The night in Regalis city buzzed with neon lights.
A massive screen on a building nearby lit up with an ongoing interview, featuring one of the city's biggest names in business.
"Mr. Foster, everyone knows you took HK Capital from a startup to an industry leader in just six years. But few talk about your time in prison. There are rumors it was your first love who framed you. Is that true?"
The camera zoomed in on Kieran Foster's face. His eyes glinted coldly, voice low and cutting. "Does it even matter anymore? The past is in the past. I'm not digging it up again."
Across the street, Heather Yates stood at the crosswalk, her hand tightly holding Cherry's.
The little girl was cheerfully babbling about her day at kindergarten, but Heather could only manage a weak smile in response. Her attention kept drifting to the giant screen on the CBD tower.
The man on screen - the sharp cheekbones, the piercing gaze now laced with chill - was someone she could never forget.
Kieran, do you really hate me that much? Hate me enough to erase me entirely?
"Mommy, who's that?" Cherry asked, staring curiously at the screen.
Heather's throat tightened. She forced a soft answer. "Just a stranger."
Yeah. That's what they were now - strangers.
People passing by paused, whispering as they pointed at the interview above.
"Wait, no way! Kieran really did time?"
"His ex was brutal. Sending your own boyfriend to prison?"
"He barely made it out alive, they say. That's when he went all out and climbed to the top..."
Cherry tugged at her mother's coat, nervous. "Mommy, why are you shaking?"
Snapping out of it, Heather scooped the girl into her arms and quickly crossed the street, desperate to leave the murmurs behind.
Back home, she gently laid Cherry on the bed. The girl had already drifted into sleep.
Heather sat beside her, staring at the child's delicate face - those closed eyes were the spitting image of Kieran's. Even her lashes cast the same soft shadows.
Karma. This was karma.
Six years ago, she'd knelt to beg her father, tears streaming down her face.
But his face held no room for mercy. "Your brother goes to jail and ruins his future, or Kieran takes the fall. Our family will take care of him once he's out."
She'd stupidly thought Kieran's love for her could survive that. That he'd understand.
That someday, they'd start over.
But she was wrong.
The day she lied on that stand, the way Kieran looked at her - from the defendant's seat - was pure rage, like he could rip her apart with just his eyes.
She knew then - it was over. Completely.
The water glass in her hand slipped, shattering on the floor.
Heather knelt, mind blank, picking up the sharp pieces one by one. Her tears slid silently down, soaking into the glass shards.
Why did she ever say yes back then? What the hell had she been thinking, turning against the person she loved most?
"This is what I deserve," she muttered, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
Now Kieran had cleared his name, risen to the top.
And she - once a spoiled heiress - had hit rock bottom. She couldn't even land a job. With a sigh, she unlocked her phone and opened her banking app.
The screen lit up: $378.35.
Not even enough to cover Cherry's next month of preschool, let alone the two months of overdue rent.
Just when that sinking feeling was pulling her under, her phone buzzed. It was Simone - her old college buddy.
"Heather, my friend's opening a new bar tomorrow. They're short on staff. It's 500 a night plus tips. Wanna give it a shot?"
Heather hesitated. "What kind of bar is it? Legit?"
"Relax, just a chill lounge. But the manager wants the staff to dress, you know... trendy," Simone replied, sounding a little dodgy. "If you're not into it, no pressure."
Heather glanced at the overdue tuition slip from the preschool and clenched her teeth. "I'll do it."
*****
An hour later.
"So this is your idea of 'trendy'?"
Heather tugged at the hem of her dress - if it could even be called that. The fabric clung to every curve, hugging her hourglass figure like a second skin, barely covering her thighs. The neckline plunged low enough to make her cheeks flush.
She shifted uncomfortably under the fluorescent lights of the staff room, acutely aware of how much skin she was showing.
The bar manager gave a slow, deliberate once-over, clearly impressed.
"Damn," he said with a smirk. "You've got the body for this, no doubt. Face like that, curves like these? You'll make a killing in tips. Just smile, flirt a little. Easy money."
Heather forced a tight smile.
It wasn't easy. None of this was.
But she needed the money - desperately. Cherry's preschool tuition was due. Rent was two months late. She didn't have the luxury of pride anymore.
"I just serve drinks, right?" she asked, her voice even.
The manager chuckled. "Of course. We're a clean place. But looking hot is part of the charm, sweetheart. Keep the customers happy."
She took a breath and nodded. For Cherry. Only for Cherry.
But the job was nothing like the manager promised.
Two hours in, and she'd already dodged more wandering hands than she could count. Men leering, whispering crude comments under their breath. Some didn't even bother to whisper.
She kept smiling. Kept dodging.
Her stomach twisted with every forced laugh.
"VIP wants you for the next table," the floor supervisor said, handing her a bottle of top-shelf liquor. His eyes flicked to her cleavage. "Asked for you specifically. High roller. Be extra sweet."
Heather gritted her teeth. "Got it."
She pushed open the door to the private lounge and stepped into a haze of cigar smoke and cheap cologne.
Three men lounged on leather couches, their bellies straining against designer shirts, drinks in hand, laughter loud and crude.
The moment she walked in, the room fell silent.
All eyes locked onto her.
"Well, well," one of them drawled, rising unsteadily to his feet. Middle-aged, half-bald, with a gold chain gleaming against his chest hair. "They weren't kidding. You are a treat."
"No, thank you," Heather said coolly, setting the bottle down on the table without making eye contact. "Enjoy your evening."
But as she turned to leave, a thick hand snatched her wrist. The stench of alcohol hit her like a wall.
"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart," he slurred. "One drink won't kill you."
"I'm just a server. I don't drink with customers," she said, trying to yank her hand free.
Another man stood up, blocking her way. "Come on, darling. You think we don't know why girls work in places like this? You want the big bucks, you've gotta earn them."
His hand slid up the back of her thigh.
Heather's breath caught.
She shoved him. Hard.
"Don't touch me!"
The slap came fast and brutal.
Her head snapped to the side, cheek stinging, eyes watering.
"Stuck-up bitch!" the man roared. "Think you're better than us?"
She stumbled back - straight into someone's chest.
Solid. Hard.
And terrifyingly familiar.
A cool, clean scent wrapped around her, cutting through the smoke and cheap cologne like a knife.
Her breath caught.
"I'm sorry - " she started to say, turning around...
And froze.
Oh God.
Kieran.
Six years.
Six years, and still, he stole the air from her lungs.
He looked nothing like the boy she once loved.
That boy was gone.
In his place stood a man - tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in a bespoke suit that screamed money and power. His dark eyes were colder, more dangerous than she remembered. His presence sucked all the air from the room.
Of all the places... all the ways she could've run into him again...
Why here?
Why now?
