BOUND BY HIS NAME

Isabella's POV

I was sitting at my usual seat, trying to finish the morning duties, when Ana walked over with her bright smile.

"Did you do anything fun this weekend?" she asked, leaning slightly on the counter.

I smiled and shook my head. "Not really. I was in the hospital with my mom all through the weekend... but did you?"

She breathed out softly. "I went to that new café downtown. Did you hear about it?"

"Which one?" I asked, curious. "The one near the park?"

"Yes! Did you know they have free pastries on Sundays?" Ana whispered, laughing softly.

We were still chatting about our weekend plans when a woman walked toward us. She moved like she owned the floor, her high heels clicking softly, her dress perfectly fitted and shining under the lights. Her eyelashes fluttered up and down like she was practicing a spell.

"Miss Ella," she whispered, her voice low and silky. "The boss demands your presence in his office... immediately."

Before I could answer, she eased past me, swaying slightly, then whispered again, "You better not keep him waiting." She glided away as if the floor belonged to her.

Ana and I exchanged wide-eyed looks and whispered behind our hands, trying not to laugh.

"Did you see how she walked?" Ana asked.

"Like she's a model... does she always dress like that?" I whispered back.

"Every day, I think... just to impress the boss?" Ana said, giggling.

"Do you think he notices?" I asked quietly.

"Maybe... but she's too much," Ana added, shaking her head with a laugh.

I laughed too, but then reality hit me. My boss was calling me.

My heart jumped.

I hurried toward his office, my shoes clicking on the polished floor.

When I opened the door, he was standing by the tall window. Mexico City stretched behind him, full of life, but he seemed lost in his own world.

He held a glass of whisky, swirling it slowly.

"Didn't Sophia call you?" he asked without turning.

"She did," I whispered.

"And you decided to stay... and do as you wished?" His voice was calm but sharp, like a blade.

I froze, unsure of what to say. Then I whispered, "I... I forgot, sir."

He finally turned to look at me, his eyes cold and serious. "I hope you remember next time. We don't condone disobedience here."

"Yes, sir," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He took a slow sip of his whisky and pointed at the table. "Take the envelope."

I walked over, my heart pounding, and picked it up. The paper inside was crisp, but my stomach sank when I read the words:

Termination of Employment.

I fell to my knees, clutching the envelope.

"Please... it wasn't intentional! I... I have no other job. My mother... her hospital bills... the rent..."

My voice cracked.

He turned toward me, calm on the outside, anger simmering in his dark eyes. "I don't want you to go back to your seat. Or even mention a word to Ana. Walk out of here. Go outside. Leave this company."

"Sir, please. I'm sorry."

He turned his back on me.

"But... sir," I whispered. "At least let me carry my bag."

He shook his head. "No need. All your belongings are outside, waiting for you. There's nothing more to carry."

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling, as I slowly walked out.

At that moment, I felt like I had been born with disgrace.

Suffering.

I thought of giving up.

But...

I dared not. I couldn't.

Something kept pushing me forward-my sick mother, breathing with the help of a machine in the hospital. Seeing her in that condition broke my heart into pieces.

I had no rich friends. No helpers. Just me and my dying mother.

Outside, the streets of Mexico were cruel. The sky was dark, and the cold wind pulled at my body like it wanted to lift me off the ground.

Each drop of rain seeped deep into my bones. Wrapped in tears and pain, I hugged my arms around my chest as I trudged through the streets.

There was no money in my hand to book a taxi.

So I walked in the storm, the rain flogging my body mercilessly, reminding me how lonely I was on this planet Earth.

Each step grew heavier as I climbed the narrow stairs to Alex's apartment.

At the entrance, I wiped the rain from my face, swallowing the knot in my throat.

How will I break the news to Alex? I asked myself.

The moment I pushed the door open, an unfamiliar fragrance hit me. It wasn't my perfume. Not Alex's either.

It was strong-chalky and sweet.

I froze. My heart began to race, the kind of fear that comes before seeing something you wish wasn't real.

"Alex?" My voice cracked from fear and exhaustion.

No reply. No sign of life.

"I'm home... anyone?"

The silence that followed was heavy and suspicious.

I took a few steps when I heard a woman's voice coming from the bedroom.

Without realizing it, my legs moved on their own toward the half-closed door. My fingers trembled as I pushed it open.

