I was so tired I could barely walk up the stairs to my apartment. My back ached, my feet hurt, and my hands were sore from scrubbing dishes all day at the diner. I smelled like coffee and fried food, and all I wanted was to lie down and sleep.
But then I saw it.
A paper was stuck to my door.
EVICTION NOTICE.
My heart dropped. My rent was late again. The paper said I had seven days to leave. Seven days before I lost the only place I had left.
I pulled the notice off the door and crushed it in my hand, but it didn't change anything. I had no savings. No family to call. No one to help me.
I felt so small. So alone.
My rent was two months late. I had begged the landlord for more time, promising him I would catch up. But promises didn't pay the bills. Seven days to leave. Seven days to figure out where I could go. I had nowhere. No one to help me.
I sank onto my old, worn couch, the springs creaking under me. The paper shook in my hands. My chest felt so heavy I could barely breathe. My head throbbed, my stomach churned, and my whole body trembled. I pressed the notice to my chest, wishing it would disappear, wishing someone would come and tell me it was all a mistake.
I thought about my tiny apartment, the broken heater, the chipped paint, the tiny kitchen where I tried to make my life feel a little normal. It wasn't much, but it was mine. And now it was being taken away.
I thought about my job. I worked long hours at the diner, serving people who barely noticed me. I scrubbed dishes until my hands burned. I ran on little sleep and less food. And it still wasn't enough. Nothing I did was enough.
Tears stung my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I felt too weak, too small, too alone. The quiet in the apartment was deafening. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to do anything to make the panic stop. But I couldn't.
I rubbed my hands over my face and tried to think. Maybe I could find another job. Maybe I could borrow money. Maybe… maybe something would change.
But deep down, I knew. There was no one coming to save me. No one waiting to fix my life. I was completely alone.
I hugged my knees to my chest and stayed like that for a long time, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. Seven days. I had seven days before everything I had left disappeared. And I didn't even know if I would survive them.
The next day, I dragged myself to the diner, my legs still aching from yesterday. I hoped, just maybe-my boss would give me a little advance. Enough to cover part of the rent, enough to keep me from losing everything.
But when I walked in, the diner smelled the same, but it didn't feel like mine anymore. My boss looked up, tired eyes meeting mine.
"Sorry, I can't," he muttered. "Company rules. Nothing I can do."
I nodded, my throat tight, my stomach twisting. I forced myself to smile, but it was fake, weak. I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. I needed a solution.
Then I heard them. Two men at the counter, talking in low voices, so quiet that I almost missed it.
"…she's the one," one said.
"…perfect for the deal," the other replied.
My stomach dropped. I froze, my hands gripping my bag so tightly I thought I'd crush it. My heart was pounding in my ears.
They spoke the name everyone in the city knew: Damian Blackwell. Billionaire. Ruthless investor. The kind of man who never lost, never forgave, never gave without taking something in return.
I felt my chest tighten. I had heard stories about him. The deals he made. The people he destroyed if they got in his way. And now… he was here, in my diner, and he was looking for someone.
Not an employee. Not a partner. Someone willing to make a deal.
"She just has to be desperate enough," one of the men said with a smirk.
Desperate.
I swallowed hard. My hands were shaking. I was desperate. I couldn't pay my rent. I had no job, no savings, no one to turn to. I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me, tighter and tighter.
Before I could think, before fear could stop me, I found myself moving toward them. My heart was hammering in my chest, my legs trembling with every step. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to run. But something inside me a mixture of desperation and stubbornness pushed me forward.
I stopped a few feet away, my hands twisting in my bag. My voice shook, but I forced the words out.
"Where can I… reach him?" I asked, my throat tight.
The men blinked at me, clearly surprised by my boldness. They exchanged a glance, a small smirk playing on the taller man's lips.
"He's not easy to reach," the other said slowly. "But if you want to see him…" He slid a small card across the counter. My fingers shook as I grabbed it.
An address. Just an address. Nothing more.
I stared at it, my stomach twisting into knots. This was insane. This was dangerous. But my rent… my apartment… everything I had left depended on this.
I swallowed hard. My pulse was racing. What if he refused me? What if he laughed? What if… I made a mistake that I couldn't take back?
The taller man noticed my hesitation and leaned closer, his voice low. "You'll know what to do when you see him. Just… don't waste your chance."
I nodded, even though I barely understood what he meant. My hands were shaking, my chest tight, but I tucked the card into my coat pocket.
The diner felt smaller now. The walls closed in as I turned and walked out. The city around me felt different, darker, heavier.
Every step I took toward that address made my stomach twist with fear and excitement. I had no idea what I was walking into. No idea if I would come out the same.
All I knew was this;
I had no other choice.
And deep down, a part of me shivered with a strange, dangerous thrill.
Because I was about to meet Damian Blackwell.
And I had no idea what he wanted….or what he would take.