The ATM beeped once... then again. A red message flashed across the screen:
TRANSACTION DECLINED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR BANK.
Stacy stared at the display, her stomach dropping like a stone.
She inserted her card again, slower this time. Maybe it was a glitch. Maybe the universe could grant her just one damn break.
Beep. Declined.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips. Of course not.
She stepped back from the machine, jaw clenched, knuckles white around her card. The wind tugged at her coat as she stood motionless on the sidewalk. The city moved on around her—fast, expensive, indifferent.
Her accounts were still frozen. Just like they'd been since the night she walked away from her father.
She didn't cry. Not here. Not in public. Instead, she walked. Past the boutique she used to frequent without thinking. Past the florist who once delivered fresh orchids to her penthouse every Friday. Now, she couldn't even afford a bus ride.
Her fingers hovered over her phone screen. One name glowed: Lesley.
A deep breath.
She tapped Call.
-
The bell above the café door chimed as Stacy walked in. Lesley was already there at a corner table, arms crossed, brow furrowed—the classic I'm-not-mad-I'm-worried face.
"You finally show up," Lesley said dryly, standing to hug her. "If you didn't need help, I guess I'd still be waiting for a damn text."
"It's not like that," Stacy said softly as they sat down. "I just... I didn't want to drag you into this mess too."
"For god's sake, Stacy," Lesley snapped, eyes shining. "You walked away from everything. You cut ties with your father—with all of it. And then you disappeared. How could you not expect me to worry?"
Stacy dropped her gaze, stirring the coffee the waiter had just brought. "I needed time. Space. I distanced myself from everyone connected to that world. I thought... if I just waited long enough, things might go back to normal."
She let out a small, bitter laugh.
"But they haven't," Lesley finished for her.
"No. If anything, they're worse."
There was a pause.
"Your accounts?" Lesley asked.
"Still frozen," Stacy confirmed. "And every job application I send gets ignored. I know it's him. He's using his network to blacklist me."
Lesley didn't say anything—just reached into her bag and handed over a plain white envelope.
Stacy blinked. "What's this?"
"The money you asked for," Lesley said quietly.
"Les..." Stacy's voice cracked. "Thank you. I'll pay you back, I promise, the moment I—"
"Don't," Lesley interrupted. "Just take it. It's the least I can do. But, please... don't cut me off again, okay?"
Stacy reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're the best."
"Damn right I am."
They sipped their coffees in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between them like fog.
Then Lesley's expression softened—not prying, just genuinely concerned.
"So... how's life? How are you and Zoe holding up, really?"
Stacy's fingers tightened around her cup. For a second she wasn't the disowned heiress, the jobless former CEO, or the woman struggling to stay afloat—she was just someone trying to keep her world together.
"We're okay," she said quietly. "Not stable. Not secure. But... happy. Somehow."
Lesley exhaled in relief. "Good. I worried things might get too heavy. That the stress might push you apart."
"No," Stacy said, shaking her head. "If anything, the hard stuff kind of... glued us together. We're exhausted and broke and figuring things out day by day, but she wakes up next to me and it feels like the world isn't falling apart. She makes it feel—"
She paused, choosing her words.
"Worth it."
Lesley smiled—not wide, but full of affection and pride. "I'm glad. I know you could've taken the easy way out, stayed with that staged engagement with our Alexandra and lived perfectly fine. But you chose love instead of comfort. You chose the life that made you you."
Stacy's eyes shimmered—not with grief this time, but with something warmer.
Lesley took a slow sip of her coffee before adding gently, "Tell her I said hi. And tell her I'm rooting for both of you."
Stacy nodded. "I will."
The mood settled again, now less heavy—more grounded. Two women, two cups of coffee, one friendship weathering change.
They continued to sip their coffees in silence for a moment. Then Stacy looked up, hesitating.
"So... what if I said I was looking for work?"
Lesley raised an eyebrow. "In what world do I own a Fortune 500 company?"
"No, I mean..." Stacy bit her lip. "At your restaurant. Anything. Waitressing, dishes, prep. I don't care. I just need something."
Lesley's face shifted—surprise, then hesitation, then something like guilt.
"Stace..." she said slowly. "I'd give you a job in a heartbeat. Hell, I'd let you run the damn place if you wanted."
"Then...?"
"But your dad—" Lesley sighed. "He didn't just blacklist you. He blackmailed us. Quiet threats. Whispers about pulling health inspections, slapping fines, delaying permits. If any of us helped you—even so much as lent you a hand—there'd be consequences. For the business. For the staff. I put a lot on the line just giving you that envelope."
Stacy leaned back, her stomach sinking.
"I'm so sorry," Lesley added. "I hate this. I hate what he's doing. But I can't risk the jobs of people who depend on me."
"I understand," Stacy said, voice tight. "I hate it too."
Another silence.
"But I promise you," Lesley said gently, reaching for her hand again, "this won't last forever. Someone will break ranks. Someone brave enough, or stupid enough, not to care who your father is. Until then, I've got you. Whatever you need—rent, groceries, a place to cry."
Stacy nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Les."
"You're not alone," Lesley said. "Even if he wants you to feel like you are."
They lingered over their coffee a little longer, talking about nothing and everything—two friends reunited, steadying each other in the middle of a storm neither of them asked for.