Then Unintended Bride

Reina’s POV “Not again…” I muttered as my credit card declined for the fifth time. You would think joggling three jobs would be able to afford you a decent meal. But here I was, struggling to pay for a simple coffee. I flashed an uneasy smile to the cashier. “Nice weather isn’t it?” I said, trying to start a conversation as I rummaged through my worn-out purse for my wallet. “Yes it is…” she replied flatly. Suddenly, I felt a hole, my stomach dropped, and it took everything in me not to panic. Seems like my wallet had fallen off and all I had with me was my declining credit card. Maybe I should run for it… my eyes met hers searching for some sort of sympathy, but I just got a cold stare. Yeah… if I tried to run, she’d definitely stop me before I could even cross the door. I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sand. “Please… I just… I forgot my wallet at home. Could you...maybe...just let me have it this once?” My voice wavered, the words sounding pathetic even to me. The cashier’s expression didn’t soften. She shook her head slowly, the line of her mouth tight, unmoving. “Sorry. No wallet, no coffee.” I felt heat crawl up my neck. My hands fumbled over the counter as if filling the coffee into my possession with sheer desperation. “I… I can pay you back tomorrow! I swear!” She raised an eyebrow, unmoved. “Tomorrow doesn’t help me today.” I groaned, letting my head fall into my hands for a moment, the tiny bell above the door jingling as someone entered. I looked up through the strands of my hair and froze. He was tall, impossibly so, with a kind of sharp elegance that made the air around him feel… different. Dark hair, intense eyes, and a jawline that looked like it had been carved just to make women like me lose their balance. He walked over, calm but deliberate, and leaned slightly toward the cashier. “Excuse me,” he said, voice smooth and low, commanding without trying. “This lady’s coffee is on me.” The cashier blinked, confused, then shrugged, ringing up my order. My mouth went dry. I wanted to say thank you, to gush, to cry, and to apologize all at once. Instead, all I managed was a choked, “The… thank you.” He gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. “No problem.” As he turned to leave, my heart was already racing, though I barely knew his name—or anything about him. But somehow, just somehow, I felt like he had just saved more than my coffee. I clutched my coffee like it was a lifeline, still staring after him as he walked toward the door. My brain scrambled, desperate for something, anything to say. “Wait!” I blurted out before I could stop myself. My voice sounded too loud, too panicked. He paused, looking over his shoulder with that same calm, unreadable expression. I swallowed and took a step closer. “I… I don’t even know your name…” My cheeks burned as the words stumbled out. He tilted his head slightly, almost amused. “It’s not necessary,” he said simply, his gaze holding mine for a brief, electric moment. Then, as if the pause were a spell broken, he turned and walked out, leaving the door swinging behind him. I sank back against the counter, heart hammering. My hands shook. He hadn’t even looked at me like I was worth more than a passing courtesy… and yet, something about the way he had smiled made my chest ache. I pulled out my phone to distract myself, only to have it vibrate violently in my hand. A notification popped up, making my breath catch: “Casagrande Hotel: Congratulations! Your application has been accepted. Please come immediately for your interview.” I blinked, rereading the message as if it were a hallucination. My stomach flipped, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and panic swirling together. Finally, a chance. A real opportunity. Coffee forgotten, I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed my bag. My mind raced as I pushed through the café door. The hot stranger was gone, vanished like a dream, but somehow, I felt a surge of hope that maybe, just maybe, today wasn’t going to be as terrible as it started. I stepped out onto the street, heart racing, fumbling for a cab. I raised my hand, waving frantically as cars sped past, but the more I hesitated, the more I realized the cruel irony. I didn’t have any cash. My credit card, already declined at the café, wouldn’t help here either. There was only one option. Run. I started jogging, weaving through pedestrians, my bag bouncing against my hip. Sweat prickled my forehead, and my lungs burned, but I couldn’t stop. The hotel loomed ahead, grand and intimidating, its glass doors gleaming in the sunlight. I pushed the last surge of energy into a sprint, my legs trembling as I skidded to a stop in front of the entrance. My shirt stuck to my back, hair plastered to my forehead, and my chest heaving. I looked like a mess, but I didn’t care. I pushed the revolving door and stepped inside. The cool, conditioned air hit me like a wave, and for a moment I thought I might actually survive. That fleeting relief vanished the second my eyes met the receptionist’s. She was tall, sharp, and perfectly put together, like someone had drawn a straight line from her head to her heels. And she looked at me like I’d just crawled out of a dumpster. “Can I help you?” I asked, trying to catch my breath, my voice a mixture of nerves and determination. Her eyes narrowed, scanning me from my sweat-soaked hair to my rumpled clothes. “Go outside,” she barked, loud enough for nearby guests to turn and stare. I froze. “I… I have an interview. I was told to come immediately.” “Outside! Now!” she snapped, jabbing a manicured finger toward the door. “We don’t let…trash like you in here until they clean up!” My stomach sank as my hopes felt like they’d been punched out of me. I stumbled backward, blinking through the haze of embarrassment, the hum of the surrounding lobby suddenly deafening. And that’s when I realized: this was going to be a long day.