The Million Dollar Marriage Deal

Mornings smelled like burnt espresso and cheap floor cleaner.

It was the kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after your shift ended, the kind that whispered "you're still stuck here." I tied my apron for the third time that day, trying to force the knot to hold like the rest of my life.

The café was buzzing with noise coffee orders, impatient tapping, and the occasional hiss of steamed milk.

My back ached. My feet were screaming. Rent was due in four days. And I still hadn't figured out how to pay Mikey's school fees.

I wiped down the counter and forced a smile as the next customer stepped up, barely looking. "Hi, welcome to Daily Roast. What can I get you?"

"Medium chamomile tea. No sugar."

I paused. Not at the order, but the voice.

It was deep, precise, and smooth the kind of voice that didn't ask it expected. Like velvet laid over steel.

I looked up... and regretted it instantly.

He stood at least six-foot-three, dressed in a tailored black coat that looked like it belonged in some fashion campaign, not in our dusty little café on the 6th.

His hair was dark and perfectly styled, though slightly windswept like he'd just stepped out of a car driven by someone else. But it was his eyes that made my mouth go dry, piercing ocean blue, sharp and unreadable.

They looked over me like I was something on a spreadsheet he hadn't decided whether to delete or invest in.

And I was staring.

His hot my subconsciousness told me

Too long.

And maybe I would've kept staring if my elbow hadn't caught the tray behind me.

Hot tea. Full cup. No lid.

Before I could blink, the cup tipped forward, hot liquid splashing down the front of his pristine shirt.

"Oh my God!"

I gasped, reaching over the counter with a napkin like that would fix a ruined thirty-thousand dollar dress shirt.

"I'm so so so sorry Sir, I didn't mean to please".

The café went silent. Even the espresso machine stopped hissing, like it wanted to hear what would happen next.

He looked down at his shirt, slowly, like he was confirming this wasn't a joke. Then his eyes lifted back to mine. No yelling. No swearing. Just silence and an unreadable look that made my stomach twist.

Then... he pulled a small silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at the stain, calm as ever.

"This better not happen twice," he said.

But it wasn't anger in his tone.

It was something else.

Something quieter. Sharper. Like curiosity, barely restrained.

And then I heard it.

My manager's voice cut through the awkward tension behind the bar.

"Aria! Get over here and clean up the spill!"

He froze.

His eyes flicked back at me.

"Aria," he repeated softly, like he was testing how the name felt on his tongue.

That was the moment. The exact second something shifted behind those cold, blue eyes.

He walked away without another word.

I stood frozen, heart hammering, hands shaking, trying to breathe past the panic tightening my throat. My shirt stuck to my back from sweat and nerves. It took all my strength not to collapse on the counter.

"He didn't yell," Tara whispered beside me, blinking. "That man looked like he owns three islands and a private jet... and you poured boiling tea on him. And he smirked?"

I groaned. "Please don't."

She grinned. "You might've just stumbled into your sugar daddy era."

I tossed a napkin at her, but the corner of my lips curved slightly. Just slightly.

But the moment was gone as quickly as it came. The manager, Mrs. Mal stormed out from the back, her sharp heels clacking like gunshots on the tiled floor.

"Aria Reed," she snapped, and not without a hot slap that rang bells in my ears, "That man you almost burned is not a regular." A very quiet and rare one. Do you have any idea what that shirt probably cost? You can't afford to breathe next to it!"

"I said I'm sorry"

"No. Don't apologize. Just mop the floor, stay off the counter, and pray he doesn't report us."

By the time my shift ended, my body felt like it had been run over by caffeine and capitalism. I untied my apron, shoved it into my locker, and pulled on my faded hoodie.

The sun was already dipping low outside. I had forty minutes to get home, start dinner, and help Mikey with his assignments.

Tara caught up with me near the door, slipping me a tiny wrapped candy. "Here. Sweetness for the road."

"Thanks."

"Hey." She looked at me. "That guy... blue-eyes? He didn't look angry. He looked like he noticed you. Like... really noticed."

I shrugged. "I'm not in the business of being noticed."

"Well, you should be. You're cute. And smart. And your life deserves better than this place."

I offered her a tired smile. "We do what we can."

She bumped her shoulder into mine. "Take care of that little brother of yours."

I walked home. I couldn't afford transport tonight. Again.

The sky had turned a soft orange, the wind tugging at my sleeves. My phone buzzed with a reminder:

Mikey's exam fees due in 2 weeks. $5,000 still missing

I swallowed hard.

The walk gave me time to think which was usually the worst part of my day.

What if I can't come up with the money?

What if Mikey had to drop out of school?

What if this was just... it? A life of running between coffee shifts, cleaning jobs, and night shifts at that fast-food place just to survive?

When I opened the door to our tiny apartment, Mikey looked up from the floor, his textbooks spread out like a broken fan. He was thirteen, thin for his age, but sharp as ever.

"Hey, sis!" he called. "You smell like coffee and regrets."

"Charming." I dropped my bag and sank into the old couch. "You eat?"

"Leftover jollof. I saved you the last spoon."

"My hero."

He grinned, and I felt a piece of the day slide off my shoulders. Mikey was my anchor the only family I had left. Mom passed three years ago. Dad walked out long before that.

It was just us now.

And I would work myself to the bone if it meant keeping him in school, in clothes, in a life that didn't look like mine.

I didn't think about the man with the ocean-blue eyes again until much later that night, when I finally collapsed into bed and let my body stop pretending it was strong.

He said my name.

The way he said it...

"Aria."

It was nothing. Just a customer. Just a slip.

Right?