The evening before, while Amara folded freshly pressed shirts in the laundry room, she and Lucas had talked.
It was one of those quiet, unplanned conversations that stretched longer than it should have. He'd asked about her shop, and she'd smiled shyly, telling him about the little café near her street "Joey's Corner," she'd said, her eyes lighting up.
"They sell the best ice cream and pizza I've ever tasted," she'd told him, voice soft but full of warmth. "Nothing fancy, but it's my happy place. Especially when I've had a long day."
Lucas had raised an eyebrow, amused. "Better than the restaurants uptown?"
She laughed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Way better. You just have to ignore the cracked chairs and sticky tables."
He'd smiled at that a small, real smile that lingered in his mind long after she left that day.
Now, twenty-four hours later, Lucas found himself parked in front of Sparkle Amara laundry cleaning , still thinking about that smile and the way her voice softened when she talked about ice cream.
He wasn't sure what he was doing there. He wasn't the kind of man who showed up uninvited or without reason. But lately, his world filled with boardrooms, dinner meetings, and Cole's endless complaints felt suffocating.
Maybe he just wanted to breathe.
Or maybe, he just wanted to see her again.
He leaned back in his car, watching through the glass as Amara closed up the shop. She hadn't noticed him yet. Her hair was down this time, golden under the dim streetlights. She moved carefully, counting the day's cash, locking the drawer, humming quietly to herself.
When she finally looked up and saw his car, her eyes widened.
He stepped out, hands in his pockets, a soft breeze tugging at his sleeves.
"Mr. Lucas she said in surprise. "Did I forget something?"
He shook his head. "No. You mentioned a café yesterday. Said they had the best ice cream in all of Brooklyn."
She blinked. "Oh. Joey's Corner?"
He nodded. "I thought I'd find out if you were exaggerating."
She laughed lightly. "You came all the way here just for that?"
"Let's say I didn't have better plans."
Amara hesitated, glancing at the clock. "I'm just closing up. You can wait a few minutes."
He leaned against his car. "I'll wait."
There was something strange about seeing him there the billionaire in his tailored coat, standing outside her tiny shop like an ordinary man. When she finally locked the door, she smiled nervously. "Okay. Let's go before I change my mind."
The café was small, tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. The warm scent of baked dough and vanilla filled the air as they walked in. Lucas looked around, amused by the mismatched furniture and faded posters.
"This is it?" he asked, pretending to sound unimpressed.
"This," she said proudly, "is happiness for less than ten dollars."
He chuckled. "You have strange definitions of happiness."
"Maybe you're just too rich to understand cheap joy," she teased, and they both laughed.
They ordered pizza and two cones of vanilla ice cream. When Lucas took his first bite, his eyes widened slightly. "This is… actually good."
Amara grinned. "Told you. You billionaires don't know everything."
The conversation flowed easily about work, family, and small things that didn't matter but felt good to say out loud. Lucas found himself listening, really listening, to her voice soft, genuine, full of stories that made him forget everything heavy in his world.
Outside, the sky had turned dark, the streetlights glowing gold against the pavement. When they stepped out, Amara was still licking the last bit of her ice cream, smiling
"I didn't think you'd actually come," she said softly.
Lucas glanced at her, that quiet smile returning to his lips. "Neither did I."
For a moment, they stood there in silence just the hum of the city and the soft glow of the night around them.
************
Lucas insisted on driving her home.
Amara tried to protest, saying the subway was fine, but he only smiled faintly and opened the car door.
The ride was quiet. The city blurred past the windows streetlights, old brick buildings, tired faces walking home after long shifts. Every few minutes, Amara caught Lucas glancing at her, like he was trying to understand the life she came from the one that didn't glitter, the one that smelled of sweat, steam, and effort.
When his sleek black car finally pulled into her street, the difference between their worlds became painfully clear.
Her neighborhood was quiet but worn the kind of place where the walls had seen too many winters and the paint peeled from forgotten doors. The pavement cracked in places, and an old streetlamp flickered weakly at the corner.
"This is it," she said softly, embarrassed by how small it looked compared to the mansion he called home.
Lucas glanced at the narrow apartment building faded yellow walls, rusted balcony railings, a cracked window patched with tape. But his eyes didn't hold judgment. Only silence.
He parked beside the curb. "Thank you for the pizza," he said gently. "And for reminding me what normal feels like."
Amara smiled, a little shy, a little sad. "Goodnight, Mr. Lucas."
He watched as she climbed the short flight of stairs, her keys jingling in her hand, before driving away into the night.
Inside, Amara's chest felt lighter until she noticed something that made her freeze.
The door to her apartment was slightly open.
Her heart skipped. She remembered locking it that morning. Slowly, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
The lights were still on, flickering softly. The small living room was just as she'd left it a faded brown couch, an old table covered with folded laundry, and a few framed photos of her family hanging crookedly on the wall. The air smelled faintly of detergent and lemon soap.
Her room was small a single bed pressed against the wall, a worn-out rug near the corner, a rickety wooden shelf stacked with secondhand books and little notes from Nina. A cracked mirror stood by the window, its surface clouded with fingerprints. On the bed lay a stuffed teddy bear she'd had since childhood patched at the arm, still smiling through the years.
But what made her pause wasn't the room.
It was the sound.
Soft sobs.
When she stepped closer, she saw her little sister sitting on the bed knees pulled to her chest, tears running down her face.
"Nina?" Amara whispered, dropping her bag. "What's wrong?"
Nina looked up, eyes red and swollen. "Mara…" Her voice broke. "Ididn't know where else to go."
Amara rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. Nina clung to her like a child, crying into her shoulder.
"They called from Mom's home," Nina said through broken sobs. "Her medication costs have gone up again. They said she's not responding well and needs new treatment… it's so expensive, Amara. We don't have enough this month."
Amara closed her eyes, fighting the sting in her chest. "We'll find a way, okay? We always do."
Nina shook her head. "I already used most of what I had for school. I thought maybe… maybe you could borrow, or ask someone, but I know you hate that."
Amara's heart tightened. The exhaustion of the day, the café laughter, the tiny slice of peace it all faded beneath the weight of reality.
She pulled Nina closer, stroking her hair as tears slipped down her own cheeks. "Don't cry, baby. We'll fix it. Somehow."
But as the night grew quiet and Nina finally fell asleep beside her, Amara sat in the dark, staring at the cracked ceiling. The city hummed outside careless, distant.
Her eyes drifted to her old phone lying on the nightstand, and she thought of all the bills waiting, all the numbers that didn't add up.
Desperation whispered ugly things the kind she'd never thought she'd consider.
"Just one night."
Just enough to pay for the treatment.
She hated herself for even thinking it but the thought stayed, heavy and persistent, like a stain she couldn't wash away.
Amara lay back on the bed, tears wetting her pillow, as she made a silent promise to herself.
If this was what it took to save her mother, then so be it.