Velvet Chains

Chapter 2 — The Taste of Tomorrow

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of my room, soft and golden, like it was trying to comfort me. It didn’t help. My chest still ached with the same confusion and adrenaline that had followed me home last night.

I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.

Sebastian Drayke.

His voice, low and deliberate. His eyes—cold steel one moment, molten gold the next. The way he had looked at me like he could see through me, like he already knew what it would take to make me break and surrender.

I hated that I remembered how close he’d stood. How his cologne—something dark and clean—had clung to my skin even after I left. I hated even more that I liked it.

A sigh slipped out as I pushed myself from the bed, brushing my tangled hair back. The old clock on the wall ticked unevenly, counting down the hours of another impossible day. The pile of unpaid bills still sat on the counter, fanned out like silent accusations. Rent. Electricity. Hospital fees. My mother’s medicine.

I traced my finger over the word Overdue on one of the envelopes, my throat tightening. I didn’t even have to open it to know what it said.

“I’m trying,” I whispered to no one.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of my siblings getting ready for school in the next room. Sofia’s laughter, light and bubbling. Leo arguing about who took his shoes. It was chaos, the kind that made me smile even when everything else hurt.

I brewed the cheapest coffee we had and took a sip that tasted like burnt water. It was enough to wake me up though, and that’s all that mattered.

Lucía had texted me earlier:

“Café Miró, 10 a.m. You owe me gossip.”

I smiled despite myself. Lucía never said “let’s meet” — she summoned you. And Diego would be there too, pretending not to care but listening to every word. The three of us had been inseparable since we were kids in Almería, sneaking onto rooftops and stealing oranges from old Mrs. Falcón’s tree. Life had scattered us across Madrid, but somehow, we always found our way back.

By ten, I was walking down Calle del Pez, the air still cool, the city humming awake around me. The café was tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, and its windows steamed with warmth and roasted coffee.

Lucía spotted me immediately, waving with the enthusiasm of a movie star. Her red lipstick caught the light. “Calla!” she exclaimed, already halfway out of her seat to hug me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Diego smirked from behind his cup. “Or maybe she’s just seen someone too handsome.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, sliding into the seat opposite them.

Lucía arched a perfect brow. “You didn’t tell us what job it was. I had to stalk half the listings in Madrid to figure out which one you applied for.”

“It was… weird,” I admitted. “A private consultant firm. High pay, ridiculous benefits, like something out of a movie.”

Diego tilted his head. “And?”

I hesitated, playing with the rim of my cup. “And the man who interviewed me was… different.”

Lucía leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Different how? Rich and arrogant or mysterious and brooding?”

“Both,” I said before I could stop myself.

Diego snorted. “That’s not a combination, that’s a problem.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “His name’s Sebastian Drayke. He owns the company. Or, well, something like that. He didn’t really explain. The interview wasn’t like… normal.”

“How not normal?” Lucía asked, stirring her cappuccino like she was preparing for drama.

“He barely looked at my résumé. He just—” I hesitated, remembering how his gaze had burned. “—he just asked questions that felt… personal.”

Lucía’s grin widened. “Personal like how many siblings do you have, or personal like do you like to be told what to do?”

“Lucía!” I hissed, nearly spilling my coffee. My cheeks flamed hot.

Diego choked on his drink, coughing. “You’re impossible.”

Lucía only laughed, unapologetic. “Oh, come on! I know that face. You’re interested.”

“I’m not interested,” I lied instantly.

She smirked. “You’re lying.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “He’s just… intense. The kind of man who fills a room without saying a word. And I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or disgusted by me.”

Diego leaned back, his tone softening. “Calla, if it doesn’t feel right, you don’t have to take it. No job is worth that.”

I met his gaze, seeing the quiet worry there. He’d always been protective, ever since we were kids. But protection didn’t pay the rent.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” I said quietly. “My mom’s treatment is due next month. If I don’t find something soon, they’ll stop giving her the medicine.”

That shut both of them up. Even Lucía’s teasing died in her throat. She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Then you’ll take it if they offer. You’re smart, Calla. You’ll handle whatever it is.”

Diego frowned, not convinced. “You don’t even know what kind of job it really is.”

Lucía waved him off. “You worry too much. Maybe it’s just some rich businessman who wants a capable assistant, not a nanny or whatever he called it.”

“He said it was ‘private assistance,’” I murmured. “But there was something in his voice… like he meant something else.”

Lucía’s grin came back, sly and bright. “Maybe he meant very private assistance.”

Diego groaned. “Lucía.”

“What? I’m just saying! It’s Spain, not a convent. If the man’s rich, powerful, and—what was it? Cold and controlling?—maybe Calla could use a little danger.”

I shook my head, laughing despite the knot in my stomach. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me,” she said sweetly.

The café buzzed around us—clinking cups, low chatter, the hiss of steam. For a moment, I let myself forget the pressure, the bills, the fear. Just the three of us, like old times.

But then my phone buzzed on the table. Once. Then again.

I froze.

Unknown Number.

My heart skipped. Lucía leaned closer, trying to peek. “Don’t tell me—”

I opened the message.

> Miss Calla Moreno,

This is the Drayke Corporation. Mr. Drayke would like to see you again tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. Please confirm your attendance.

I stared at it, my pulse hammering.

Lucía squealed. “See? I told you! It’s fate—or something spicy.”

Diego frowned deeply. “You sure about this?”

I looked from one to the other. Lucía’s excitement glowed like sunlight; Diego’s concern weighed heavy like rain. And somewhere in between, I felt the magnetic pull of something I couldn’t name.

I typed one word before I could stop myself.

“Confirmed.”

When I looked up, Lucía was grinning, and Diego was shaking his head.

“Tomorrow morning,” I said softly, the words tasting like a promise I didn’t understand. “I’ll see him again.”

Outside, Madrid’s autumn wind picked up, brushing against the window. It carried the scent of rain and something else—something dangerous.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and the logic and the noise of the café, I felt it.

That this wasn’t just another job.

It was the beginning of something that would ruin me beautifully.