Chapter 4
The rain came without warning—thick, unrelenting, almost theatrical in its timing. It fell like a cleansing, like something ancient that knew exactly which cracks in the city to fill. And Lena, with her threadbare coat and cold fingers, arrived at the café already soaked to the bone.
The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped in, shaking water from her curls. She didn't bother to complain. She didn't sigh or curse the heavens. There was no energy left for dramatics. She just moved to the back, peeled off the wet coat, and got to work.
That was Lena's rhythm now: survive, provide, pretend.
She tied her apron around her waist, her hands numb. The sleeves of her shirt clung to her arms. Every time she blinked, she saw numbers—hospital bills, overdue rent, prescriptions too expensive to refill. Her mother had coughed all night. The kind of cough that sounded like a warning. Lena had stayed up beside her bed, counting the seconds between wheezes.
Still, she showed up.
Because that's what people like her did. They showed up. Even when everything inside them was unraveling.
⸻
The café was warm with the smell of cinnamon and burnt espresso. The heater made its usual coughing noise in the corner, and Chloe had already started the morning rush with her usual sarcastic cheer.
"Rough night?" she asked without looking.
Lena gave a noncommittal shrug. "Same as always."
But her eyes drifted to the door.
It had become a habit—looking. Not hoping, exactly. Just… noticing. Ever since that day, when Sophia Beaumont had walked in like a storm dressed in silk. Lena had replayed that moment more times than she cared to admit—the softness in Sophia's voice, the way her eyes held weight behind all that quiet.
People like Sophia didn't just appear in places like this. They didn't linger. And they definitely didn't come back.
Still, Lena looked.
⸻
Sophia hadn't planned to return.
She had tried to forget the café—the warmth, the smell of fresh pastries, the way her name had sounded in Lena's voice. But it had burrowed somewhere deep. Somewhere untouched by meetings and titles and cold hotel suites. And that morning, after a night of hollow silence in her penthouse, she found herself standing outside that same café.
Her umbrella barely kept the rain away, but she didn't seem to notice.
She stood there for a long moment, just watching. Through the fogged-up glass, she saw Lena moving behind the counter. Fast, precise, without pause. Tired eyes. Beautiful, tired eyes.
Sophia wasn't used to hesitating. She built an empire with her decisions. She didn't linger. But this girl made her pause.
And then she opened the door.
⸻
Lena heard the bell before she saw her. Then the hush—like even the room knew something had shifted.
Sophia stood just inside the entrance, shaking rain off her coat. She looked almost out of place again, but not quite. There was something softer in her posture this time. Less armor, more ache.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, neither of them said anything.
"I didn't think you'd come back," Lena said eventually, her voice low.
"I didn't think I would either," Sophia admitted.
That honesty disarmed them both.
Lena turned away quickly, busying herself behind the counter. "You want the same thing?"
Sophia's gaze lingered. "No. Surprise me."
Lena worked in silence, her hands steady despite the tremble that had taken hold of her chest. This woman made her feel seen and invisible all at once. She wasn't sure which was worse.
She made her a honey chai—warming, grounding. Something gentle. Something kind.
When she slid the cup across the counter, Sophia didn't take it right away. She looked at Lena instead.
"You don't smile much," she said softly.
Lena blinked, surprised. "Maybe I haven't had much reason to."
Sophia's expression shifted, barely, but it was there. A flicker of understanding. "Neither have I."
It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't a game. It was two tired souls saying more than they had permission to.
Sophia sat at the same corner table as before, the drink cradled in her hands. Lena tried to ignore her. She failed.
She kept glancing toward her—subtle, but often.
She didn't know this woman. Not really. But something about her presence was like gravity. A pull she couldn't explain. A silence she didn't want to run from.
⸻
Sophia left without another word, just a small nod.
But when Lena returned to clean the table, she found something folded beneath the empty cup.
A handwritten note. Neat, almost too careful.
"Let me buy time."
No signature. Just a business card clipped to the back.
Sophia Beaumont. CEO. Private Line.
Lena stood there, the card pressed between her fingers like it might vanish if she blinked. Her heart was racing.
She didn't know what Sophia meant. Or why she left it.
But for the first time in weeks, something stirred in her chest.
Something dangerously close to hope.