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Kiara worked until her hands hurt.
She scrubbed the espresso machine until the metal gleamed, rearranged the shelves twice, and recalculated the numbers in the register over and over, as if staring at them long enough might make them change. By noon, her feet ached, but she didn't sit. Sitting meant thinking.
And thinking hurt more.
The shop had been quieter since yesterday. Whether it was coincidence or gossip doing its work, she couldn't tell. What she could tell was that every missed customer felt like a small cut—another reminder that Torres Brew was hanging by a thread.
She wiped sweat from her forehead and glanced at the clock.
No Shane.
The realization unsettled her more than she expected.
She told herself it was good. Necessary. After everything that had happened—the envelope, Clara, the accusation she hadn't meant to voice—it was better this way. Distance meant safety.
Still, when the bell didn't ring, disappointment settled in her chest like a bruise.
That afternoon, a familiar face appeared at the counter.
"Kiara Torres?" the woman asked, offering a polite smile.
"Yes?"
"I'm from the city education board," she said, handing over a brochure. "We're updating records for independent business owners who qualify for academic sponsorship pathways."
Kiara blinked. "Academic… sponsorship?"
"Yes," the woman continued. "Your high school records show exceptional performance. You qualified for university placement years ago but never enrolled."
Kiara swallowed hard.
Those words felt like opening a door she had sealed shut.
"I don't have time for university," Kiara said quietly.
The woman smiled kindly. "Most hardworking people say that. But talent like yours doesn't disappear just because life gets in the way."
After she left, Kiara stared at the brochure for a long time.
Business administration.
Entrepreneurship.
Finance.
Words that belonged to a different version of her—the one who hadn't lost everything before she'd even started.
She folded the paper carefully and slipped it into her bag, her heart pounding.
That evening, Shane sat in a boardroom high above the city.
Glass walls. Polished tables. Quiet power.
"Maple Street is a liability," one executive said flatly. "Small businesses like that don't scale."
Shane's jaw tightened. "It's not a liability. It's a foundation."
Another voice chimed in. "Your attention has been… divided lately."
Shane leaned back, fingers steepled. "My attention is exactly where it needs to be."
They didn't understand.
They saw numbers, projections, margins.
He saw a woman who carried the weight of responsibility without complaint. Someone who worked herself into exhaustion because failure wasn't an option.
When the meeting ended, Shane didn't go home.
He drove past Maple Street instead.
The shop lights were still on.
Kiara stood behind the counter, shoulders slumped, hair pulled back carelessly, completely unaware she was being watched. She looked tired. Smaller than she should have.
Something twisted in his chest.
He didn't go in.
For the first time, Shane stayed away—not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much to push.
Inside the shop, Kiara locked up later than usual. As she reached into her bag for her keys, her fingers brushed against the brochure.
She pulled it out again, unfolding it slowly.
University meant knowledge.
Knowledge meant control.
And control meant she wouldn't always be this afraid.
Her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Kiara," Shane's voice said quietly.
Her heart skipped.
"I wasn't sure you'd pick up," he continued.
"I almost didn't," she admitted.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"I didn't come by today," Shane said. "I thought you might need space."
She leaned against the counter. "Thank you."
Another pause.
"There's something I think you should consider," he said carefully. "Not for me. For yourself."
She closed her eyes. "If this is about money—"
"It's not," he interrupted gently. "It's about your future."
Her grip tightened on the phone.
"I saw your records," he continued. "Your academic history. You're more capable than you realize."
Kiara exhaled shakily. "Capability doesn't pay rent."
"No," Shane agreed. "But education changes leverage."
That word stuck with her.
Leverage.
After the call ended, Kiara stood alone in the quiet shop, city lights flickering outside the window. For the first time in years, tomorrow didn't feel like an enemy.
It felt like a question.
And as she turned off the lights, clutching the brochure close to her chest, one truth settled deep inside her:
Hard work had kept her alive.
But it wouldn't be enough to save her forever.
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