To my greatest fear, it was exactly what I thought.

"Alex," I cried.

A woman was straddling him on the bed, her shirt half unbuttoned. Alex wasn't even surprised to see me. He looked like he felt he had the right to cheat.

Finally, he spoke. "Isa," he said, "we need to talk," without a trace of remorse.

"Alex, why?" My voice was barely a whisper. "For five years, I have been loyal-"

"You've been loyal, so what?" he interrupted harshly.

"Don't make this dramatic," he added coldly.

"Why are you acting like you didn't see this coming?"

My throat tightened. The betrayal tasted like blood, especially because it came from the person I trusted most.

Alex sat up, completely unapologetic. "Isa, I can't do this anymore. I'm tired. I've been paying your rent, your mother's bills-everything. And you don't even have a well-paying job."

His words hit harder than the rain outside.

Tears slid down my face as my mouth hung open in disbelief.

"You can't even take care of yourself," he continued. "How do you expect me to carry you forever?"

I stepped back, shaking.

"So this is it, Alex? You cheat just to push me away?"

He turned his attention back to the woman.

I watched as my dignity slipped through my fingers like wet sand.

I couldn't stay. I dragged myself out of the room in shame.

"Get your belongings at the back gate," Alex said lazily. "And don't forget to drop my keys."

There was nothing left to pack. My clothes had already been thrown into the hallway-soaked and pitiful.

Two minutes later, I stood outside under the rain, holding nothing but my phone.

I walked to my mother's old house, the place we shared before she fell ill. It was a small self-contained building, with cracked walls and peeling white paint.

When I arrived, my heart shattered again.

The door was chained shut-a thick bulldog chain, locked with a large red padlock.

A notice was attached to it.

Two years of rent overdue. Property seized.

Two years.

That would be about one five thousand dollars-and how?

Where could I get such an amount of money from?

That was the question I kept asking myself as I pressed my forehead against the cold metal gate, my chest feeling hollow.

"Oh God, please help me," I whispered-to no one but myself.

That night, I slept outside, behind the bakery across from my mother's apartment.

By morning, my body ached, my heart felt raw, and my stomach cried from hunger. But the image of my mother's pale, fragile face in the hospital left me with no choice but to keep going.

I remembered Ana mentioning the café she went to. I decided to try my luck there, hoping-praying-not to be rejected.

The moment I stepped into the café, noise surrounded me. Laughter. Whispering. Voices everywhere.

I headed straight to the counter. Luckily, a lady was seems to be the manager, she was standing there tall with sharp eyebrows and an unreadable expression.

She spoke in a calm, gentle tone.

"Yes. What can I offer you?"

"Nothing, ma'am," I said quickly. "I just came to ask if you need anyone to assist-like a waitress."

"Nope. I'm not looking for any waitress," she replied, tapping her nails against the counter.

"But ma'am, even if it's a cleaning job, I'll do it," I pleaded. "Please."

My knees nearly touched the floor.

She studied me for a moment. Then she smirked.

"Fine. Let's see how desperate you are."

She raised an eyebrow and snapped her fingers at one of the baristas.

"Prepare a large caramel espresso."

The barista nodded.

She turned back to me, arms crossed.

"Take that coffee across the street. Table nineteen on the outdoor terrace. Fast. If you can handle one customer, I'll consider you."

"That's it?" I blinked.

I had barely taken a step toward the door when my phone buzzed. I checked it-and my heart stopped.

URGENT: Your mother's condition worsened overnight. She has been moved to the emergency room.

My chest cracked open.

My breath stuttered.

My legs weakened.

"No... no, no," I whispered, tears blurring my vision.

In that split second, I didn't see the raised curb.

My shoe caught. My arm jerked. The world tilted.

The coffee flew through the air-and exploded across a man's gray suit as he stepped into the café.

I froze.

He froze.

"Oh-my God," I breathed. "Sir, please, I'm so sorry." The words spilled out without control.

He slowly raised his head.

Sharp jawline. Storm-dark eyes.

His presence made the entire street pause, as if everyone was watching a scene I had just created.

Alejandro De La Vega.

I recognized him instantly-the most powerful and dangerous billionaire in Mexico. The heir to De La Vega Company.

"What," he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, "did you just do?"

