Malissa tried to focus on the design in front of her, but her mind refused to cooperate.
It kept drifting back to the café, the suited man, and the name Mr. Marquez.
She did not know why the name sounded familiar, but it lingered in her thoughts like something she was supposed to remember but could not quite grasp. She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate on her screen. Lines, colors, and layouts slowly began to make sense again as she immersed herself in work. For a while, everything was quiet. The office was filled with the soft clicking of keyboards and the occasional ringing of phones. It almost felt like a normal day again.
Almost. "Malissa." She looked up immediately. Her team leader stood beside her desk, expression unreadable. "My office. Now."
Malissa's stomach tightened. She saved her file quietly and followed her into the glass office.
The door closed behind them, cutting off the sound of the office outside. Her team leader sat down slowly and folded her arms. "You left during work hours without permission," she said coldly. "Do you think this company runs on your personal schedule?"
Malissa clasped her hands together. "I had something urgent to handle."
"Everyone has something urgent," the woman replied sharply. "Deadlines are urgent. Clients are urgent. Work is urgent. If you cannot manage your time, maybe you are not suitable for this department."
Malissa bit the inside of her cheek but remained silent.
After a moment, her team leader continued, "If this happens again, forget about your bonus this quarter."
The words hit harder than she expected. The bonus was not luxury money. It was survival money. "I understand," Malissa said quietly.
"Good. You can go back to work." Malissa left the office and returned to her seat slowly.
She stared at her computer screen, but the words no longer made sense. Numbers, sketches, and layouts blurred together as her thoughts spiraled.
'All this trouble just to get my lifeline back, and now I am the villain.' Her thoughts slowly shifted to more pressing problems.
Rent was due in two weeks.
Her mother's medical bills were piling up.
She still had not found a lawyer who would take her father's appeal without a large payment upfront. Electricity bills. Transport. Food.
Every problem in her life seemed to have the same answer. Money.
She needed money.
Not next month. Now.
Her salary alone was no longer enough. She stared at the small sticky note on her desk with a phone number written on it. A coworker had slipped it to her earlier that week. Part time job. Night shift. Good pay. Cash daily. At the time, she had ignored it. She barely had time to sleep, talk less of a second job. But now she picked up the note slowly and stared at the number again. I do not have a choice anymore.
That evening, Malissa found herself standing outside a nightclub, clutching a slip of paper with the job details.
The building glowed with neon lights, blue and purple flickering against the night sky. Music pulsed faintly even from outside, the bass vibrating through the walls and into the pavement. She hesitated near the entrance. She had been told it was bartending. Quick cash. Flexible hours. Just serve drinks, collect tips, go home.
She could handle that. She took a deep breath and walked inside. The moment she stepped in, she was hit by loud music, flashing lights, and the strong smell of alcohol mixed with perfume and smoke. People laughed loudly, glasses clinked, and waiters moved quickly between tables. She felt out of place immediately. She approached the manager and introduced herself. He looked her up and down briefly, then nodded. "You will be serving in the VIP section tonight," he said.
Malissa frowned slightly. "VIP? I thought this was bartending."
"Consider it an upgrade," he replied casually. "Just keep the clients happy."
Her stomach twisted. Upgrade? More like a trap. She wanted to walk out immediately.
Every instinct in her body told her this was not what she signed up for. But then she thought about the bills on her table at home and her mother's hospital receipts. Desperation kept her feet rooted to the floor.
"Fine," she said quietly.
He handed her a tray. "Do not cause trouble and you will earn good tips."
Alexander Marquez sat in the VIP lounge, his presence commanding even in the dim glow of the club lights. Business partners and investors surrounded the table, laughing loudly and discussing deals between drinks.
Expensive whiskey bottles and crystal glasses covered the table. Alexander leaned back slightly in his chair, detached from the noise.
His mind was still on the day's meetings, market reports, and expansion strategies. He did not enjoy nightclubs. He was only there because business relationships sometimes required social appearances. He tapped his glass lightly once, lost in thought.
