BEEP, BEEP, BEEP
The alarm rang at exactly 7:00 a.m.
And like always, Aira slapped it quietly. Five more times.
Sleep clung to her bones like the ghost of all the nights she'd never truly rested. She groaned, pulled the blanket over her head, and for one reckless moment considered quitting everything—work, life, existing.
Then reality kicked in.
Bills. Rent. Lia.
The thought of her sister's smile jolted her upright. It was impossible to stay in bed when someone that small depended on her to keep the world turning.
Her morning was the usual battlefield—tangled hair, mismatched socks, cold shower water biting her skin awake. She threw on the same clothes she'd worn for years and the old beige coat she'd found in an alley the night she ran away from home. It still smelled faintly of dust and rain, but it was hers. Her armor.
Breakfast wasn't for her—hadn't been for years. But she made sure Lia ate. The little girl sat cross-legged at the table, cheeks puffed with cereal.
"Unnie," Lia asked between bites, "why do you always come home late?"
The spoon froze midair. The question hit harder than it should have. Aira forced a smile.
"I just work a little longer, that's all. So we can eat and live comfortably."
Comfortably. A lie she'd rehearsed until it sounded real.
After dropping Lia off at school, she sprinted to Aya Café, barely on time. Mellisah was already unlocking the glass doors, her long red nails clacking against the key.
Aira greeted her softly and slipped into routine—arranging chairs, wiping tables, checking beans. She liked the quiet before opening—the only time her world obeyed her.
Surprisingly, Mellisah broke the silence.
"You know," she said, twisting a lock of hair, "I've worked with you for nearly two years and still don't know your name."
Aira blinked. "It's Aira."
Mellisah scoffed. "Oh my God, really? You're Aira? Never would've guessed," she drawled, sarcasm thick enough to chew.
Aira only smiled—thin, polite, practiced.
"Okay, fine. What's your full name then?"
"Yun-lee. Yun-lee Aira."
It rolled off her tongue smoothly—the lie she'd built her new life around. That name had cost her everything: every coin, every sleepless night, every risk taken to forge documents for her and Lia both.
By 8:00 a.m., the café was spotless. Aira flipped the OPEN sign and prayed today wouldn't turn into another disaster.
Across town, Kim Ha-joon hadn't slept a wink.
He'd spent the night pacing, mind tangled in chaos—the fifty billion won stolen from his company, his mother's ceaseless marriage nags, and the pest chained in his basement.
He dressed sharply, all black as usual, and descended the stairs with a cup of coffee in hand. The basement air was heavy—metallic, humid, laced with blood.
"Good morning, Do Kyung," he said smoothly.
The man on the table whimpered. His arms were stretched and chained, skin rubbed raw.
Ha-joon leaned against the wall, sipping calmly.
"You know," he murmured, almost amused, "I should thank you. It's not every day someone steals fifty billion won from me and survives long enough to regret it."
He exhaled smoke from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light.
"But I'm feeling generous today. My boys will feed you later. Whatever's left from last night should do."
He turned and left without another glance.
"Stop by a café," he told his driver once in the car. "Something strong. No sugar."
Rain glazed the city as the black Mercedes sliced through Seoul's streets, tires whispering over wet asphalt.
Minutes later, they pulled up outside Aya Café.
The doorbell chimed softly. Heads turned.
A tall man stepped in—dark hair brushed neatly to one side, a black suit tailored to perfection. Authority clung to him like a shadow; even the air seemed to yield in his presence.
Mellisah froze mid-sentence, her mouth parting slightly. Holy hell.
She watched as he and his sharp-eyed bodyguard took a table by the window.
"Give me a strong black coffee. No sugar," he said, voice low and smooth enough to slice glass.
Mellisah nodded dumbly, still staring until the bodyguard snapped his fingers in front of her face.
She jumped. "R-Right! Coming right up, sir!"
Aira was in the back refilling the milk dispenser when Mellisah burst in, grinning.
"Table three—oh my God, Aira, he's so hot. And rich. Definitely rich."
Aira gave her a flat look. "What's the order?"
"Black coffee. No sugar."
"Then stop drooling and make it."
But Mellisah shoved the tray at her. "You do it. My hands are literally shaking."
Aira sighed, took the tray, and walked out.
Ha-joon stood from his seat just as she approached, his phone buzzing—a crisis on the other end. He turned slightly, distracted—
—and collided straight into her.
The tray crashed.
Coffee splattered across his chest, staining the sleek black fabric.
Aira froze, horror twisting through her. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry!"
Ha-joon's composure cracked for the first time. The hot liquid soaked through his jacket, dripping down his sleeve.
"Are you blind?" he snapped. "Look at what you've done! I have a meeting in twenty minutes!"
Aira bowed again and again, voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, sir. It was an accident—please, let me clean—"
Before she could finish, Mellisah swooped in, dramatic as ever.
"Aira! How many times have I told you to watch where you're going? This is the second time this week! What is wrong with you?"
Ha-joon's glare flicked between them, the vein in his temple ticking. He exhaled sharply, unclenching his fists.
The café owner rushed over, bowing deeply. "We sincerely apologize, sir! Please, allow us to replace your drink—on the house!"
Ha-joon's jaw flexed. His gaze lingered on Aira—disheveled, panicked, her trembling hands clutching napkins. There was something in her eyes—fear, exhaustion, defiance—that tugged at a place he didn't know still existed.
He looked away before it could mean anything.
"No it fine," he said coldly dismissing the offer. "But get better staff."
He left, the doorbell chiming behind him.
Aira stood frozen long after he was gone, cheeks burning. Mellisah's lecture blurred into noise. Her hands shook too much to pick up the broken pieces.
Minutes later, she was called into the back office.
Mr. Chen's face was thunderous.
"Aira, how many times do I have to warn you? You can't keep making careless mistakes like this. Do you have any idea who that man was?"
She bowed deeply, tears pricking her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"It better not," he said, voice softening just slightly. "One more mistake, and you're done here."
When she stepped out, Mellisah shot her a smug smirk from behind the counter.
Aira ignored it. She went to the sink and began scrubbing the same cup over and over—just to keep her hands from trembling.
Outside, the rain began again—gentle, cold, relentless.
Just like the world that refused to let her breathe.