chapter 2

Isabella’s POV

The cold air of the night clung to my skin as I dragged myself toward the back entrance of La Reina, the upscale restaurant where I worked.

The golden lights from the dining hall spilled through the glass doors. Laughter and clinking glasses echoed like a cruel reminder of the life I no longer had, couples holding hands, friends drinking wine, smiles and warmth, everything I used to dream of with Nathan.

I tightened my grip on my bag, swallowing the lump that had been stuck in my throat since morning. I needed this job. I needed the money. And right now, I needed somewhere anywhere that wasn’t the streets.

“Isabella, you’re late,” Marta, the floor supervisor, said as I slipped into the staff room.

“I’m sorry. The traffic…” I murmured, lowering my eyes.

The next few hours were a blur of trays, polite smiles, and aching feet. I floated between tables, balancing plates that smelled richer than anything I’d eaten in weeks. The laughter of customers tugged at the fragile threads of my heart, but I forced myself to keep moving, keep smiling, keep serving.

When midnight rolled in, the crowd had reduced. One by one, the staff clocked out, bidding quick goodbyes. I waved, pretending I had somewhere to go. My chest tightened when the lights dimmed and the last footsteps faded.

I stood for a long moment, staring at the polished floor of the dining hall. My body trembled not from the cold, but from the weight of everything. Slowly, I walked back into the staff room, sat on the narrow bench, and let my head fall into my hands.

Where do I go? Home? No, that home wasn’t mine anymore. Nathan’s arms belonged to Sarah now. My best friend.

My eyes stung again, but I forced the tears back. I couldn’t afford to cry now. I needed strength.

I spread my work jacket across the small couch in the staff lounge, curled up, and pulled my knees to my chest. The faint smell of detergent and food clung to the fabric. I shut my eyes, praying no one would find me here. Tomorrow, I’d figure something out. Tomorrow, maybe the pain would ease.

I woke with a startle, the clang of dishes cutting through my restless dream. My neck ached from the hard bench, my uniform wrinkled from sleep. For a moment, I forgot where I was, then the dim glow of the restaurant’s sign outside reminded me.

“Isabella.”

Her voice. Cold. Sharp. My stomach dropped.

I turned slowly, dread crawling up my spine. Marta stood at the doorway, arms folded tight, eyes narrowing on me like I was dirt on her shoes.

“I…I was just…” I stammered, clutching my bag to my chest as if it could shield me.

“Sleeping,” she cut me off. Her heels struck against the tiles as she moved closer. “In the restaurant. Like some homeless stray. Do you think this place is a shelter? Or do you think I’m blind?”

Heat burned across my face. My mouth opened, but the words barely came out.

“I… I didn’t have anywhere…”

“That’s not my problem.”

Her tone was colder than the night air. Her words hit me harder than any slap could. My chest tightened, and my eyes stung, but I forced the tears back. Not here. Not in front of her.

“Get out.” Her voice was sharp, final.

“I didn’t mean…I just needed somewhere…” My voice cracked, shame clawing at me.

“Out, Isabella.”

She didn’t shout. She didn’t have to. The disgust in her eyes was enough to slice through me.

I swallowed hard, blinking fast to keep my tears from spilling. My chest burned, but I forced my legs to move. She watched me walk toward the door like I was nothing. The door slammed behind me, the echo still ringing in my ears.

I stood on the sidewalk, clutching my bag to my chest as if it could keep me from breaking apart. The night air was cold, biting at my skin, but the heat inside me was worse burning shame, loneliness, anger.

Hot tears spilled before I could stop them, sliding down my cheeks, fast and stubborn. I swiped at them with the back of my hand, furious at myself for crying in the open. I tilted my head back and took a shaky breath, staring up at the gray morning sky. Somewhere far away, birds were already beginning to stir.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone. 5:03 a.m. Almost dawn. Another night gone, and I hadn’t closed my eyes once.

I hugged myself tighter, whispering into the empty street, “You’ll be fine, Isabella. You’ll be fine.”

But even my own voice sounded hollow.

My fingers slipped into my jacket pocket, searching for warmth, but instead they brushed against something soft. I froze. Slowly, I pulled it out.

