CHAPTER 7
"Cough—cough!"
The sharp sound echoed through the small house, followed by labored breathing.
"Grandma!"
Stella dropped the dishcloth from her hands and rushed out of the kitchen into the sitting room. Her grandmother was hunched over on the couch, one hand pressed against her chest, her face pale.
"Grandma, are you okay?" Stella cried, kneeling beside her.
She gently patted her grandmother's back and quickly grabbed a glass of water from the table. "Here, drink this."
Her grandmother took the glass with trembling hands and sipped slowly. After a few moments, her breathing steadied, and color returned faintly to her face.
Stella exhaled in relief, but fear still clung tightly to her chest.
"Stella…" her grandmother called softly, her voice barely audible.
"Yes?" Stella replied hoarsely, her eyes widening with worry as she leaned closer.
"I… I…" Her grandmother struggled to speak, then slowly stood up and held Stella's hands, gripping them tightly as if afraid to let go.
"We should sell the restaurant," she said at last, her eyes filled with anxiety and quiet desperation.
"What?" Stella gasped, pulling back slightly. "No, Grandma—why would you say that? Is everything okay?" Her voice trembled. "How are we supposed to survive without it?"
"That's exactly why," her grandmother replied. "If we sell it, we'll finally have money. We can clear our debts. You won't have to suffer anymore."
"No," Stella said firmly, shaking her head. "That's not right. How can you even think about selling the restaurant just for money?"
"Stella, listen—"
"I know we're struggling," Stella continued, her voice cracking. "But there has to be another way. We'll find one. I promise. We'll pay the debts somehow."
Her grandmother squeezed her hands tighter. "My child, I'm doing this for you. I don't want you to live a life filled with pain and worry."
"I understand that," Stella replied softly, tears forming in her eyes. "But Dad would never forgive us. He built that restaurant with his own hands. He believed it would take care of us. He was happy there, Grandma.
Every corner of that place holds memories—memories I can't just erase because we're broke."
Her grandmother's face hardened, grief flashing through her eyes. "Your father is gone, Stella. He's dead. There's nothing left for us there."
The words struck Stella like a blade.
She let go of her grandmother's hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her chest felt tight, her heart pounding painfully.
"I won't let that happen," Stella said boldly, her voice filled with fury and resolve. Without another word, she turned and stormed toward the door.
"Stella! Where are you going?" her grandmother called after her.
But Stella didn't stop.
She ran.
She ran until her legs burned and her breath came in sharp gasps, until she reached the bridge overlooking the quiet river below.
The wind whipped against her face as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands.
She dialed her friend's number.
"Tell me about that job you mentioned earlier," Stella said urgently. "I need it. Now."
For the first time, Stella wasn't running away—she was running toward something.
Meanwhile…
Five hours later.
"What are you doing here?"
Noir's cold voice echoed through the vast hallway of his mansion.
Zeth stepped inside, holding a thick stack of documents. "These are the names of the applicants," he said, handing the papers to Noir.
Noir glanced at them briefly.
"How many?"
"Eight."
"Fine. You may leave."
Zeth turned to go.
"Wait."
Zeth stopped and faced him. "Yes, sir?"
"I'll verify them myself," Noir said. "The interviews will be held tomorrow morning at the Lynich Building. Make a schedule."
"You're personally interviewing them?"
"I need a perfect assistant," Noir replied flatly.
"Understood." Zeth nodded and left the mansion.
The Next Morning
"Where are you going so early?" Stella's grandmother asked, watching her adjust her worn jacket.
"I applied for a job," Stella replied.
"What?" Her grandmother looked shocked.
"What about your studies?"
"I'll continue them," Stella said gently. "But first, I need to earn money."
Her grandmother lowered her head. "This is my fault…"
"No," Stella said quickly, taking her hands.
"It's not."
"I'm sorry, my child."
"Grandma," Stella said softly, "you raised me with love. You've sacrificed so much already. I know you wanted to sell the restaurant to protect me—but you don't have to do that."
She smiled faintly. "I'll fix this. I'll work hard. You don't need to worry anymore."
Her grandmother watched her leave the room, tears shining in her eyes.
Such a young age, she thought sadly. And already carrying the weight of the world.
"Grandma, I'm leaving!" Stella called out.
"Good luck, my child," her grandmother replied.
At the Lynich Building
Zeth organized the files in the selection room while the HR team waited outside. Today, Noir himself would conduct the interviews.
One by one, the applicants arrived.
"Next," Noir said coldly.
The first applicant entered.
"Name?"
"Riya," she replied, forcing a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
She sat down nervously as Noir asked a few brief questions.
Suddenly, Noir stood up.
"Do you know what I dislike?" he asked.
Riya swallowed. "N-No, sir."
He walked closer, his gaze sharp. "Your clothes. They're inappropriate."
Her eyes widened.
"I don't tolerate such things. Get out."
"Yes, sir," she whispered, fleeing the room.
One by one, the applicants were dismissed.
None satisfied him.
After the final interview, the room fell silent.
Zeth frowned. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. "They were all qualified."
"Are you saying I'm stupid?" Noir snapped.
"No—just saying you could've chosen one."
"This is my business," Noir said coldly.
"Prepare my car. I'm leaving."
He shrugged off his leather jacket and turned toward the door.
Then—
The door opened.
Stella stepped inside.
The air shifted instantly, as if the room itself had lost oxygen.
Their eyes met.
Noir froze, his breath caught in his chest.
Stella stared at him in shock, her heart pounding.
Neither of them had expected this.
Fate, it seemed, had its own plans.
And this—this was only the beginning.