Chapter 10 : When the door slammed open
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Kiara woke with the decision already forming in her chest.
It wasn't fully shaped yet—more like a certainty without words—but it followed her through the morning like a quiet companion. As she opened the shop, as she brewed coffee, as she smiled at regulars, it stayed with her.
Today, she would decide.
The application form lay folded in her bag. The pen rested beside it, heavy with expectation.
Shane hadn't come by yet.
She told herself that was fine.
By noon, the shop filled faster than usual. Voices overlapped, cups clinked, and the familiar warmth of Torres Brew wrapped around her like a memory she wasn't ready to let go of.
Then the door opened—and everything changed.
Three people entered at once.
A woman in a tailored blazer.
A man with a camera slung across his chest.
And Clara.
The temperature in the room shifted.
"Excuse me," the woman said crisply, already scanning the space. "We're here for Mr. Shane Benson."
The chatter softened. Heads turned.
Kiara's pulse stuttered. "He's not—"
"He'll be here," Clara cut in smoothly. "He always is."
The camera clicked.
"What's this about?" Kiara asked, her voice steady despite the tightening in her throat.
The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Corporate interest. Philanthropy. Conflict of interest, actually."
The words hit like cold water.
Customers whispered now. Someone pulled out a phone.
Just then, the door opened again.
Shane stepped inside.
The room fell silent.
His gaze went first to the camera. Then to Clara. Then—to Kiara.
"What's going on?" he asked calmly.
"Perfect timing," the woman said. "Mr. Benson, care to comment on your ongoing financial involvement with this establishment?"
Kiara froze.
"I haven't—" Shane began.
"So you deny supporting the owner?" the cameraman pressed.
Clara's voice slid in like a blade. "He's been here almost daily. Funding her education. Advising her business. It raises questions."
The word funding echoed too loudly.
Kiara felt every eye in the room shift toward her.
Heat crawled up her neck.
"I didn't accept anything," she said sharply.
The woman turned to her. "Not yet."
Not yet.
The implication burned.
"This isn't appropriate," Shane said firmly. "You're disrupting a private business."
"This is business," the woman replied. "And perception matters."
The camera angled toward Kiara again.
"How does it feel," the cameraman asked, "to rely on a billionaire's favor to stay afloat?"
That did it.
"Get out," Kiara said.
Silence.
"Get out of my shop," she repeated, voice trembling now but unbroken. "All of you."
Clara studied her, something unreadable flickering across her face. "You should think carefully," she said softly. "This is what happens when lines blur."
They left amid murmurs and flashing screens.
The door slammed shut behind them.
The shop felt wrong after that. Too open. Too exposed.
Customers trickled out, sympathy heavy in their glances.
Soon, it was just Kiara and Shane.
He didn't speak right away.
Neither did she.
Finally, she laughed—a short, bitter sound. "So this is what it looks like."
"Kiara," he said quietly.
"No," she interrupted. "I get it now."
"You don't," he said. "This wasn't my doing."
"But it's my consequence," she shot back. "I haven't even accepted anything, and already I look like—like someone being bought."
He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her. "I would never—"
"I know," she said. And that was the worst part. "I know you wouldn't. But everyone else doesn't."
She reached into her bag and pulled out the folded application.
She placed it on the counter between them like evidence.
"I was going to say yes today," she admitted. "I was ready."
His breath caught.
"But now," she continued, voice breaking, "I don't know if I'm choosing my future—or handing myself over to someone else's narrative."
"That narrative doesn't define you," he said.
"It does when it's louder than my truth," she replied.
Silence stretched between them—thick, painful.
Shane nodded slowly. "Then don't decide today."
Her eyes stung. "What if waiting costs me everything?"
"Then I'll stand here," he said, "and let you walk away if you need to."
That stopped her.
He wasn't pleading.
He wasn't pushing.
He was offering space—even when it hurt him.
That mattered more than she wanted it to.
A knock sounded at the door.
Another interruption.
Kiara flinched.
But it was just the mail slot.
An envelope slid through.
She picked it up.
FINAL NOTICE – PROPERTY MANAGEMENT
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Three days.
Not seven.
Not six.
Three.
She looked up at Shane.
For the first time, fear overtook pride completely.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't reach for her.
He just stayed.
And as the sun dipped low outside the windows of Torres Brew, Kiara realized something terrifying and undeniable—
Running out of time was no longer a metaphor.
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