“Fired!” Your boss shouted the word, hurling your things at you in a fit of rage. You clutched your bag awkwardly, trying to gather the scattered pieces of yourself and your dignity. When he turned his back and slammed the café door shut in your face, you raised your middle finger at him, even though you knew he wouldn’t see it.

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress the fury boiling inside you, and nervously brushed your damp hair back before walking away, your unsteady steps carrying what remained of your pride.

The cold evening air bit at your cheeks, and the gray sky over Madrid threatened rain, while your footsteps dragged across the pavement without direction.

Why all this?! You had only slapped a rude customer who couldn’t keep his eyes off your backside. It wasn’t worth being fired for! That’s what you tried to convince yourself of but deep down, you knew the truth. That exhausting job barely covered your bills, yet it was the only thing keeping you standing.

You exhaled heavily, your sigh fading into the noise of cars and glowing shop lights, and remembered why you had come here in the first place. Madrid… the city you had dreamed of since you were a child. The city of opportunity the university you longed to attend, the life you believed would mark your new beginning. But tonight, it seemed cruel, arrogant, turning its face away from you like a stranger who had no place here.

Still, you refused to let despair defeat you. You started searching for a new job, moving from cafés to shops, but every place ended the same way. With each “Sorry, no openings,” your heart grew heavier.

By sunset, your legs felt like they were made of stone. The sky grew darker, and October’s chill began to seep through your thin clothes. Then… the first raindrop fell on the bridge of your nose. Then another, on your cheek. Moments later, the rain poured down all at once as if the sky had decided to join in your miserable day.

You let out a small cry, lifting your bag over your head as you ran aimlessly for shelter, until you finally stopped under the awning of an elegant restaurant. Its lights glowed warm and golden, reflected on spotless glass, and the aroma of food drifting from inside made your stomach growl audibly.

You looked inside with a childlike longing, thinking to step in just for cover not to eat. Your wallet was as empty as a desert, and your simple clothes hardly made you look like someone who belonged in such a place. But then, a shadow appeared before you and stopped you instantly.

A tall man stood there, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit with a small earpiece in his ear. He looked like a guard standing before a gate that only the chosen could enter.

“Do you have a reservation?” His voice was steady, professional, utterly devoid of sympathy.

You took a hesitant step back, stammering, “Actually, no, I just—”

But you didn’t finish. A car sped by, splashing muddy water all over you from head to toe, leaving you looking like a girl straight out of a tragic film.

The guard’s tone grew sharper. “No entry without a reservation.”

And then… something warm fell over your shoulders. A coat heavy, rich with the scent of expensive cologne. Before you could turn to see, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a firm, warm chest.

A deep, calm, deliberately smooth voice cut through the sound of the rain. “Am I late, darling?”

Your eyes widened in shock as you tilted your head up to him sharp features, strikingly handsome, eyes the color of dark honey, and a confidence that spoke louder than words. You only understood when you saw the guard immediately step aside, bowing his head in respect as he murmured, “My apologies, Mr. Morales. I didn’t realize she was with you.”

Eduard Morales regular patron, friend of the restaurant’s owner, and CEO of the Morales Financial Group, one of the biggest names in Madrid who, by pure coincidence, had just pretended to know you.