The Wife He Never Deserve

Chapter 1

Seventy-Two Hours

ELARA POV

"Elara."

I looked up from my tray and found my manager staring at me.

"Table twelve."

I followed his gaze.

The customers were already seated.

"Alright sir, I'm coming." I forced a smile and headed in their direction but my mind was wavering in different directions.

The restaurant had a lot of customers tonight. The soft sound of music playing in the background with the soft him of conversations and clinking glasses. Usually, I smile, liking the atmosphere but tonight I felt it choking.

Suffocating me. Maybe because all I could think about was the overdue mortgage payment dancing around me.

Or maybe because the debt collectors had called three times this week. Or maybe my debt increases as the day passes.

I placed the dishes carefully on the table.

"Your order, sir." One of the men glanced up from his phone.

At first, I thought nothing of it then his eyes narrowed. His eyes travelled down from my eyes to my name tag clipped to my uniform then back to my face.

My stomach churned instantly. I knew that look. I recognised him. And recognition to me is rarely a good thing.

Why do I have to meet him now of all time in the world?

"Wait a minute."

The man leaned back slightly.

"You wouldn't happen to be Charles Hale's daughter, would you?"

There it was …. His words landed on my face like a big punch. I knew, I expected it but couldn't run away from it.

My surname always gave me away eventually.

For a second, I thought of lying to his face but instead my foolish head already made it decision which was nodding like a lizard.

"Yes." His eyebrows shot upward as his lips parted. I could see the smug smile building up at the corner of his lips.

His companions exchanged looks.

Then he laughed. He let out that cocky smile he has kept under control, and I'm very sure he wasn't laughing at me because I did something funny instead he's laughing at someone else's downfall.

My downfall

My father's downfall.

Our downfall.

"Damn, I can't believe this is true,” He began and his companions exchanged disarray eye contact.

"What?"

"The Hale family," The man explained. "Remember them?"

Immediately the recognition appeared on the others' faces.

"Oh."

Another man whistled softly as he said: "I thought they disappeared from the world after the company collapsed. I never knew they just hid themselves from the world, doing petty menial jobs. I guess you and your family are really trying so hard to live."

The man that recognised me first laughed as he brought a glass of water to his mouth. Laughing at me because right now I'm a living tragedy in his face.

"The mighty Hale family," His lips curved. I bet he's having a satisfactory view right now.

"And now their daughter is serving tables. She's f*****g serving me. I guess the table has indeed turned around now," The man said, and laughed.

The laugh wasn't loud but the humiliation? It was so loud, it didn't need to depend on a volume.

I tightened my grip on the tray and forced myself to remain calm. My father used to sit at tables like this. People used to stand when he entered a room.

They used to ask for his advice, and seek money from using dubious lies like ‘oh Mr Hale please can you lend me some money, I'll pay back shortly.’ and will they pay back? No, my overgenerous father would tell them not to back him back.

People clean his shoes when he never asked them to. They willingly served him to suck from his wealth and now? His daughter is the one serving them, and I bet they can't do to me half of the good deeds my father has done for them.

Indeed, the table did turn around.

Now they are laughing at his only daughter while she served them like they did to him back in the days.

It's amusing how life was quick to change.

“Excuse me, sir. Enjoy your dinner,” I mumbled, hurrying out without waiting for their response.

My eyes burned on my way back to the kitchen.

Yes they were right.

They weren't wrong.

And somehow it created a lingering pain in my chest. It hurts more than anything.

.

.

Four hours later, the manager called me into his office. The moment I heard him calling me, I knew something was wrong or something bad was about to happen.

Because tell me who calls their employees into their office at the end of their shift to deliver some good news to them. And now the uncomfortable expression on his face has confirmed everything.

"Elara, sit down,” He uttered, his tone giving no room for kindness but I didn't sit.

I didn't.

My stomach had already started sinking. "What happened?"

He sighed. It was a long, tired sigh.

"The restaurant is making some changes."

I just gazed at him and let out a dry laugh. Well not because he did or said something funny but you know when your body reacts to something before your mind could think.

“Are you firing me, sir?”

His silence answered for him.

For seconds, silence filled the room. Neither of us spoke.

I just stood there in his office trying to process what he had just said to me. I needed this job. I face humiliation every day from this and stayed not because I loved the job but because I needed it more than ever.

Desperately …. Urgently.

"I can take more shifts."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. "I can work weekends too if you want,"

His expression softened which somehow made everything worse.

"I'm sorry, Elara."

There was that word again. Sorry.

The favorite word of people who couldn't help you or wouldn't.

I nodded eventually, accepting defeat because what else could I do?

Beg? Cry? Neither would change the outcome. The decision has been made. He has made up his mind.

I left his office and went to my locker and packed my things. Fifteen minutes later, I left the restaurant carrying a cardboard box that contained my belongings from the locker.

And now, I'm officially unemployed …. Again.

.

.

I was on my way home, on the street when my phone started ringing. A call from an unknown number.

On a normal day I would have ignored the call but today I answered without thinking twice. Hope has a way of making one act and look so desperate

"Miss Hale?"

The professional voice instantly put me on edge. "Yes."

"I'm calling regarding the outstanding balance attached to your family property."

My grip tightened around the phone. Of course, what was I expecting? A sudden job offer?

Who else would be calling if not the people I owe debt.

The woman continued speaking. Her tone, surprisingly, came out calm and polite. Still unaware that the next words will feel like a stone added to the weight already crushing my chest.

"The grace period has officially expired."

I stopped walking. My sight blurred for seconds.

"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

Then she answered. "It means you now have seventy-two hours to settle the debt."

My heart stopped. 72 hours, that's 3 days. Just three days.

"And if I can't?" I finally asked, my heart racing fast, as I flipped my hair backward, feeling it choking me badly.

Then came the answer. "We will begin foreclosure proceedings."

I closed my eyes. My home, the house. The last piece of my father that still remained would be gone in seventy-two hours.

And I absolutely have no idea on how I was supposed to save us. To stop it.