THE BILLIONAIRE'S BROKEN MUSE

> "They say your life can change in a single moment. Mine changed with iced coffee and a ruined suit."

Alora Reyes wasn't trying to meet the most private billionaire in the country.

But fate-and caffeine-had other plans.

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Alora Reyes had exactly seven dollars in her bank account, a chipped phone screen, and the kind of bad luck that made you believe someone out there was playing a very specific prank on her life.

But even broke and unlucky, Alora needed her caffeine.

The cozy corner coffee shop on 63rd and West wasn't fancy, but it had floor-to-ceiling windows, moody playlists, and the kind of ambience that made her feel like a protagonist in one of those indie movies where someone falls in love over shared glances and poetry. She liked pretending her life could be something like that, even if reality laughed in her face.

She juggled her laptop bag, a notebook, and the iced caramel latte she could barely afford, while nudging the door open with her foot. A small victory-until the universe struck back.

She turned too fast. Or maybe the man behind her moved too silently. Either way, she didn't see him until impact.

Her drink went airborne.

The plastic lid popped off mid-flight and an entire river of creamy caffeine crashed into the front of a stranger's suit.

A very expensive suit.

Alora gasped, horror freezing her to the spot.

"Oh my God-" she dropped her bag and scrambled for napkins from a nearby table. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't see-are you okay? Your suit! God, this is totally my fault-"

The man didn't respond.

Not at first.

He stood still, shoulders square, staring down at the spreading stain on his pristine, dark gray jacket. The liquid soaked into the fine wool like ink in water. He brushed it once with his fingers, and then-finally-lifted his gaze to her.

Alora forgot how to breathe.

Tall. Sharp. Ridiculously handsome. His features were sculpted in that effortless, intimidating way-like someone had carved him out of ice and shadows. Cold black hair, precise jaw, and eyes that seemed to read thoughts she hadn't even formed yet.

He didn't look angry, though. Just... annoyed. Quietly. Dangerously.

"I swear I didn't mean-look, let me pay for dry cleaning or something," she rambled, holding out a napkin like it was a peace offering. "Or replace the suit. Though I'm not sure I can afford this kind of-what is that, silk-wool blend? Cashmere? Oh my God, is it designer?"

Still, silence.

Until his lips finally moved.

"You're Alora Reyes."

She blinked. "...What?"

He stepped forward, wiping at the stain with no urgency. "You write a blog. Small following. Sharp voice. Good storytelling instincts."

Okay. Creep alert... or literary fan?

Alora straightened. "You read my blog?"

"I don't make a habit of it," he said, looking at her in that unreadable way. "But your piece on grief and books? The one about your dad's favorite author... That was honest. Messy. Real."

Her mouth opened and closed like a confused goldfish. "Wait... you seriously read that?"

He offered his hand. "Julian Vale."

She froze.

Julian Vale.

The Julian Vale.

Youngest tech billionaire in the country. Ruthless innovator. Media recluse. Practically allergic to interviews. And she'd just baptized him with caramel latte.

Of course.

Because of course her first billionaire encounter would involve caffeine-based assault.

"I... wow. I am so sorry. Like cosmically sorry."

To her surprise, Julian gave the tiniest smirk. "Don't be. You may have just earned yourself a job."

Alora blinked. "A what?"

"Come by my office tomorrow. Noon. There's something I want you to write."

"Because I ruined your suit?"

"No," he said, already turning to leave. "Because I don't believe in accidents."

And then he was gone-vanishing into a sleek black car that pulled up like it had been waiting for him all along.

Alora stood in the middle of the café, blinking like she'd hallucinated the whole thing.

She glanced down.

In her hand was a business card, slipped to her during the chaos. Matte black, with just one name in silver foil:

Julian Vale.

And on the back, a time. An address.

Tomorrow. Noon.

She let out a shaky laugh, stunned and jittery.

Who the hell was this man?

And why did her heart feel like it had just agreed to something dangerously beautiful?