Chapter Two: The Falling Star

Angel

Silence enveloped the room for some seconds, and then he said

"The door," His voice was a low, dry rasp.

I felt my heart stop. "Sir?"

"Use it," he added.

I stood up, my legs feeling like water. My folder felt heavy, filled with pages that were now useless. I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I turned and walked out, the click of my shoes sounding like a funeral march against the marble floor.

Once I reached the street, the humid air hit me. I walked away from the glass tower of Stellar Media, my vision blurring. I didn't cry for my pride. I cried because of the promise I made to the man waiting for me at home.

I hailed a cab, my mind spinning. How am I going to tell him? I thought. I needed that money. The medicine, the rent, the debt, it was all resting on a job I had just lost because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

When I got home, the smell of old wood and sickness greeted me. I walked into his small bedroom. He looked so thin under the sheets, his face pale and tired.

"Angel?" he whispered, trying to sit up. "How was it? Did the world hear your voice?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand.

"They loved me, Papa," I lied. The words felt like ash in my mouth. "They said they were happy with the work. I’m going to get the job. I just have to wait for the call."

He smiled, a small, weak flicker of light. "I knew it. My girl is a star."

"A star that's falling," a sharp voice cut through the air.

I turned to see Veronica standing in the doorway. My father had married her shortly after my mother died, a choice he made so I wouldn't grow up alone. But she and her daughter, Sarah, were never a family to me.

"Stop feeding him dreams, Angel," Veronica sneered, crossing her arms. "You’ll always be jobless. You have too much fire and too little sense."

"She’s right," Sarah added, leaning against the doorframe. "You aren't a writer. You're just a girl who's good at failing."

My phone buzzed in my bag. I checked, and it was a message from Ella. We still need people tonight. The pay is double. Are you coming?  She wanted us to go to the Grand, the biggest hotel in the city. They were hosting an event for powerful guests. I had turned down the waitress job because I thought I was going to be a writer.

I ignored them. I tucked the blanket around my father’s shoulders. "Rest, Papa. I have to go out and prepare. I need to get some clothes ready for the new job."

"So soon?" Father asked.

"Yes. And I’m going to sleep over at Ella’s tonight so we can head in early together. Don't worry about me."

As I walked out of the room, I sent her a message

I'll be there. Send me the address.

The hotel was a different world. Gold, lights, and people who breathed money. I found Ella in the changing room, already zipping up her uniform.

"You came!" she said. "How was the interview? Did it go well?"

“If it went well, I wouldn’t be here,” I said, tugging at the tight black vest over my white shirt. “I just need the cash, Ella. My father needs the hospital.”

She said nothing, only led me to the supervisor. The man barely looked at us before pointing down a narrow hallway.

We joined a long line in the back corridor, our backs pressed straight against the cold tiles. The air was thick with hairspray, perfume, and nervous sweat clinging to every breath.

'Eyes up!' the supervisor shouted, pacing in front of us like a drill sergeant. 'The people in that hall own this city. You do not speak to them. You do not look them in the eye. You are shadows with silver trays. Understood?'

'Yes, sir,' we chimed in unison.

'If you spill a drop of wine on a silk dress, don't bother coming back for your paycheck.' By evening, the quiet hotel had transformed into a busy place. From the kitchen doors, I watched the guests arrive. The great hall was a blur of diamonds, velvet, and gold. Laughter echoed off the high ceilings, and the music was so loud I could feel it in my shoes.

“Look at them,' Ella whispered, leaning close to my ear as we waited for our orders. “They wear more money on their wrists than we'll see in a lifetime.”

“I don't care about their jewelry, Ella,' I muttered, checking my reflection in a polished tray. 'I just want the shift to end so I can get the cash for Papa.”

Suddenly, the supervisor marched back into the staging area, his face flushed red. He looked frantic.

“Change of plans,” he barked, pointing a finger at me. 'Miss Molley, leave the floor. We have dignitaries in the penthouses who want privacy. High-stakes guests. No mistakes.'

He shoved a heavy silver tray into my hands. The domed cover was warm.

'Take this to the top floor. Fifty. The guards are already briefed. Move!'

'The top floor?' I asked, my heart skipping a beat. 'But I was supposed to stay with Ella.'

'Do I look like I’m asking?' he snapped. 'Go. Now!'"

He handed me a silver tray with a covered plate. "Take this to the penthouse. Floor fifty. The guards will let you in. Move!"

I took the tray and headed for the elevator. My heart was a nervous beat in my chest. I just wanted to get through the night, get the money, and go home.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, the air changed. It was quiet. Men in dark suits stood every few feet, their eyes scanning me like I was a threat.

"Delivery for the room," I told the guard at the end of the hall.

He spoke into a radio, waited, and then nodded. "Go in. Drop it and leave. Do not speak unless spoken to."

I pushed the door open. The room was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the city. A man stood by the glass, his back to me. His sleeves were rolled up, and his silhouette was dark against the city lights.

"Drop it and leave," he said.

I froze. That voice. It was a low, dry rasp. It was the sound of a predator.

I walked to the table and set the tray down. I should have turned and run. I should have kept my head down. But the shape of his shoulders, the way he stood—it was too familiar.

I stopped at the door and looked back. The man turned around slowly.

It was Drake Crane.

The blood rushed to my head. The anger I had been hiding all day exploded.

"You again?" I screamed, my voice shaking the quiet room. "You made me lose my job! You sat there and watched me like I was nothing, and now I’m here serving you food?"

I didn't think. I lunged at him, my hands reaching out to hit that perfect, cold face. I wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt my father’s future.

Drake didn't move. He didn't flinch. A small, cruel smirk touched his lips for a second, a look of total victory.

But then, his face changed. The smirk died. He moved faster than I could see. He grabbed my wrists, his grip like iron, and twisted them behind my back. He slammed me against the wall, his body pinning mine.

"Who sent you?" he growled. His eyes were no longer cold; they were burning with a terrifying light.

I froze. The anger died, replaced by a cold, sharp fear. "What? No one sent me! I’m a waitress!"

"Lie again," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Who sent you?"

I looked into his eyes and saw something I didn't expect. It wasn't just anger. It was a deadly suspicion.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I cried out.