A thick stack of cash, at least several thousand. Several black credit cards. And an ID.
The photo on the ID was of an incredibly handsome man. High brow bones, a chiseled nose, thin lips pressed together, and eyes that held an innate, detached coldness.
Aidan Lin.
The name tickled her memory, but she couldn't place it.
Her heart pounded in her chest. This money... if she took it, her mother's surgery bill would be more than halfway paid.
The thought slithered into her mind like a venomous snake, making her feel feverish. She could do it. She could just walk away...
Stella, that's not your money.
The voice in her head was her mother's, from a long time ago. She remembered being a little girl, standing in their tiny kitchen. Her mother had knelt down, her hands warm on Stella's shoulders.
We may be poor, but we must never be poor in spirit. We don't take what isn't ours. Not a single penny.
Stella snapped the wallet shut as if it had burned her. She took a deep breath, the cold air clearing her chaotic thoughts.
She couldn't.
Clutching the wallet, she ran back to the main entrance, to the same dismissive security guard. "Sir, I found this wallet! I think it belongs to one of the guests. Could you please make an announcement?"
The guard glanced at the wallet, then at her soaked, pathetic state. His eyes were filled with suspicion. "You found it? Or you stole it?"
"I really found it! Right there, by the steps!" Stella's voice rose with desperation.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave it here. I'll give it to the front desk later," the guard said, snatching the wallet from her and tossing it carelessly onto his registration desk. He went back to his phone, ignoring her completely.
Stella stared at the wallet, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. But she didn't dare argue. The delivery was already late.
She finally handed the thermal box to a waiter who emerged from the side door. He took it without a word of thanks and disappeared back inside.
Order complete. Seven minutes late.
The app flashed "LATE" in glaring red letters. Her heart turned to ice. It meant she'd lose her perfect attendance bonus this month, on top of a penalty.
She dragged her exhausted body back down the steps to her dead scooter.
Just then, the massive revolving door of the art center opened.
A tall, imposing figure stepped out. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his aura as cold and aloof as the night itself. He was flanked by two men who looked like assistants.
It was him. The man from the ID—Aidan Lin.