The beginning is always difficult
Anna’s POV
My name is Anna, I’m 24 years old, and I just arrived in New York City.
The bus ride was long, my stomach is empty, and my wallet is crying. But my dream still burns bright.
It’s 3 PM, and for hours, I’ve been dragging my suitcase through the streets, looking for an apartment—any apartment—I can afford. So far? Nothing. Everything’s either way too expensive or already taken.
I don’t have family in this city. In fact, I grew up in an orphanage in my hometown, until a kind woman adopted me and gave me the only home I’d ever known. She believed in me when no one else did. I promised her—and myself—that I would make something out of my life. That I’d become an actress and send money back home to help the children still in that orphanage… to give them more than I ever had.
But dreams don’t feed you.
And right now, all I want is a hot meal, a warm bed, and a little hope.
As I passed by a slightly run-down cottage tucked between two towering buildings, something caught my eye—a handwritten sign stuck on the door.
“Room Available. Shared Apartment. Affordable.”
My heart jumped.
I walked toward the place with a cautious excitement. The outside wasn’t exactly glamorous, but I wasn’t here for luxury. I just needed somewhere to sleep and breathe. Somewhere to start.
I took a deep breath, looked around, and knocked.
⸻
Aaron’s POV
Another “productive” day in the office.
I leaned back in my chair and pressed the intercom. “Jessica, cancel all my meetings for tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Mr. Ashbourne. Should I tell your mother you’re available for dinner?”
I groaned. “Unfortunately, yes.”
That reminded me of the disaster of a conversation I had with her earlier.
⸻
A few hours before
“Son, listen to me. What I do is for your good.”
“Mom, I’m 28 for God’s sake. I can find a girl on my own. Stop pressuring me.”
She crossed her arms, glaring with that deadly mix of elegance and maternal frustration. “You’re the heir to the Ashbourne legacy. Almost all your friends are married. You’ve never even brought a single girlfriend home. Do you know how that looks?”
“Mom,” I started, but she cut me off.
“No. You shut up and answer me. Are you gay?”
I nearly choked on my espresso. “What? No, I’m not gay!”
“Then why do you always refuse to meet the girls I choose for you?”
Because they’re all the same—glittering smiles, designer bags, zero substance.
Because I want someone who doesn’t care about magic or money.
Someone who’ll see me as Aaron, not as an Ashbourne.
But I didn’t say any of that.
I just sighed and said, “Fine, I’ll meet her.”
