Bangkok's morning rush used to be chaos—
the blaring horns, the impatient drivers, the suffocating gridlock that stretched for miles.
But not anymore.
Now the streets were strangely quiet, half-empty beneath the gray light of dawn.
The pandemic had changed everything—how people lived, worked, and even breathed.
For Kwan Khao, it meant one small mercy: she could reach the office in half the usual time.
She parked her car in the nearly vacant lot, exhaled, and stepped out into the humid air.
Her plan was simple—grab a cold coffee before work, as she always did.
But when she turned the familiar corner, her heart sank.
The little café she loved had closed down.
She lingered for a moment, staring at the empty shopfront.
It was just one more casualty of the times.
Around her, the food court that once buzzed with chatter now looked hollow, its rows of stalls shuttered and silent.
Only a handful of workers passed by, masks hiding their weary expressions.
Life had grown smaller, tighter, more fragile.
Seven years she'd worked here—seven years as an accountant, managing numbers for companies that now teetered on the edge of collapse.
The economy had crashed, and with it, so many dreams.
Three months ago, her company had let go of nearly a third of its employees.
She'd survived that round of layoffs—but barely.
And she knew, deep down, that she might not survive the next.
She couldn't afford to lose this job. Not now. Not with Tonkla depending on her.
She picked a cheaper café near the back of the food court—simple, no-frills, but good enough.
Every baht she saved mattered. Not for herself, but for her son.
Her phone buzzed.
She grabbed it quickly when she saw the name.
"Khao, where are you?" It was Sinee, her colleague.
"I'm at the food court, getting coffee," she replied.
"Perfect. Can you grab one for the boss too? He's already here—and asking about you."
Her stomach dropped.
"He's… asking for me?"
"Yeah. Better hurry," Sinee said. "He came in early today. Looks serious."
Kwan Khao's pulse quickened.
Why would he be asking for me?
Was there a problem with her report? Or worse… was it happening again—another wave of layoffs?
If I lose this job, how will I take care of Tonkla?
She swallowed hard and ordered her usual black coffee—plus another one, the boss's favorite.
Years of habit made it easy; she'd done this many times when Sinee was too busy.
While waiting, she sat down on a nearby chair, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through the morning news—trying to calm her nerves.
Then someone sat down right across from her.
Too close.
Her brows knit instantly.
Seriously? Who sits this close anymore?
Everyone was supposed to keep a one-meter distance—especially strangers.
She looked up, ready to tell him off—
and froze.
A man sat there, sharp gaze fixed on her, eyes dark as midnight and just as dangerous.
Thick brows. A face too perfectly sculpted to forget.
And even with half of it hidden behind a mask—she knew.
He reached up, slow and deliberate, and pulled the mask down.
The motion revealed a straight, stubborn nose, and lips curved into a smile that once ruined her life.
That smile.
It was him.
Pennueng
The ruthless billionaire.
Her former lover.
And the man she had sworn to run from for the rest of her life—
because he was also the father of her son.