The handkerchief. I hadn’t even remembered tucking it away last night. The faint streetlight glowed against the fabric, and that was when I noticed the delicate flower embroidery stitched at the corner. Pale blue petals, precise and elegant, as though someone had taken their time to leave a piece of themselves on it.

My thumb grazed over the threads, tracing the shape. The longer I stared, the more the world around me faded. My heart clenched not from Marta’s cruelty, not from the cold, but from the memory of him.

That stranger with the quiet hands. The one who had simply offered me this without a word. Who was he?

I pressed the cloth to my lips for a moment, my eyes fluttering shut. A strange calm swept over me, as though this small square of fabric carried a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

But when I opened my eyes, the emptiness of the street greeted me again. And the ache in my chest reminded me I didn’t even know his name.

I folded the handkerchief carefully and tucked it back into my pocket, clutching it as if it were the only anchor holding me together.

Memories crept in, uninvited, like they always did, the foster homes, each one colder than the last. Smiles that turned into scowls when they realized a girl like me came with responsibilities but no reward. The day the orphanage finally said I was too old, packing my few things into a plastic bag, and sending me into the world with nothing but a shaky “good luck.”

And now, even Nathan… the one person I thought I could trust…

My throat tightened. I straightened, shoved my hair behind my ears, and forced my legs forward. Somewhere in this city, someone had to need a cleaner, a waitress, anything. I couldn’t continue working for Marta.

My feet dragged me from one street to the next, aimless but restless. By now, the city was wide awake, horns blaring, buses crowding the roads, strangers rushing past with their own destinations. Everyone seemed to belong somewhere… everyone except me.

I sank onto a park bench and pulled out my old phone, the screen cracked but still alive. If I didn’t find something today, I didn’t know what I’d do tomorrow.

I opened a job listing app and scrolled. Most ads were already expired or demanded experience I didn’t have. Then one caught my eye:

“Rothwell Corporation hiring cleaners. Immediate start. No prior experience required.”

My heart skipped. But then I saw the date. Two months ago.

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Of course. Opportunities never seemed to wait for people like me.

Still… what if? What if they hadn’t found enough people? What if they were still taking applications?

I bit my lip, my thumb hovering over the location button. Rothwell Corporation. The name sounded huge.

Clutching the handkerchief in my pocket like a talisman, I stood, squared my shoulders, and whispered to myself, “Just try, Isabella. Just try.”

And with that, I grabbed my bag and started walking toward the bus stop.

The bus ride was long and crowded. I clutched my worn jacket close, keeping my head low as people struggled for seats. The smell of coffee and cheap perfume filled the air, while the city outside blurred past the window. Every bump made my stomach twist tighter.

I couldn’t stop thinking: What if they laughed at me? What if they turned me away before I even said a word?

But the handkerchief in my pocket kept me steady. I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling the soft embroidery, and breathed.

When the bus hissed to a stop, I stepped out and froze. The Rothwell Corporation towered above me glass walls glinting against the morning sun, polished steel doors, and people in sharp suits walking in and out like they owned the world. I felt smaller than ever.

Still, I walked in. At the front desk, a woman with perfectly straight hair looked up from her computer. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, her lips curling as if she’d just spotted a stray dog.

“Can I… help you?” she asked, her voice dripping with hate.

I swallowed hard. “Um, yes. I came about the cleaning job. The ad said…”

“That ad is old,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “Two months old. We don’t have any positions left. Try somewhere else.”

My heart dropped, but I gripped the counter tighter.

“But it’s still on the website. Maybe… maybe you haven’t updated it. Could you check again?”

The woman leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Sweetheart, even if it was open, do you really think this company hires just anyone off the street?”

Her voice was sharp, loud enough for the security guard nearby to glance our way.

“Take my advice. Leave before you embarrass yourself.”

Heat burned behind my eyes, but before I could respond, another woman hurried over, her heels clacking on the marble floor.

“Claire!” she hissed, tugging at the receptionist’s arm. “Stop running your mouth, the CEO is on his way now!”

Immediately, chaos broke out. Staff members darted left and right, fixing their clothes, straightening chairs, whispering orders. Even the receptionist who had just shooed me away suddenly sat upright, plastering on a fake smile.

I stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, clutching my jacket, completely lost. What is going on?