Chapter 9 – Strings Attached
509 Words
The café always calmed Aria. The familiar sounds—the hiss of milk steaming, the clink of cups, the steady hum of chatter—helped her forget.
Or they used to.
Now, every chime of the door had her heart leaping into her throat, expecting him. Damon Cross.
But today, he didn’t appear. And that unsettled her more than his presence ever could.
By her afternoon break, she told herself it was over. Maybe he’d come to his senses. Maybe he’d realized she wasn’t worth the effort.
She was halfway through wiping down a counter when Maya, her best friend and coworker, waved her phone excitedly. “Aria, you have to see this!”
Aria frowned. “What is it?”
Maya turned the screen around. A sleek black car with tinted windows was parked outside the café, idling like a predator waiting for prey. A driver in a suit leaned against it, holding a small white envelope.
Aria’s stomach dropped.
“Looks like a delivery,” Maya said, grinning. “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”
Not secret. Not admirer. Obsession.
Moments later, the driver stepped inside. His gaze swept the café before locking onto Aria. Without a word, he crossed the room and held out the envelope.
“From Mr. Cross,” he said smoothly.
Every head in the café turned. Aria felt heat crawl up her neck as she took the envelope with stiff fingers. She didn’t want to open it—not with the entire café watching—but the weight of expectation pressed in.
Inside was a single card, the handwriting elegant and sharp:
Your shift ends at 5. Don’t make me wait.
No signature. None needed.
Her pulse roared in her ears. Damon hadn’t just intruded again—he was dictating now, pulling strings as if her life was his to command.
Maya leaned over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Oh. My. God. Do you know what this means? Someone like him—rich, powerful—wants you. This is insane.”
Insane was the right word.
Aria shoved the card back into the envelope and slipped it into her apron. “It’s nothing. Just a prank.”
But it wasn’t. And she knew it.
For the rest of her shift, she couldn’t concentrate. Every latte tasted wrong, every order blurred. Because outside, the car never moved. The driver never left. Damon was reeling her in, and the whole café knew it.
At exactly 5:00, when she stepped out into the fading light, the driver opened the back door of the car with a bow.
“Miss Morgan,” he said smoothly. “Mr. Cross is waiting.”
Aria’s breath caught. The city buzzed around her—horns blaring, people rushing—but in that moment, the world narrowed to a single decision.
Step into the car. Or walk away and risk finding out what Damon Cross would do if she defied him.
And deep down, beneath her fear, another truth unsettled her even more.
A part of her wanted to know.
- Writer
