Chapter 2
1115 Words
Zayne’s POV
My name’s Ryan, and if life were fair, I’d be sipping wine by the pool in one of my father’s estates, not dodging potholes on a beat-up delivery scooter. But life isn’t fair—not when your father’s dying wish is for you to find someone to love within a week, or get shackled in an arranged marriage with some rich heiress you’ve never met.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe in much, really. But I believe in choice. In feelings. And I wasn’t about to let my future be decided by some hospital report ultimatum. So I did the unthinkable—I disappeared.
Not entirely, of course. I still had my phone, still had my card, but I left behind the bodyguards, the suits, the exclusive penthouses. I even changed my name to "Ryan Cruz" for this little adventure. A name no one would recognize. I shaved off the slight stubble that made me look older and wore a cap low over my eyes. Got a job at a pizza place downtown—one of those busy little joints where the manager doesn’t care who you are as long as you show up on time and don't mess up orders.
First delivery: Mildred Jewels.
I've heard of that name. Everyone had. Mildred was the name behind some of the most expensive handcrafted jewelry in the country,with a backstory behind it. Rumor had it the CEO was a stunner with a cold heart and a sharper tongue.
I didn’t expect much. Drop the food off, get a tip—maybe not. Move on. But stepping into the lobby of that glass building felt like walking into a palace. Everything gleamed. From the polished marble floor to the chandelier hanging above me like a starry threat.
"Delivery for Miss Mildred," I said to the receptionist, who barely looked up from her desk.
"Top floor. Take the elevator. Don’t touch anything," she said, nose wrinkling like I brought in a bad smell.
Okay then.
The elevator ride felt too fast, my reflection in the mirror wall making me look like I didn’t belong. And maybe I didn’t. But I kept my head down, clutching the warm pizza box as if it was a shield.
The top floor was quieter, colder. You could hear your own thoughts echo off the walls. I stepped out and followed the sign that read "CEO Office."
I knocked once.
"Come in," came a voice—sharp and smooth, like a blade wrapped in silk.
I stepped in and instantly regretted it.
She was standing by the window, arms crossed, wearing a fitted black dress that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her heels clicked against the floor as she turned. And when our eyes met, I knew I was looking at Mildred. Not just because of her beauty, but because of the way she looked at me—like I was gum stuck under her shoe.
"You're the delivery guy?" she asked, raising a perfectly shaped brow.
"Yes, ma'am. From Papa Tony's. Margarita and fries. You ordered through—"
"I know what I ordered," she snapped, snatching the bag from my hand like I’d been too slow.
I nodded, backing away. "Have a good day, ma'am."
I was halfway turned when I felt it—hot, thick, and fast. The pizza box slipped open in her hand, and before I could say a word, the cheese-heavy slice slapped right into my shirt.
Burning.
The grease soaked through the fabric instantly, and the molten cheese stuck like glue, refusing to let go. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at the mess now painting my chest.
She tilted her head like she was admiring her own artwork. “Oh,” she said with a smirk. “Oops.”
And then she laughed.
It wasn’t a giggle or an embarrassed chuckle. It was full, cruel, sharp—like a whip crack across my pride.
“You people really are walking disasters,” she said, wiping her hands on a napkin like I was contagious. “One simple task. One. And even that’s too much for you to handle.”
I stood still, the sauce dripping down into the waistband of my jeans.
“You know what?” She stepped closer, heels clacking like gunshots. “I should report you for ruining my floor with your greasy mess. But something tells me you’d probably cry if you lost this job. Or is this one of the three you work for, huh?”
"Mildred—" I started.
She raised a hand to silence me, like I wasn’t even worth finishing a sentence. “Do not say my name like we’re equals. Look at you,” she sneered, eyes taking over my stained shirt. “You smell like budget deodorant and failure.”
My jaw tensed, but I said nothing.
“Men like you are the reason I triple sanitize my doorknobs. I can see the desperation on your face—like maybe if you smile enough, I’ll throw you a tip or my phone number. Dream on. I wouldn't touch you with gloves on.”
I swallowed hard.
“You're only good for running errands and taking orders. So take this back to your boss,” she said, holding up the soggy remains of the pizza box, “And tell him if I wanted trash, I’d check the bin out back.”
I took the box without meeting her eyes.
“Now clean that up,” she added, pointing at the cheese on the floor. “You’re making the place smell like a broken man’s kitchen.”
I turned, walked out—slow, calm, quiet.
Someone you always thought would know how to treat people, only for her to be a disappointment to all your efforts of getting her where she is today.
I still hoped.
But inside, something broke…
___
Back at the restaurant, Tony laughed when he saw my shirt.
"First delivery, huh? You met the great arrogant Miss Mildred."
"Yeah."
He whistled low. "Woman’s a piece of work. Thinks she owns the world because she sells shiny rocks. Don’t let her get to you."
Too late.
That night, I sat on the thin mattress in my rented room, watching the city lights through the cracked window. I had six more days. Six more days to find a woman I could love. Someone kind. Someone human.
But all I could think about was her face.
Mildred.
I don't know why I am so drawn to her, despite my hate for people that discriminate amongst names.
Day 1 of 7.
- Writer