The sound of his voice sent my thoughts spinning. It was silky, controlled, terrifying.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," I stammered. "I didn't mean it. It was an accident."

"Do you know how much this suit costs?"

I flinched, my eyes wide, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Alejandro exhaled slowly-dangerously. Like a man holding back an explosion.

Then his gaze dropped to me.

I swear the temperature dropped.

"You," he said quietly, "do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I-I'm so sorry," I whispered. "Please, I didn't mean-"

"You ruined a meeting worth more than your annual income."

Ouch.

"I tripped," I tried to explain. "It was an accident."

"Accidents," he said, stepping closer, "are what children make. Not adults."

His words scraped something raw inside me.

Anger. Embarrassment. Fear.

People stared. Whispers spread through the café.

"I'll pay for the dry cleaning," I blurted. "Or-or the shirt. Just please let me explain."

He laughed-but there was no humor in it.

Only ice.

"This shirt," he said, flicking the soaked fabric with two fingers, "costs more than you earn in a month."

I swallowed hard.

"You should watch where you're going instead of-"

He stopped.

Because my phone buzzed again, still open in my hand.

The doctor's message glowed on the screen.

He glanced at it, and something flickered across his face-curiosity? Judgment? I couldn't tell.

I quickly lowered the phone, my cheeks burning.

He stepped closer, invading my space.

"For someone this distracted," he murmured darkly, "you shouldn't be carrying hot drinks."

That should've made me apologize again. Instead, something inside me snapped.

"I said it was an accident," I hissed. "I didn't pour coffee on you for fun."

Something shifted in his expression.

Interest? Annoyance? Both.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"I-I don't see how that's relevant."

"It's relevant," he said coldly, "because I don't like not knowing the name of the person who just cost me a multi-million-peso negotiation."

My mouth fell open.

A date... was a negotiation?

Then again, men like him don't date-they strategize.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping dangerously low.

"So. Name."

"...Isabella," I whispered.

His eyes lingered on me-too long, too intensely.

"Well, Isabella," he said softly, chillingly, "I always repay people who inconvenience me."

My stomach dropped. "That's not necessary-"

"Oh, it is," he murmured. "You'll see me again."

It sounded like a promise. Or a threat.

A black car pulled up beside him. The driver rushed out, horror spreading across his face as he saw the ruined suit.

"Sir-"

Alejandro raised a hand, silencing him.

He gave me one last look-sharp, unreadable, dangerous.

Then he got into the car.

It drove away, leaving me trembling in the street, holding an empty coffee cup and a broken job opportunity.

When I walked back into the café, the manager's politeness vanished.

"You embarrassed us," she snapped. "You made a scene."

"I didn't- do it Intentionally"

"You're not hired."

Those three words crushed me.

I walked out in a daze, fighting the burn behind my eyes.

Failed interview.

Destroyed suit.

Angry billionaire.

Sick mother waiting for hope I couldn't give.

My world felt like it was collapsing.

I sank onto a bus-stop bench and covered my face with my hands.

What else could go wrong today?

I didn't know.

But the universe clearly did.

I remembered the last words Alejandro whispered as he walked away:

"Isabella Ramirez. Let's see who you really are."

I didn't know how I got back to my mother's apartment; all I knew was that I was back home.

My heart cracked in a way that made it hard to breathe. Our landlord didn't even bother to call. He just tossed my life into the street like garbage.

I buried my face in my hands until my tears soaked into my palms.

I had no job.

No home.

A sick mother depending on me.

And now... nowhere to go.

My phone buzzed suddenly.

I wiped my face and checked the screen.

Unknown Number:

Miss Ramirez? This is the manager from Café El Molino. Please return immediately.

I blinked.

Return?

I called her quickly. "Hello? Ma'am? Please, I saw a text message."

"Yes, I sent it. Someone just quit the job, and I'm in need of a replacement," she said. "You got the job."

I almost dropped my phone.

"I don't know what to say, but all I know is that I'm hired," I whispered to myself.

"Are you coming or not?" the voice asked through the phone.

"Yes! Yes, I'm coming!" I breathed, hardly believing it.

The call ended.

I ran back to the café.

The café was busy when I returned-people talking over each other, spoons clinking, cups steaming. The manager thrust an apron into my hands.

"You will start right away. Don't embarrass us again."

