Helen's POV
As usual, the cafe was still; I was the only one in it, and my favorite seat was already staring at me before I lounged into it, taking in the fresh breath that rushed in through the window. Then, he approached me.
"Pleasure to have you here, madam. How may I be of service?" he asked, his ripped blue jeans sat firmly on his waist as he steadied his pen on the notepad, ready to jot down my order. That was the only thing I picked from his look—at least to save looking at the rest of him later.
"Frapuccino—mildly hot… extra milk—no sugar," I listed.
"Your name?"
"Helen," I usually won't say my real name but it slipped off my tongue before I could hold it. But thankfully, he doesn't know who I am. He ticked a few boxes on his notepad and bounced off. The other waiter would never leave like that without telling me the time I have to wait.
"Stupid," I murmured, and returned to my laptop. Just when I was about to get impatient, he came back and dropped a piping hot cappuccino so nonchalantly—it spilled on the table.
"Enjoy your coffee," he said, and turned again.
"Hey!" I called after him, irritation tightening my jaw as he turned back, his sharp gaze locking onto mine.
"What's your name?"
"Derick. Got an issue?" His tone was flat, almost bored, and I fought the urge to let my temper snap.
"Listen, Derick—or whatever your name is," I said, exhaling slowly, "you're rude, but that's not the issue here."
His brows drew together slightly, though he remained calm, unreadable.
"I ordered a frappuccino," I continued, tapping the table once. "Not a cappuccino. And this is piping hot."
"I served exactly what you requested, Helen." The sound of my name froze me in place. My fingers curled against the table as I stared at him.
"If you'll excuse me," he added, already turning his back, "I have work to do."
"Oh no, you don't get to walk out on me. Get me the manager, right now!"
A smirk curved up on his face before bouncing off again. My blood boiled, and I could feel my head burning red as I watched him walk out on me. This was the first time I desperately wanted other people to be in the cafe. I wanted to embarrass him—I wanted to scratch that stupid smirk off his face with my long nails but he got lucky.
Soon, the manager paced in, and I could feel his hands tremble when he saw me.
"Miss Helen. Such a great honor to have you as our guest, how may I help you?" he asked, and bowed.
"I want him sacked, this instant. He served me the wrong order and chose to be so rude about it. What sort of workers do you hire, Mr. Ben?" I snapped, and he turned his furious gaze at me.
"You did what?" he paused, and I folded my arms as I watched the scene with a smiley face and a sense of satisfaction.
"I gave her what she ordered," he answered.
"Are you saying that she is lying to you? Don't you know who she is? Miss Helen is the daughter of the top billionaire business tycoon in the whole of this city, she can buy your generation in one blink, how dare you disrespect her?" he yelled before returning his gaze to me.
"You are fired!" he added before returning his gaze to me, and somehow, those words made me blush as I watched Derick pull off his apron and walk out the door without a word. There was something icky about him that made my skin crawl—he doesn't even seem interested in the job.
"I'm so sorry ma'am, I'll have your order changed immediately," the manager's words pulled me back from my thoughts.
"You can have it, I lost my appetite already," I answered before grabbing my bag, pacing out in rage.
I heard his voice on my way out
Careful, Helen," he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. "Eventually, you're going to run out of people to fire. And the world gets very lonely when you're the only one left in the room."
He turned and walked out, the bell above the door chiming a mocking, silver goodbye as he vanished into the swirling white chaos of the street.
My car's engine was a low, expensive purr that did nothing to soothe the tremor in my hands. I moved through the grid of streets like a fugitive, my eyes constantly darting to the rearview mirror, searching for headlights that shouldn't be there.
I had fled six hundred miles to get away from him. I had used a shell company to sign the lease on her apartment and hidden my name behind a dozen legal firewalls, living in a self-imposed exile to keep my inheritance and my life out of his reach.
Then, a notification vibrated against the leather of the dashboard. No name appeared, but the gray bubble was enough to make my blood turn to ice.
"I'm in the Penthouse, we need to discuss the new terms".
The air in the car suddenly felt thin, as if the heater were sucking the oxygen out of the cabin. My heart thrashed against my ribs. He had found me. He had crossed the distance I thought was unbridgeable. The steering wheel felt slick under my palms. I reached for the screen, my thumb trembling as I tried to swipe the threat away, longing for it to be a mistake, a ghost in the machine.
THUD!
The sound wasn't metallic. It was a sickening sound of something soft being crushed.
My head whipped up and my foot slammed on the brakes, my body jerking forward against the seatbelt. The car fishtailed on the black ice, tires screaming in a high-pitched wail before sliding to a violent, jagged halt.
The silence that followed was louder than the impact, broken only by the frantic tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine.
"No," I breathed, my lungs seizing. "No, no, please..."
I pushed the door open, the Chicago wind hitting her like a physical blow. I stumbled out of the car, the icy wind slicing through me as I slipped on the slush. A dark coat lay tangled beneath the tire, her white hair was stark against the cold pavement.
I dropped to my knees, my breath uneven and sharp as my fingers brushed a hand already cold, already still.
"I didn't see you," I whispered, my voice breaking as red bled into the snow far too fast.
I collapsed to my knees, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps that turned to mist in the air. I reached out, my fingers brushing a hand that was already turning blue, the skin waxy and cold.
"I... I didn't see you," I sobbed, the salt of my tears stinging the freezing air.
The woman didn't move. The red staining the snow was spreading too fast, a vivid, terrifying crimson blooming in the slush.
I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency dial. My mind raced with the cold logic of survival. If I called, I'd go to jail. If I went to jail, I'd be a sitting duck for the man waiting in my living room. He'd strip me of my shares, my company, and my pulse before I ever saw a judge. I'd be dead by morning, one way or another.
"She's gone". The voice came from the dark mouth of an alleyway five feet away.
I let out a strangled cry, my phone slipping from her numb fingers and clattering into the slush. A figure detached itself from the brick shadows, moving with a fluid, predatory grace.
It was him.
Derick was standing there, his hands shoved into the pockets of a dark tactical jacket, his face a mask of terrifying calm. He didn't look at the body with horror; he looked at it with an analytical coldness that made my skin crawl.
"You," I wheezed. "You followed me."
"Doesn't matter," he said, stepping into the pale, flickering glow of her headlights. He walked up to her, his shadow towering over her broken form, blotting out the world. He reached down and picked up my phone from the snow, turning it over in his hand before sliding it into his own pocket.
"You fired me for a spilled drink," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive silk that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "I think you owe me a little more than a paycheck now."
"What do you want?" I whispered, my body trembling so hard my teeth began to chatter.
He reached out, his gloved fingers tilting her chin up, forcing me to look into the darkness of his eyes that held no pity, only a dark, simmering triumph.
"Everything," he said. "I can make this go away. I can make her vanish like she never existed. The car, the blood, the body, it all goes to sleep. But from this second forward, you don't breathe or move without my permission. Your life is no longer your own. Do we have a deal?"
I looked at the body, then back at the man who had me trapped. I thought of the monster waiting in my penthouse. "Deal," I choked out.
Derick's grip on my chin tightened just enough to hurt, a silent reminder of who held the leash.
"Good. Now get in the car. We have work to do."