ou for days. She looked so weighed down, you'd think she was carrying bricks in her pockets. Surprise? Forget it. She didn't even blink at him suddenly popping

t. He wasn't used to people ignoring him. Especially not Elena. Her whole "couldn't care less" attitude? Oof. Bruised his e

e. But then, boom, right through the big café window, he spotted Elena. She was slumped in the corner, half her face buried in her hands, staring into

ere between, "Ha, look at her," and, "What's her deal?" Almost li

murmured, giving Natasha's hand this gentle l

already moving with him, still latched

cted, his fingers drumming on her hand like he was playing

thing-a twitch, a snarl, maybe the classic deer-in-headlights look. Nope. Elena's just sitting there, face so bla

all morning? Yeah, it snapped. Like, immediate blood-pressure spike. Her

should be squirming. He's standing there, basically vibrating with frustration, totally missing the

se. But the kicker? She rings the client herself and shifts the whole appointment, like she's the boss. Didn't even bother checking with him

"What's going on, El?" Like she's asking about the

nwhile, Elena? She's already moved on. In her head, she did her penance-called the client, fixed the mess, crisis averted. Client's happy, end

ozing from every syllable. Yeah, the smirk was there, but honestly

y to sugarcoat it, standing up fast, every move pretty much screaming she'd rather be anywher

eyeing Elena with the sort of nosiness t

ena threw back, polite but also sounding like she'd rather eat g

ter her. Honestly, he looked like someone had just unpl

s were supposed to go, at least not in his head. It chewed at him, that lack of fea

!" Natasha yanked on his arm, alread

eat? Not really. But ditching Natasha? Not an option. So, yeah, he

perks, right? He could fire her, just like that-if she wasn't basically the backbone of the whole operation. Honestly, fi

ered, jaw clenched, like he was making

*

eight-the one that always showed up when things went sideways-was back, pressing down on her. Solutions? Ha. She'd

a personal grudge. The wipers squeaked back and forth, back and forth, but the inside of her head was louder; her thoughts j

ping. Ideas kept popping up and dying just as fast-nothing stuck, nothing felt right. But somehow, when she crossed that threshold, the chaos dialed

remembering every scratch and dent. The code was burned into her brain. She punched it in, hoping she wouldn't screw it up, then waited. Ther

d. And some overstuffed folder, wedged in there like it was hiding something more exciting. Her hands weren't exactly steady as s

this... didn't look like enough. Her brain just kept looping: Okay, first things first-call the vendors, beg for ti

sed. Most of the vendors, bless them, agreed to wait it out until the insurance came throu

it, and-crap-the employees. People needed their paychecks. She ha

, and started digging through files. Clickity-click-her heart keeping time

it all together. Apparently, Dad had already cashed in some gold bars. The notes spelled out what he'd done with the money: he'd sunk

her voice barely even made it past her lips. And those workers-families who needed this job to go on. Thinki

e thought. Even as the words tumbled out, the

was coming up, like, yesterday. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot, and her throat felt like it was shrink

scratch the surface of what she owed the workers. Forget severance. Forget salaries. She felt the tears coming, and this time, she didn't bother

rking in the corner. American hospitals? Please. Even with insurance, the bills were laughable-in that "I'm going t

that fat folder with her granddad's land titles stuffed in it. Four of them. Maybe, just maybe, one could be flipped fa

she was selling off the house or the supermarket. That stuff? Sacred. Dad's sweat, Grandpa's stubbornness, all packed into those deeds. Untouchable. But that other plot of l

have to stomach. Pride? Whatever. Pride couldn't pay bills. She barely paused

, "Remember when you guys didn't have to worry about money?" She jumped out, adrenaline and exhaustion slugging it

r aunt and uncle, knee-deep in chores, looking lik

ce wobbled. Gre

heartbeat, hands on her cheeks, eyes scanning h

s voice was tight, like he'd been holding his breath

lmost melted. But no time for t

ile not quite reaching her eyes. You could practically see the nerves buzzing behind

from whatever chores they were juggling. Warm, open-

g. This chat? Pivotal. Her family's fut

gia hit hard. Used to echo with her laughter. Now? She wa

old and new smashed together. No m

contin