Chapter 3 Second Encounter

MAYA

Regret always hit hard in the morning

The morning light crept through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the disheveled apartment I called home. My head pounded as I sat up, my eyes burning from hours of crying. The raw soreness in them was a cruel reminder of the mess my life had become. Bills stacked high on the counter. A final notice glared at me from the fridge. And now, I didn't even have a job.

I pressed my hands into my eyes, willing the tears to stay away this time. Crying wouldn't solve anything. But the weight in my chest refused to go away. My mind, traitorous as always, replayed everything on a loop-especially the humiliation of losing my job thanks to *him*.

Damian Greyson.

The name alone made my stomach turn. The arrogant, billionaire who had been the cause of my bad morning and the reason I might be homeless soon.

But it wasn't just about my job. My hatred for men like him ran deeper than that. People like Damian had the world handed to them on a silver platter. They didn't know the struggle. They didn't understand what it meant to fight for survival.

The memory of my mother in that hospital bed clawed its way back to the surface, making my chest ache all over again.

*We're sorry, Miss Evans, but the kidney has been allocated to another patient.

I'd begged. Pleaded. I'd even offered to donate mine, but they said I wasn't a match. Then I'd found out why-some wealthy family had pulled strings to secure the kidney for their loved one. My mother was left to wait and suffer while someone else's life went on without a care.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. I didn't know for sure if Damian had been involved in that, but people like him were the reason the world was so broken.

The clock on the wall read 9:30 a.m. I needed coffee. Something strong enough to shake me out of this dark spiral. I grabbed my coat, stuffed a few crumpled bills into my pocket, and headed out the door.

The café down the block was my usual spot-a small, cozy place with warm lighting and the smell of freshly baked pastries. As soon as I stepped inside, the familiar scent wrapped around me like a balm for my frayed nerves.

But then I saw him.

Damian Greyson.

He was sitting by the window, sipping from a cup, his back straight and his suit immaculate. The sunlight streaming through the glass seemed to highlight every sharp angle of his stupidly perfect face. He looked completely at ease like he didn't have a care in the world.

My stomach twisted, and I almost turned around and walked out. But no-I wasn't going to let him ruin this for me. He'd already taken enough.

I kept my head high as I approached the counter and ordered my usual caramel latte. As I waited, I couldn't help but glance at him again. He was scrolling through his phone now, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk I hated so much. I'd seen that smirk so many times, especially on the tv when he would be invited for talk shows.

What did he have to smile about?

When my coffee was ready, I grabbed it and, without fully thinking it through, walked straight to his table.

"Enjoying your morning, Mr. Greyson?" I asked, my tone sharp enough to cut glass.

He looked up, his grey eyes locking onto mine. He was beautiful, that was an undeniable fact. For a moment, he seemed surprised. Then that damned smirk widened.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Evans," he said, leaning back in his chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Pleasure?" I laughed bitterly. "Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted to see if you're always this insufferable or if it's something you save for special occasions."

His smirk didn't falter. "Ah, still upset about losing your job, are we? Let me guess-you've come to beg for it back?"

I felt the heat rise in my face, my grip on the coffee cup tightening. "Beg? For you? Don't make me laugh. I wouldn't work for you again if you paid me double."

His expression darkened, though the smirk remained. "You know," he said coolly, "I've found that people who complain the loudest are usually the ones who can't handle their own failures."

That did it. The dam holding back all my anger, frustration, and humiliation broke. My hand moved before my brain could stop it.

The coffee splashed across his chest, soaking into his perfect white shirt and dripping onto his expensive suit jacket.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. The café went dead silent, the only sound the faint hiss of the espresso machine in the background.

Damian slowly stood, brushing a hand down his now-ruined shirt. His eyes were colder than ever as they met mine.

"Miss Evans," he said, his voice low and menacing, "you've just made a very big mistake."

My heart dropped into my stomach. The realization of what I'd just done hit me like a train.

"I..." My voice came out shaky, barely audible. "I didn't mean to-"

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was fighting back a smile. "Oh, you meant it."

The weight of his gaze was suffocating, and I couldn't find the words to defend myself. My palms were sweaty, my legs trembling.

''I'm fucked''