice.

If I want to get my mom’s medication, I have to go back.

The bar.

The very place I promised myself I would never return to.

By the time I get there, the sky has already begun to darken, the neon lights flickering to life one after the other. The air smells of alcohol, smoke, and something heavy—something suffocatingly familiar.

I hesitate for a second at the entrance.

Then I push the door open.

Noise crashes into me instantly—loud music, laughter, glasses clinking, voices overlapping. It’s chaotic, overwhelming… but it’s also money.

And right now, money is all that matters.

As I step inside, my eyes scan the room—and then I saw a familiar face sitting at one of the tables.

My stomach sinks.

“Martina! You’re here—thank goodness you came!” the bar owner calls out, relief obvious in his voice as he rushes toward me.

“Yeah… I’m here,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I need money.”

He studies my face for a brief second, as if trying to read the desperation I’m barely holding together. Then he nods.

“Fine. I’ll double your pay tonight.”

My heart skips.

Double?

Before I can even feel relieved, he continue.

“I’ve got a troublesome customer. And I’m very sure you’re the only one who can handle her.”

Her.

Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten.

Still, I nod, forcing a small smile onto my lips. “I can handle it.”

Because I have to.

Because I don’t have the luxury of saying no.

The moment he hands me the apron, I grab it quickly, tying it around my waist with practiced ease. The fabric feels too familiar, like slipping back into a life I tried to escape.

He places a tray of drinks into my hands.

“Table seven,” he says.

I nod and turn, weaving through the crowded space, my steps steady even as my thoughts spiral.

Just do the job. Get the money. Leave.

That’s it. Nothing else matters, I reach the table. And then I see her.

My steps falter.

For a split second, everything goes still.

No.

No, no, no—

Out of everyone… why her?

My grip tightens around the tray as recognition crashes into me.

My greatest nemesis.

Sitting there like she owns the place.

A slow, mocking smile spreads across her lips the moment our eyes meet.