"Understood," I said, swallowing.

I tied the apron and stepped behind the counter, repeating the steps they'd taught me:

Smile, take orders, deliver drinks quickly, don't trip, don't stare, and don't drop anything.

Easy enough.

Until a huge muscular man walked in.

He was wearing a black t-shirt and ash pants.

He entered the café like the air shifted to make room for him. Conversations dimmed. Heads turned. Even the manager straightened her blouse, nervous.

His presence slicing through the crowded space like a blade. His eyes scanned the room-

And landed on me.

My breath hitched.

He approached slowly, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"Coffee girl," he said, voice smooth and deep.

I nearly choked on my own spit. "Sorry, but I'm new here; maybe you might be mistaking me for someone else," I whispered.

"You work here now?" he asked, and I gave a slight nod of surprise, trying to recall where we met.

"Have we met before?" I asked.

"Nope, not exactly," he responded as his gaze slid down to my apron, then back up to my face. I felt stripped bare under that stare.

"What can I get you?" I managed, trying to sound professional.

"A double espresso."

I nodded and turned to make it.

Another customer waved their hand. "Miss? My latte?"

"Right away," I said.

Someone else tapped the counter. "Refill, please!"

"I'll attend to you in a moment."

I was juggling three orders when I heard a low voice behind me.

"I ordered before them," the muscular man said.

I turned slowly. "Yes, and I will get to you. But they ordered before you walked in."

His brows lifted.

Not angrily.

Not shocked.

Just... curious.

"You're telling me to wait?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Yes. That's how a queue works."

The barista beside me gasped quietly. The manager nearly dropped a tray.

"No one dares talk to me like that," he uttered. "No one."

He stared at me, eyes darkening-not with rage, but something colder, something assessing.

"And what," he asked softly, "makes you think I'm the type of man who waits?"

"Everyone waits," I whispered back. "Even you."

A silence wrapped around us.

Thick.

Heavy.

Electric.

Then something strange happened.

His lips twitched.

Was he... amused?

Impossible.

But he stepped back, hands raised slightly.

"Very well. Surprise me."

I blinked, stunned.

Did he just... listen?

I made his espresso second. Not first. I wasn't suicidal.

When I finally placed the cup gently in front of him, he didn't touch it. He only held my gaze.

"What's your price?"

"My price?" I echoed.

"For your honesty. Not many people speak to me like that."

"I wasn't being brave," I muttered. "Just doing my job."

"Is that what this is?" he said softly. "A job?"

I frowned. "What else would it be?"

He leaned closer.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Something shivered down my spine.

Before I could respond, the manager burst out of the backroom, a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Sir! Is everything satisfactory? Hope Isabella didn't delay your order, did she?"

I clenched my jaw.

His eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to amusement.

"She has a... strong sense of order," he said. "I appreciate that."

My manager looked relieved. "Very good! Please enjoy your espresso."

After he had finished his drink, he stood, taking out his wallet. Then he placed a crisp set of bills into my hand-far more than the drink cost.

A lot more.

"Keep the change, Isabella."

My eyes widened. "Sir, this is too much-"

"You need it," he said simply. "And I needed entertainment."

I opened my mouth, offended and grateful at the same time.

But before I could speak, my manager's nails dug hard into my arm.

As he walked away, she hissed in my ear: "If that man ever walks out of this shop dissatisfied, you're fired. Do you understand? He's Hector; he is the most powerful customer and the most famous man in the city. You mess this up..." Her grip tightened until it hurt. "You lose everything. Again."

I stiffened.

After my manager finished speaking, she asked for the bill.

I quickly reached into my apron and brought out the money. Before I could place it on the table, my boss grabbed it from my hand, rough and impatient.

I winced softly. When her hand dropped back to my side, a red mark was already forming on my skin.

I said nothing.

I turned and walked back toward the counter, my steps steady even though my fingers were still tingling.

As soon as I reached the counter, a colleague leaned closer, pretending to wipe a glass. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"That man who just left," she said quietly. "Hector."

My hands paused.

"He's more dangerous than the one you spilled coffee on earlier," the woman continued. "And the worst part?" She glanced around before finishing. "He never gives without expecting something back."

I looked down at my hand, still burning.

"So... my dear," the colleague added softly, "I hope you're not planning to use the money he gave you."