"Please place your order. I have other customers to attend to," Kemi said, her voice shaky with tears. She had been fighting the urge to break a man's head since she walked up to that table. And since she couldn't, crying was the next best option.
Could this guy just leave her alone already? The restaurant was getting full, and Mr. Claude had been throwing her side-eyes since she stood there, stuck, waiting to take this man's damn order.
The problem? She couldn't leave.
The other problem? She couldn't stay.
She turned to look at the man who, despite looking quite "gentlemanly," wasn't acting like one. He sat there, phone in hand, like none of this was his business.
"Sterl, do you think she's a broken tape? She sounds like one."
She paused.
Oh. It was gradually turning into insults.
God. For a second, did she actually think this guy was sensible? Not every man who drives a nice car and dresses well has sense, apparently. She rolled her eyes internally.
She smiled tightly and turned to leave. Her eyes met Mr. Claude's across the room. She gritted her teeth and turned back to the so-called "gentlemen."
"Sir, please. Our company has strict rules against mistreating customers. So, if you could kindly place your order so I can move on with my day…" she gestured towards the growing crowd. "As you can see, we're quite popular—and other customers are waiting to be served."
She was begging now.
Yes. She was begging.
She had no choice.
Her whole life depended on this job. She couldn't lose it because two lousy heads found it funny to toy with her.
Jeddah let out a laugh. A hearty one. Genuine. Unbothered.
"Did you hear that, Sterl? She's begging. Oh, what do we do? What do we do? What do we do?"
Silence.
"You know what? Maybe some other time."
Jeddah concluded, sliding on his dark shades and standing up.
Kemi stood there, frozen.
Was he being serious?
Ah, God, why did You allow this? she muttered bitterly, watching him stroll out of the restaurant like he hadn't just upended her mood.
She turned to return to the counter.
That was when the door opened.
"Welcome to—"
She stopped.
She didn't look up. Didn't glance at the new customer. She walked slowly, deliberately, like she hadn't seen the person who just walked in.
"Girl, what was that about?" Tasha was already behind the counter, eyes wide. "Why was he treating you like that? Do you know him? Was he trying to flirt with you? Give me the tea!"
She didn't wait for answers.
"You don't talk to me anymore. That's not you, girl!" Tasha rambled on, spilling words like a broken tape—ironically, just like the bad boy said.
Kemi said nothing. She fumbled with menus, pretending to be busy. Anything to distract herself from the figure that had just entered the restaurant.
Oh God, I'm in trouble, she whispered under her breath.
How did he find me? Did I not hide well enough? How?
The questions spiraled in her mind, looping like a cursed chant. She repeated them silently, trying to keep her voice steady. Trying to stay calm. Trying not to look distracted.
Trying not to look scared.
That was the word—scared.
This man terrified her. He had scared the life out of her since she was a child. She had run from everything—everyone she loved—to come here. A place where no one knew her. A place that was supposed to be safe.
And still, he found her.
Where would she run to again?
Her head spun. Her thoughts raced like her mind had sprinted a thousand miles and wasn't planning on coming back.
"Kemi. I want to see you. In the kitchen. Now."
Mr. Claude's voice cut through the fog. She could've cried with relief.
He just saved her life.
She raised her head slowly and tilted it, still gathering herself. It didn't matter. She followed him into the kitchen, her footsteps dragging. Just before she shut the door, she turned.
He was walking out.
Hands in the pocket of that hoodie. That same black-on-black-on-black hoodie. Everything about him was dark—his clothes, his eyes, his intentions, his life.
Her chest tightened.
"What were you doing with those customers? And why are you losing your cool these days? That's not like you. What's going on?"
Mr. Claude's tone had shifted—firm, direct.
"You can talk to me, you know."
"I'm sorry, sir. Honestly, nothing's going on. I'm just… I'm fine."
She apologized again and again. But she wasn't fine. She knew it.
She hadn't been fine since she saw him again.
"Kemi, do you know why you're my best staff?" Mr. Claude's voice softened.
"You make people want to come back. You make them feel like this place is home. You are home. But home stops being home when it turns toxic. When it becomes a distraction. When it stops satisfying."
He looked her straight in the eye.
"Kemi, do you still want this job? Are you tired of it? Do you have a better offer somewhere?"
She had never heard him like that.
"No, sir. I love this job. I need it. I don't have any offers. I don't have anywhere else to go."
She swallowed hard.
"I promise—I'm in the game. I'll do better."
She meant every word. But inside, her mind was screaming.
Mr. Claude walked out.
And her heart sank again.
He found me.
How?
Who told him where I work?
How long has he been watching me?
Has he seen me every morning?
How long has he been stalking me?
Her job—her only hope—was hanging by a thread.
And Kemi knew one thing for sure:
She had to act fast.
Kemi burst into her room, yanked open her wardrobe, and grabbed every piece of clothing she could find. Clothes flew onto the bed, onto the floor—everywhere.
She pulled out her big box from under the bed and stuffed it with everything. It didn't matter how tangled or wrinkled. She didn't care. She just needed to go.
She had to leave the apartment. The street. The entire area.
Because if he was close—if he was that close—then she was finished.
She grabbed shoes, toiletries, a photo frame. She scanned the room one last time but didn't care what she left behind.
She dragged her box to the door, left it half open, and ran down the stairs. Her heart pounded. Her legs trembled.
She didn't know where she was going.
She just knew she had to run.
Her race ended on Fifth Avenue—a place that felt far enough. Distant enough to disappear.
She scanned the street. Eyes darting. Head turning. She needed to be sure. She needed to feel safe.
Of course she would be. She had broken her savings for this.
If she could stay hidden here, it was worth it.
"Thank you so much. Please forward the documents to my email so we can finalize everything."
She ended the meeting with the house agent—a warm woman with a well-practiced smile. Friendly, but only as long as rent was paid and her cut was secured.
Jeddah had just returned from a meeting with one of the city's biggest tech investors. People who could take his business further. Add more wind to his sail.
Driving past one of his properties, he noticed Mrs. Mary stepping out, grinning. She had just sealed another deal. Another investment. More for her. More for him.
He smiled quietly.
It wasn't the most profitable building. But to him, every penny was money. And money—no matter how small—was power.