The night air smelled of oil and gasoline as Stefano shoved himself into the driver’s seat of his car. His hands turned the keys as his hand shook on the wheel, his eyes wide with fear, darting around as if the shadows themselves were closing in on him. Fear of a fugitive on the run. Without a second thought, he brought the engine to life. Marco narrowed his eyes, sprinting across the street, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.“Stefano!” he barked, his voice cutting through the night.But the only answer he received was the screech of tires as Stefano pressed hard on the accelerator. The car lurched forward and sped into the distance, taillights burning like two angry eyes as it disappeared around the corner.Marco stopped in his tracks, fists clenched. His chest heaved with frustration. He had him... he was so close.He turned his gaze toward the vehicle that had brought such panic to Stefano. It sat there, silent, the headlights still on, casting a pale glow across the stre

The last of the fries disappeared between Marco’s teeth, the salt and grease settling like lead in his stomach. He wiped his hands with the thin paper napkin and stared at the half-empty cup of watered-down soda on the table. For a moment he considered ordering something else, but his pocket reminded him sharply of the reality he lived in now. The little money left had to stretch. He could not afford to linger.With a slow breath, Marco pushed back his chair and rose. The din of the diner swelled around him with clinking cutlery, the hiss of the fryer, conversations overlapping like this was a bad orchestra competition. He adjusted his jacket and turned toward the exit.But as fate would have it, a figure cut across his path at the same time. Marco bumped into the person, and before he could step back, a tray tilted, pouring hot food on his chest.The ketchup splattered across his shirt in a bright, ugly smear, the heat of the fries and grease searing briefly through the thin cotton.

Marco’s fingers were still tight around her wrist. He had not even realized how much force he was using until the woman’s pulse beat against his palm like a trapped bird. His chest heaved, his jaw clenched as if he was holding back a storm.“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice hoarse, low, but carrying an edge that spread through the cramped office.The woman did not flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed. It was not a sweet laugh. It grated like an old truck climbing up a hill, thick and unpleasant. She twisted her wrist slightly, testing his grip, but when she saw he did not let go, she leaned closer, her breath warm and sour.“Why are you acting like a child?” she sneered. “You think I was going to eat you? Please. I just wanted a taste of what you’re hiding down there.”Marco’s brows shot up, his face hardening. “What?”Her smile widened as if she enjoyed his shock. “You heard me. Don’t act so innocent. I was only going to see what kind of man you are. No

Agnes did not spare Marco a single glance as she led him down the narrow corridor toward the back. Her silence was a wall, heavy and intentional, and Marco knew better than to break it. The only sounds were the squeak of his damp shoes and the faint hum of the laundry machines in the distance. The corridor smelled of detergent and rust, the walls chipped and stained with years of use. Every few steps, she would glance over her shoulder, not to look at him, but to make sure he was following like a shadow that knew its place.They finally stopped at a small alcove carved into the wall. A storage unit with a flimsy wooden door. Agnes turned, her sharp cheekbones catching the light, her narrow eyes fixed on him with something that looked close to disdain.“Open it,” she said flatly, stepping aside.Marco hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to expect. He nodded quickly and reached for the handle. The door stuck for a moment before giving way with a creak.The second the latch loosen

Marco lingered in the shadows, his arms pressed around his body in a self embrace to keep the cold out. His eyes followed the two women standing near his car, their silhouettes clear in the glow of the nearby streetlight.His chest tightened as he watched them, though not from fear. Disbelief surged through him. After a long, exhausting day of humiliation and servitude, this was what awaited him in the night...two staff members circling his Bentley like curious vultures.Marco could not believe how cheap they could be or perhaps how different they seemed now.Agnes ran her hand along the air above the mirror without touching it, her eyes glittering with admiration. “Can you believe this? Whoever owns this car, he must be rolling in money.”Her colleague laughed lightly, clutching her arms against the cool breeze. “Bentley? Of course. I wonder who parked it. Certainly not anyone working in that hellhole.”Marco clenched his jaw. They had mocked him mercilessly earlier, and now, here