Mark Pascual had to admit his life was nowhere near interesting, with no presence that turned heads when he entered a room. For twenty-three years, Mark had lived as background noise.
A wallpaper character and was bullied relentlessly. From grade school to college, cruelty followed him like a shadow because his family was poor. Later on, life never eased up.
He worked three part-time jobs just to keep their lives afloat, juggling exhaustion and hunger in order to have food on the table and maintain the roof over their heads.
When he was a child, his father died. A factory accident. One of those accidents that never reached the news. No headlines. No outrage. The company was wealthy and powerful enough to bury the incident before it ever saw daylight.
They handed his mother three thousand dollars and a stack of papers to sign. She did because she had no lawyer, no leverage, and two children waiting for dinner.
Mark had been too young to understand what really happened. He only knew that one day his father left for work and never came home.
After that, it was just the three of them, crammed into a small apartment where every bill felt like a threat and every month was survival rather than living.
Life was hard. But not completely empty. He had Elizabeth Green. His childhood sweetheart. His first love. The one constant that made the world feel a little less cruel. Or at least…she used to.
Things had started falling apart months ago. Not because Mark stopped trying. Not because he didn't make time.
But because Elizabeth was always busy now. Busy with her new corporate job at Jacob Lim Inc. Busy with her new friends, elite, wealthy, and untouchable.
She often talked about how sick she was of being poor. How she wanted to experience the lives of rich people.
How she wanted more. And so she did everything she could to infiltrate their world. Lately, she barely texted him. But a few hours ago, she finally did. A short message. She wanted to end things. She said she wasn't involved with him anymore.
It shattered Mark more than he expected. He couldn't focus on his shift at the café, one he desperately needed. Then the door opened. And the world tilted.
Elizabeth walked in, with makeup on, with designer clothing and a handbag she couldn't afford, and she wasn't alone. She was holding hands with a man in a very expensive tailored suit, clean, smug, and confident.
A man who looked like he belonged in places Mark had only ever served. They laughed softly. The man leaned down and kissed her.
Mark froze. Time slowed to a crawl. Elizabeth turned and saw him. For a brief second, shock crossed her face. Then came the glare. Sharp. Warning. 'Don't make a scene.'
Mark swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew that look. He'd known her long enough to understand exactly what it meant. So he did what he always did. He shrank. He approached their table and handed them the menu with hands that barely steadied the tray.
The café was upscale, with polished marble, gold accents, and quiet luxury. The man spoke without looking at Mark. "Dark coffee. Three sugars." He ordered for Elizabeth too.
Mark nodded and walked away. When the coffee was ready, he placed it carefully on the tray along with a small plate of cookies and returned to their table.
The man frowned immediately. "Who the fuck told you my fiancée wanted a cookie?" he snapped. "I didn't order a cookie."
Fiancée? Mark breathed in real hard, heart thumping so fast. The ache was unbearable, he had loved Elizabeth. They dreamed together, they loved each other, but now she was glaring at him.
Mark's voice came out quiet, controlled, and fragile. "It's her favorite," he said. "Chocolate cookie. And she likes her coffee dark, no sugar, with milk."
Silence fell over the table. The man stared at Mark as if he were something unpleasant that had wandered in uninvited.
And Elizabeth? She didn't even hesitate. She scoffed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated disgust, like Mark was nothing more than a bug that had dared crawl too close.
There was no shame in her expression. No guilt. Only irritation…as if he was the problem for existing in her line of sight.
Then the anger came. The man's voice rose sharply, loud enough to cut through the low hum of the café. Chairs nearby stilled. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped.
Mark felt every pair of eyes land on him. Some were curious. Some were uncomfortable. Some pitying. Pity. It burned worse than hatred.
The man shoved his chair back with a harsh scrape, the sound echoing across polished marble. He stood, towering over Mark, radiating authority and entitlement. This was a man used to being obeyed.
Used to the world bending out of his way. Elizabeth's expression hardened completely, her lips pressed thin, her eyes sharp and warning.
Mark opened his mouth, heart pounding. "Elizabeth," he said quietly. "What are you doing? I'm your…"
"Pathetic," she laughed. Not nervously. Not awkwardly. She laughed like it was funny. "He's my stalker, babe," she said, curling closer to the man's side. Her voice was smooth, practiced, and almost sweet.
"I've seen him around before. I don't really know him." She glanced at Mark again, nose wrinkling in exaggerated disgust. "Eww. I don't know why he's obsessed with me."
The words hit him like ice water.
Stalker.
The café erupted into murmurs. Mark felt the air leave his lungs. "That's not…" he tried, panic clawing up his throat. "Elizabeth, you know me. We've been together for…"
"Stop," she snapped sharply, cutting him off. "This is exactly why I don't feel safe."
Safe.
The man's jaw tightened. That was when it escalated. He didn't warn Mark. Didn't threaten. Didn't hesitate. The punch came fast and brutal.
Pain exploded across Mark's face, white-hot and blinding. His vision burst into stars as his body slammed into the floor. The tray clattered somewhere beside him, coffee spilling, porcelain shattering. Gasps echoed through the café.
Someone shouted. "Hey!"
Mark tasted blood. He tried to push himself up, ears ringing, humiliation crushing down harder than the pain. He saw shoes, polished and expensive, step back from him like he was filth.
The manager rushed over. But not to him. "Oh my god, sir, I am so, so sorry about this," the manager said urgently, bowing slightly toward the man in the suit. "This employee is clearly unstable. We'll handle it immediately."
Mark stared up in disbelief. "Boss," his voice cracked. "I didn't."
"You're fired," the manager snapped, not even looking at him. "Get out. Now."
Just like that. No questions. No explanation. No defense.
Because the man wasn't just anyone. He was Jacob Lim. The infamous son of Jacob Lim Sr., CEO of Jacob Incorporated.
Owner of luxury hotels, high-end establishments, and half the skyline of New York. A name that carried weight. A name that bent rules, silenced truth, and erased people like Mark with ease.
And Mark Pascual? He lay on the cold floor, bleeding, dismissed. Like he was nothing. Just like a speck of dust.
Something people like them could crush underfoot without ever noticing or caring.