The morning Adrian Blackwood met chaos, it came in the form of coffee.
Specifically—hot, unforgiving coffee splashed directly onto his tailored charcoal suit.
"Damn it—!"
The exclamation was not his. Adrian Blackwood did not curse in public. He did not raise his voice. He did not lose control.
The woman in front of him did.
The impact came from his left, sudden and jarring, as a paper cup collided with his chest. Liquid soaked into Italian wool, the sharp scent of roasted beans rising instantly. Around them, the low hum of the café shattered into gasps and murmurs.
"I'm so sorry—oh my God—I didn't see you—I mean, I did, but—"
The woman froze mid-ramble, staring at the spreading stain on his suit like she'd just committed a felony.
Adrian looked down slowly.
Ruined.
The suit had cost more than most people's monthly rent. He had a board meeting in forty minutes. His schedule was timed to the minute, his day optimized for efficiency.
And now this.
Silence stretched.
The woman swallowed hard, gripping the empty cup as if it might protect her from whatever wrath she expected. She looked… ordinary. No, not ordinary—unpolished. Brown hair pulled into a messy low bun, wisps escaping around her face. She wore a faded denim jacket over a simple dress and flats that had seen better days. No makeup worth mentioning.
And yet—
She met his gaze.
Not with fear.
Not with panic.
But with something startlingly direct.
"That was entirely my fault," she said, voice steady now. "You were standing still. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Adrian blinked.
That alone was unusual. Most people, when faced with Adrian Blackwood—CEO of Blackwood International, notorious for his cold precision—either apologized excessively or tried to shift blame. She did neither.
She simply told the truth.
"I'll pay for the cleaning," she continued. "Or the suit. Or—whatever the appropriate thing is when you assault someone with caffeine."
A few people nearby snorted despite themselves.
Adrian's jaw tightened. He waited for irritation to rise. It didn't.
Instead, curiosity did.
"You should be more careful," he said coolly.
She nodded. "You're right."
Just like that.
No excuses.
No dramatics.
That annoyed him far more than the coffee.
"You realize," he added, "this is not easily replaceable."
Her eyes flicked to the stain again, then back to him. "Neither is my rent, but here we are."
There it was.
Humor. Dry. Unapologetic.
Adrian studied her properly this time. Her eyes were a deep hazel, sharp with intelligence. There was tension in her shoulders, but also a quiet confidence beneath the nerves.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The question surprised them both.
She hesitated for half a second. "Maya. Maya Collins."
He nodded once. "Adrian."
Recognition sparked late—too late to fake awe.
"Oh," she said. "Right. That Adrian."
He raised an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"
She shrugged. "Relieved. If you'd been a politician, I'd have felt worse."
That earned a ripple of laughter from the café.
Adrian did not smile.
But something shifted.
Ten minutes later, Adrian stood in the café's minimalist restroom, blotting at his suit with paper towels he knew were useless. His reflection stared back at him—immaculate control fractured by a dark stain over his heart.
Absurd.
He should have left. Should have called his driver, returned home, changed, and erased this inconvenience from his day.
Instead, he found himself back at the counter.
Maya was there, arguing quietly with the barista.
"I'm telling you, it was my fault," she insisted. "Just put it on my tab."
The barista looked uncomfortable. "Miss, that suit probably costs—"
"Enough," Adrian interrupted.
Both of them turned.
He placed his card on the counter. "Two coffees. Black. And whatever she was having."
Maya frowned. "You don't have to—"
"I know," he said. "I'm choosing to."
She studied him, searching for condescension. Finding none, she exhaled. "Fine.
But this doesn't erase my guilt."
"It wasn't meant to."
They took a small table by the window, an unlikely pairing that drew curious glances. Adrian checked his watch—twenty-seven minutes to his meeting.
He stayed.
"So," Maya said cautiously, wrapping her hands around her cup.
"You're… important."
He tilted his head. "Is that an accusation?"
She smiled despite herself. "Observation."
"And you?" he asked. "What do you do, Maya Collins, besides commit caffeinated crimes?"
"I write," she said.
"For a living?"
"For my sanity," she corrected. "I work at a publishing startup. Editorial assistant. Mostly I proofread other people's dreams."
Interesting.
"And this morning?" he asked. "What chaos were you running from?"
She hesitated. Then—honesty again. "An overdue manuscript. A rent increase. And the quiet fear that I'm wasting my potential."
Adrian stared at her.
No one spoke to him like that. Not without an agenda.
"You overshare," he said.
She shrugged. "You asked."
He found himself almost smiling.
Almost.
When Adrian finally stood to leave, his phone buzzed relentlessly with missed calls. Clara. The board.
"I should go," he said.
Maya nodded. "Me too. Before I ruin someone else's morning."
He paused. Reached into his pocket. Removed a card.
"Send me the bill," he said, handing it to her.
She stared at the embossed name. "I don't think that's necessary."
"I do."
Their fingers brushed.
Electric.
Adrian stepped back, unsettled.
As he walked away, Maya watched him go—aware, inexplicably, that she had just spilled coffee on more than a suit.
She had disrupted a man who believed nothing ever surprised him.
And Adrian Blackwood, seated in the back of his car moments later, stared out at the city with one undeniable thought:
The stranger had earned his attention.
That disturbed him far more than the stain.
Next: Chapter 3 - Worlds Apart
One spilled coffee was enough to reveal how far apart their worlds truly were.
Tonight | 11:30 PM – 12:30 AM