HIS OBSESSION

Chapter 3 : Giving up

Victoria’s pov

It had been six weeks since I learned Golden Home had raised its rent, and I still hadn’t found a solution.

Taking a loan at work seemed like the only option, but it wouldn’t cover everything I needed. And with the month already slipping away, new loan applications would take too much time.

The café had been busy lately, almost distractingly so. Collaborators drifted in and out—local roasters supplying their private blends, bakeries testing samples, charity groups promoting events—all of it carefully orchestrated by Ms. Storm, the owner. With Jemima managing the other branch, things here had run peacefully.

For once, the chaos kept my mind from spiraling.

But reality always found its way back. My last hope was my salary. Most of it was already tied to Pawila’s care. The rest? I would need to face the man I dreaded most.

Not fear, exactly. More like the sharp ache of wanting to see him and being terrified.

Just thinking of him sent a chill down my arms. His smile from that night flashed in my mind, uninvited, and I caught myself grinning.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked, pulled from my thoughts by Ruby.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” I forced a smile, resuming the cup I had been rinsing.

“Be fast. We’ve got a lot to do today.” He gestured toward the steel cylinder on the counter.

“For the brewing,” he added, already moving toward the back door.

Ruby was Ms. Storm’s cousin and head of the marketing team. He acted like he owned the place, but it meant I was often spared the worst of the chaos. Outside of work, we rarely spoke, yet here he was—part co-worker, part silent ally.

I got back to work, brewing the malted grains. Sitting on a stool beside the mash tun, I waited for the machine to do its job. My hands folded tightly in my lap, my body swaying with the soft hum of its process.

The door groaned open.

“You have a guest,” one of the waitstaff said before letting the door slam behind him.

A guest? I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I slid off the stool, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the concrete as I moved toward the front.

Levi.

He sat in the far corner where the café’s noise dimmed to a hush. He worked with Ford Agencies—the agency I had been applying to for over a year. Emily had introduced us, and since then he’d encouraged me to try again, even after rejection.

“There you are,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth.

I sank into the seat across from him, wary. “What’s this about?”

“It’s different this time.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out a brown envelope. “One of our brand ambassadors will be at the audition in person. Sometimes it’s not all about height. Your baby face could be enough.”

I frowned, skeptical. Agencies always said that, yet their forms always came back to the same demand—minimum five foot nine. I was only five feet seven.

He slid the paper toward me.

“Read it.”

My eyes scanned the sheet, my skepticism dissolving the moment I saw the name.

Ryans Brand.

My heart stuttered. This was the brand I had dreamed of working with since high school. The first designer piece I had ever owned—a bracelet—came from them. I had cherished it more than anything else I possessed. To work with them now? It felt impossible.

“There’s no form to fill,” Levi said. “It’s an audition.”

“Really?” My eyes flicked back to the paper, searching for a catch.

He leaned forward, pressing a hand to his chest as if to reassure me. “No height requirement. Just a strong social media presence.”

Hope lit inside me. Not only for the chance to audition but for the chance to see Caculus Ryans, the founder himself.

Levi tapped the table, pulling me back to the present. “Make sure you come.”

I nodded, and moments later he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

⸻

By the time I reached my apartment, rain streaked the windows and sidewalks, heavy and cold.

The paper now sat on my table, its promise dimming under the weight of reality.

The truth was brutal: Pawila’s care came first. My lease came second.

And the money I had wasn’t enough for both.

Options narrowed to two—ask Ruby for a loan or face Mr. Moore and beg for more time.

I hated asking for help. My friends had already done enough. But I also knew what happened to tenants who defaulted: court, fines, shame.

By eight o’clock, I found myself pacing.

I rehearsed what I’d say if I met him.

“This is the lady you once gave a ride to. My roommate moved out unexpectedly. I’ve been looking for a place but haven’t found one yet. Please, I just need more time.” Polite and Respectful.

I slicked a layer of gloss over my lips, steadied my breathing, and took the elevator. Each floor closer made my chest tighter. By the time the doors opened, silence swallowed me whole.

Two guards waited outside his residence. Dark suits. Unreadable faces. They didn’t move, only stared with a quiet intensity that burned against my skin.

“Hello,” I said carefully. “I’m looking for Mr. Richard Moore.”

Neither responded at first. Finally, the one with a mole on his face said flatly, “Check back later. He’s not around.”

“When will he be back?”.

The question hung in the air unanswered. The silence was louder than a rejection.

I lowered my gaze, forcing my legs to move, each step back toward the elevator heavier than when coming.

By the time I reached my floor, my stomach growled, a sharp reminder I hadn’t eaten since that single sandwich at lunch. Too tired to care, I dumped noodles into a pot and waited.

I sat on the dining set having just two parson chairs and a flowery ceramic table waiting for it to cook.

My only hope now was Ruby. Maybe he could help—with a loan, or at least advice.

The doorbell chimed, then silence pressed in. Too late for visitors. Too strange for Emily. Nobody came up here without a reason. My heart stirred before my feet did, and I gripped the handle.

I pulled the door open, the weight of it smooth beneath my hand, and the world seemed to pause.

There he was.

Chiseled cheekbones and whiskey eyes, danger all wrapped up in a flawless suit.

The simple act of seeing him had stolen the air from my lungs