Chapter 2 BILLIONAIRE IN DISGUISE

Pamela's POV

I stand in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the sink. Water runs, but I'm not using it. Just letting it flow because the silence feels too loud. The café is closed, chairs flipped on tables, and lights dimmed except for the ones above the prep counter.

That's when I hear it-wheezing, soft but sharp, coming from the back room.

"Gramps?" I call out,

He did not answer.

Panic rises inside my chest as I move fast through the swinging door, and I meet him slumped in the old recliner, hand gripping his side like he's trying to hold something inside.

"Oh my God-" the sound of my heartbeat intense like that of a pounding drum; I ran to grab him. "Gramps! Can you hear me?"

He nods, barely. His skin looks too pale, too wet. Cold sweat glistens on his forehead.

"Hurts," he mutters.

"Okay. I'm calling an ambulance."

He starts to shake his head, stubborn even now, but I'm already dialing the emergency line. My fingers fumble with the screen.

Please don't die. Please don't leave me, too.

The sirens come quickly. I ride in the back with him, holding his hand the whole way. He doesn't let go.

***

The hospital smells like bleach and fear. I sit in the waiting room with my apron still on and garlic still clinging to me like a second skin. My legs bounce. My arms cross and uncross. I keep checking my phone even though there are no messages.

They say it's a heart scare. They're running tests. Yet they won't let me see him.

My phone buzzes. I jump.

It's not the hospital.

It's the reminder I set to check the catering job.

The one for that fancy gala. The one I haven't said yes to. The one that could pay the rent we're three months behind on. Only if it was real, but I know better. It can't be, so I'd rather not raise my hopes.

I delete the notification and bury my phone under my thigh like it's something I'm ashamed of.

A nurse walks past. I rush to her to ask how my grandpa is feeling right now, but she ignores me.

My breath caught in my throat as I didn't know what to do again. The lights above me buzz. A kid cries somewhere down the hall.

And that's when I feel a weird cramp. Low in my stomach. Tight and strange.

I don't think much of it at first. But it comes again. And again.

That's when the panic sets in.

****

I slip into the hospital bathroom and lock the door.

I sit on the toilet lid, staring at my thighs like they'll give me answers.

I do the math in my head.

Oh God.

I haven't had my period in... almost two months.

I've been busy all this while to the extent that I can't take care of myself again; I just figured it was late.

But now I'm thinking of that night. The one I tried so hard to forget.

He's gorgeous-drop dead angelic, his voice, his eyes. The way he touched me like he already knew me.

His features are sharp, almost too perfect; as if days were spent crafting him.

The one that calls his name-Daniel.

The one that left before the sun came up.

He didn't drop any note, nor did he call, just a memory that won't leave me alone.

I close my eyes and lean forward. My stomach twists.

Please don't let this happen.

I tell myself it's just stress. That my body's reacting to stress. Grandpa's hospital bills, the café eviction, the rent. The pressure pressing in from all sides.

But I still find myself walking to the drugstore across from the hospital. Hoodie up. Head down. I buy the pregnancy test strip and stuff it in my bag like it's illegal.

Back in the hospital bathroom, I wait.

Minutes feel like hours.

Then finally, one line.

Not pregnant.

Relief hits me like a truck. I slide down the wall and sit on the tile floor.

But instead of feeling better... I cry.

My tears flow freely while I stare at the test on the counter.

I wasn't ready. I don't want a baby now.

But something about that moment-thinking it was real-shook me in a way I didn't expect.

It made everything real. That night wasn't just a mistake. It mattered. Even if I pretend it didn't.

Even if he lied about his name.

*****

I found out by accident.

Two days after that night, I was scrolling through some news story linked to a catering job email I almost deleted.

It was about some elite fundraising event. There was a photo. A group of rich-looking people in tuxedos and diamonds. One man in the middle. Clean-cut. Tall. Cold eyes.

The caption read: Wilfred Johnson, CEO of Johnson & Rowe Holdings.

My stomach flipped.

Because that was him.

Same face, the same sharp jaw, and that stupid smirk.

But he didn't say his name was Wilfred.

He said, Daniel.

I even remember laughing at how soft that sounded for a man like him.

But it was a lie. Just like everything else.

I stared at that picture for a long time as if my eyes were deceiving me

Why would someone like him lie about his name?

Was it a game? A trick?

Or was I just another story he didn't want to be tied to his real life?

*****

Hours later, I'm allowed to see Gramps. He's propped up in bed, a little color back in his cheeks. His smile is crooked and tired.

"You look like hell," he says.

I let out a broken laugh and sat beside him. "You scared me."

"You scare me every time you skip breakfast," he counters. "You forget to take care of yourself."

I don't argue. He's right.

"You should take that job," he says suddenly.

I blink. "How did you even-?"

"I'm not deaf, Pam. I hear things. You've been pacing around that decision for days."

"I'm not ready."

"You're never gonna be ready," he says, his voice is soft. "But sometimes you gotta say yes before the world tells you no."

I don't answer. I just watch the beeping monitor beside him.

"Your mom," he starts, then stops. His eyes go distant.

"What about her?"

"She used to freeze up too. Before a big moment. Your dad called it her 'storm cloud phase.' Said she had to let the lightning strike before she'd move."

I swallow hard. "I remember."

That's a lie. I don't remember clearly. Just flashes. Her laugh. His hands. The crash. The rain.

"I miss them," I whisper.

He nods. "Me too."

We sit there in the quiet for a while.

*****

Later that night, I finally walked home. It's dark and cold. I clutch my jacket tight around me.

I lock the door and collapse into the chair behind the counter.

It's all too much. The hospital bills, the test, the rent, the Eviction notice, and the lies.

I think of him again. Wilfred Johnson. The billionaire who called himself Daniel. The man who looked at me like I mattered, for one night.

But somewhere, deep inside me, a tiny voice whispers-

Say yes to the job, the risk that may come out of it, and the fear.

Because maybe it's the only way out of the storm.