Chapter 3 Coffee taste like betrayal

"Come to my office tomorrow. Noon sharp."

Nathan said it casually, like he was asking me to fetch dry cleaning. Then he turned to walk away, the arrogant curl of his smirk practically slapping me on the cheek.

"Wait-at least give me your number," I said, jogging after him in my six-inch heels that were plotting my death.

He turned, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Why? So you can ghost me again?"

"Seriously, Nathan-just in case I'm running late-"

"Nope." He winked. "You want me? Show up."

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd like some smug billionaire Batman.

---

When I got home, the tension in the apartment greeted me at the door like an angry landlord.

Adrian was on the couch, shirtless, chewing loudly on cold pizza. His PS5 controller clicked furiously while Sindy scrolled through TikTok next to him.

I tiptoed in, praying no one noticed the borrowed gown, smeared makeup, or broken heel dangling from my hand.

"Is that my girl's dress?" Adrian gasped, sitting up.

Busted.

"Relax, it's still in one piece-"

"Are you insane? That's a ten-thousand-dollar dress!"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Adrian beat me to it-loudly.

"You stole Sindy's stuff to stalk your ex?"

"It wasn't stalking," I snapped. "It was... strategic networking."

He stood up, scoffing. "Networking? In a borrowed gown with your boobs halfway to freedom?"

"I needed to get into that gala, Adrian. Do you want our company to die?!"

"It's already dead, Erica! You're just dancing on the grave."

The words hit like slaps.

"You're blaming mean?"

"Yeah!" His voice cracked. "You were supposed to fix it. You always said you would."

I clenched my fists. "Well, maybe if you actually worked instead of turning our apartment into a crypto zoo-"

He stepped forward. "Don't touch my girlfriend's stuff again. And don't act like you're the only one suffering here."

I stared at him, my chest burning.

"You think I wanted this?" I whispered.

Adrian's face twisted, bitterness bubbling up. "I think you've been screwing up since you were seventeen. You wanna talk about suffering? Let's talk about Mom."

Silence fell.

His words cut through the air like glass.

"You think I forgot?" he said. "She was fine until she got that call. Until you called."

My throat tightened.

"She was driving to get you out of some drunken party, and she-she died, Erica. She died because of you."

I couldn't breathe.

Sindy murmured something, trying to calm him, but I didn't hear her. I turned and walked straight to my room, shutting the door before the dam burst.

---

I've lived with guilt for six years.

8 long years since that night I snuck out to see a band no one even remembers now. Mom had begged me not to go.

"Not tonight, baby. I have a migraine," she said.

I went anyway.

I got drunk. My phone died. I ended up passed out behind some food truck. A stranger called my mom. She panicked. She drove out in the middle of the night.

Her heart couldn't take it.

They said it was a heart attack. Said it was no one's fault.

But I knew better.

She died because of me.

And I've been trying to fix things ever since-chasing deals, chasing hope, chasing forgiveness that might never come.

---

The next day, I wore my best thrift-store blazer, paired with a determined scowl. Nathan's tech company towered like a smug finger in the skyline.

Barth Innovations. Clean lines, glass walls, employees who looked like they drank kombucha and never farted.

The receptionist gave me a look like I'd brought in the flu.

"Mr. Barth will see you shortly. Please wait."

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After an hour and seventeen minutes, she finally nodded. "He's ready."

I stepped into an elevator that probably cost more than my apartment and arrived on the top floor.

The doors opened to a jaw-dropping view-floor-to-ceiling windows, plants I couldn't pronounce, furniture that looked stolen from a sci-fi movie.

And there he was.

Nathan Barth. Sitting behind a desk bigger than my bed, in a charcoal suit and a gaze that could curdle milk.

"Welcome to my kingdom," he said.

"Nice place. Do all your minions wait an hour before being summoned?"

He smirked. "Only the ones who ghosted me in college."

I rolled my eyes. "Can we talk about the investment?"

"Of course," he said, standing. "Right after you make me a cup of coffee."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smiled. "You want my help? Play by my rules."

I stared at him, stunned. "You invited me here to brew coffee?"

"You're the one who wants something," he said, leaning back. "This is the interview."

Grinding my teeth, I sighed. "Fine. Where's the machine?"

He pointed to a corner where a spaceship masquerading as a coffee maker sat surrounded by buttons and knobs that looked like nuclear launch codes.

"Good luck," he said cheerfully.

I took off my blazer like I was entering combat.

Attempt 1: Too sweet.

Attempt 2: Too bitter.

Attempt 3: "Tastes like betrayal," he said.

Attempt 4: "Now it's just hot bean water."

Attempt 5: I nearly hurled the cup at his smug face.

"You know what?" I snapped, slamming the sixth cup down. "I don't want your money. I'll find someone else."

I turned to leave.

He laughed.

A slow, cruel, maddening laugh.

"Go ahead," he said. "But no one's going to invest in a dead company. Especially not in my city."

I froze.

"What?"

He leaned forward, voice silky. "I own the investment circles in New York. Every serious VC listens to me. You walk out of here, you walk out on the only deal left on the table."

My fingers curled into fists.

I hated him.

I needed him.

I picked up the cup, teeth clenched, ready to start again.

But he stood and stretched.

"Never mind," he said lazily. " I don't like coffee anyways. Let's go out for lunch."

I stared at him, jaw hanging.

"You-what?"

"You passed the test," he said with a grin. "You didn't throw the cup at me. Impressive. Barely."

I grabbed my bag and followed him, muttering curses under my breath.

This man was a billionaire.

And a sadist.

And the only hope I had left.