CHAPTER ONE
1381 Words
THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE WAITRESS
Victoria Wilson, a 19 year old orphan , struggled to put herself through school.
Life wasn’t easy, but she refused to give up. She worked part-time in various places, juggling jobs just to stay afloat.
Every day after school, she rushed off to work, using the little she earned to support herself and cover her basic needs.
There were days when she was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but her determination never wavered.
Her resilience became her strength, pushing her to study late into the night and show up each morning ready to face another day.
Through all the hardship, she held on to hope, believing that her efforts would one day pay off.
It was a rainny day, one that fell in slow, deliberate sheets, the kind that soaked you even if you stood under shelter. Victoria didn’t bother running.
Her shoes were already wet, her uniform clung to her skin, and she was late for her second shift at Murphy’s Diner.
“Third time this week,” she muttered, pushing open the heavy glass door. The bell above jingled weakly, half-rusted from years of steam and fryer grease.
“ The f**k is wrong with you Victoria,” her manager snapped. “You’re dripping all over the damn floor. Grab a mop when you're done with Table Seven.”
Victoria offered a tight smile, more out of habit than respect. “Of course.”
It was just another night in her never ending cycle of barely surviving until she glanced at the man sitting alone at the far end of the diner.
He looked out of place. Sharp black suit. Polished Italian shoes.
A face that could’ve belonged to a prince or a villain, depending on how you angled the light. He didn’t even touch the untouched black coffee in front of him.
But that wasn’t what made Victoria freeze.
Above his head, where every person’s death date usually flickered faintly in her vision, his was…
Blank.
Her stomach dropped.
No numbers. No flicker. Nothing.
It was impossible.
She blinked twice. Focused.
Still nothing.
She had lived with this ability since she was ten, an eerie, unwanted gift she’d kept secret from everyone. She saw dates on foreheads like digital clocks counting down. And no one ever escaped theirs.
Except this strange looking man.
Victoria swallowed hard, composing herself. Maybe she was overtired. Maybe the rain distorted her vision.
She approached with the notepad in hand. “Welcome to Murphy’s. Can I get you anything else, sir?”
He didn’t look up immediately. When he finally did, his gaze pinned her to the spot. Eyes like black marble, cold, unreadable, but aware. Very aware.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he said slowly. “But maybe it’s you.”
Victoria blinked. “Excuse me?”
He offered a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “Victoria.”
“Victoria Wilson.” He said it like he already knew.
Her blood ran cold.
“Do I… know you?” she asked, suddenly aware of the way his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, like he was keeping time with something only he could hear.
“You will,” he replied cryptically. Then, after a pause, “Do you believe in fate?”
“No.” Her answer came too quickly.
“What a shame,” he murmured, rising to his feet.
She stepped back instinctively. He was taller than he looked sitting down. Imposing, but graceful like a man used to owning every room he walked into.
“Leave here in fifteen minutes,” he said, stepping past her. “Go out the back. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me.”
“What? Why?”
But he was already gone.
She stared after him, shaken and more confused than she’d ever been. Until
BOOM.
The sound of shattering metal and glass split the night.
Everyone in the diner screamed. A flaming car wreck lit up the street like a second sun. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Victoria’s knees gave out. She crawled to the window.
It was a black luxury car exactly like the one she’d seen parked outside earlier. The one he’d arrived in.
Her hands trembled. He would have been in that car if he hadn’t
“Victoria!”
She looked up. He was there again, completely dry, standing at the diner’s shattered doorway. How had he
“Time’s up. Come with me.”
Ten Minutes Later
Victoria sat in the backseat of a different car, this one quieter, shielded, safe. But she felt anything but safe.
He was in the driver’s seat, silent, focused.
“You knew,” she said. “About the explosion.”
“I did.”
“Are you some kind of agent? CIA? MI6?”
He gave a small laugh. “Hardly. My name is Icon Blake.”
The name punched the breath out of her lungs. Everyone knew Icon Blake. Billionaire tech genius.
Reclusive CEO of the global company Blake Corporation. Never seen in public.
Rumors said he owned private islands, had lovers in every continent, and had made his first million at eighteen.
But none of the headlines said he could predict car bombs.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Relax, nothing to be afraid of, I want to offer you a deal.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A deal?”
“Yes. I need a wife. Temporarily. One year.”
Victoria stared at him like he’d grown horns. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll be protected, Paid. Just name your price at the end of the contract. All expenses covered.”
She laughed sharp but nervous. “Why would a billionaire like you need a fake wife?”
He turned to her then, face serious.
“Because someone… or something… is trying to kill me. And for reasons I don’t fully understand yet, you’re the only variable that changed today. When you were near me, I didn’t die.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Something is coming for me, Victoria. And I think you might be the reason I have a chance.”
Victoria was surprised and speechless.
Later That Night
Victoria couldn’t sleep. She lay in the luxurious guest room of his mansion, staring at the velvet ceiling. Everything smelled too clean. Too quiet.
Her suitcase from her old apartment had already been delivered. His staff had greeted her like royalty. But none of that settled the storm in her chest.
Who was Icon Blake really?
What did he mean “something” was coming?
And why did she still see nothing above his head?
She got up, walked barefoot into the hallway, and wandered until she found a library. Massive shelves. Old books. A fireplace that burned without wood.
As she stepped inside, the air shifted.
The mirror above the mantle cracked.
Victoria’s reflection looked back at her, but the eyes glowed faint silver.
She stumbled back.
Whispers tickled her ears. Not words. Not sounds. Just… presence.
Then
“I told you,” came Icon’s voice from behind her, calm and grave. “There are things in this world even money can’t control.”
She turned slowly. He was holding something, a photograph. She stepped closer.
Her heart stopped.
It was a picture of a woman who looked exactly like her.
“Her name was Evelyn,” he said. “She died ten years ago. Saving me from the same force that’s hunting me now.”
Victoria’s hands shook.
“You think I’m her?” she whispered.
“I don’t think,” Icon said, his gaze boring into hers. “I know.”
Icon was intrigued. There was something different about this woman,
Something familiar…yet strange.
She didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. If anything, she looked right back, as if seeing straight into his soul. That unsettled him.
Her dreams were no longer dreams.
Whispers in the halls of the mansion seemed to call her name.
The more time she spent around Icon, the more she felt like she had stepped into a world written by fate.
But beneath the elegance, something darker was stirring.
And if she wasn’t careful, her heart might not be the only thing at stake.
- Writer