Across the room, Malissa was ushered into the VIP section with a tray in her hands. She kept her head down, her hair falling across her face like a shield. She did not want anyone to see the discomfort written all over her expression.
Just serve the drinks. Do not talk. Do not smile too much. Do not attract attention. Finish the shift and go home.
She walked carefully toward the table and began placing drinks in front of the guests one by one. One of the men, already clearly drunk, leaned back in his chair and watched her closely.
"Hey," he said, grabbing her wrist suddenly. "Sit with us, sweetheart."
Malissa froze for a second, then tried to pull her hand back gently. "I am just here to serve drinks, sir," she said politely. He tightened his grip slightly.
"I said sit." She tried again to pull away, her voice firmer this time.
"Please let go." He laughed.
"Do not be shy. We are paying a lot to be here tonight."
Malissa's heart began to race. She looked around quickly, hoping the manager or another staff member would notice, but no one came. She tried to twist her wrist free.
"Sir, I said let go."
Instead, he pulled her slightly closer. Frustration, fear, and exhaustion mixed inside her chest until her patience snapped. She jerked her hand back forcefully and muttered under her breath, loud enough for the table to hear.
"Rich people really think they own everything "
Alexander's head snapped up immediately.
That voice. Again. He turned slowly and looked directly at her. Her hair still covered part of her face, but the voice and the tone were unmistakable. The girl from the sidewalk. The girl from the phone swap. The same sharp tongue.
The drunk patron frowned. "What did you just say?"
Malissa straightened slightly, her exhaustion and frustration overriding her fear now.
"I said I am not part of the menu," she replied.
"So please keep your hands to yourself."
The table went quiet for a second. Alexander watched her carefully now, his eyes sharp and observant. The drunk man stood up slightly, clearly annoyed.
"Do you know who you are talking to?"
Before Malissa could respond, Alexander stood up slowly.
"That is enough," he said calmly, but his voice carried authority that cut through the music and conversations around them.
The drunk man immediately straightened and laughed awkwardly.
"Mr Marquez, we were just joking." Alexander did not smile.
"It did not look like a joke."
The man released Malissa completely and sat back down quietly. Malissa stepped back quickly, clutching her tray like a shield. She finally looked up properly, and her eyes met Alexander's. For a moment, everything seemed to go silent. Recognition flashed across both their faces. It was him.
The man she bumped into. The owner of the phone. The rude stranger.
Alexander studied her expression carefully.
Twice in one day. Same voice. Same attitude. Now here. This is not coincidence.
"Are you alright?" Alexander asked. His tone was calm, but there was authority behind it.
"Yes," she said quickly, though her voice trembled slightly.
"I am fine." He continued to look at her, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if trying to solve a puzzle. She looked exhausted. Pale. Dark circles under her eyes. Her hands were slightly shaking as she held the tray. This did not look like someone who planned coincidences.
But he did not believe in coincidences.
Malissa turned away quickly, eager to escape the humiliation and the strange intensity of his gaze. She did not like the way he looked at her, as if he could see through her thoughts. She walked out of the VIP section quickly and disappeared into the hallway leading to the staff area.
Alexander sat back down slowly, but his mind was no longer on the meeting or the business partners around him. He replayed the encounters in his head.
The bump on the street. The phone swap. The café exchange. Now the nightclub. Too neat. Too precise. Too many coincidences in less than twenty four hours. He picked up his glass but did not drink. Instead, he turned slightly toward Mike, who stood a few steps behind him.
"Mike."
"Yes, sir."
Alexander's voice was calm, but his eyes were cold and focused. "Run a background check on her." Mike nodded immediately.
"I want everything," Alexander added. "Name, workplace, family, finances, history. Everything."
"Yes, sir."
Across the hallway, Malissa leaned against the wall for a moment, her heart still pounding. What kind of day is this? First the phone, now this.
Twice in one day, crossing paths with the same stranger. Too strange to be real. She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath before returning to work. She did not know it yet, but Alexander's suspicion had already set her fate in motion.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But this was only the beginning.