Chapter 3 – A Call from Fate
"Some calls arrive not through accident, but as echoes of what the heart dared not admit the first time."
The next morning unfolded with a deceptive calm.
The city, washed clean by the storm, gleamed beneath a pale sun. The cobblestones outside Murphy & Sons were slick and glistening, and the air carried the crisp scent of rain and roasted coffee.
Robert stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled, wiping a spotless glass for the tenth time — an act more of distraction than necessity. His thoughts wandered, unbidden, to Elena Cross — her voice, her eyes, the strange mixture of command and curiosity that seemed to linger in the spaces she left behind.
He had told himself he wouldn't think about her. Yet, each time the door chimed or the phone buzzed, his pulse betrayed him.
"Morning, boss," his sister Lily called from the kitchen, her hair in a messy bun, apron smudged with flour. "You're polishing that glass like it owes you money."
Robert smiled faintly. "Maybe it does."
Lily leaned against the counter, arching a brow. "You've been distracted since last night. Don't tell me the wine lady threw you out again?"
"She didn't," he replied evenly. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly?" She grinned. "You either got tossed or kissed, Rob. Which was it?"
He gave her a look. "Neither. And for the record, she's not just a 'wine lady.'"
"Oh?" Lily teased. "Then who is she?"
He hesitated. "Elena Cross."
Lily froze mid-laugh. "The Elena Cross? As in, 'owns half the university, donates the other half, and teaches men twice her age to tremble' Elena Cross?"
"The same," he muttered.
Lily whistled low. "So, what did you do to get on her radar? Spill wine on her silk sheets?"
"Wrong delivery," he said. "And a worse first impression."
She smirked. "Sounds like fate playing courier again."
He didn't answer, but his silence was enough. She caught the faraway look in his eyes and chuckled softly. "Oh, Rob. You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says: 'I met a woman I shouldn't think about, but I will anyway.'"
Before he could reply, the shop phone rang — a sharp, old-fashioned sound that cut through the hum of the restaurant. Lily darted over, wiping her hands.
"Murphy & Sons. How may I—" she began, then paused, her eyes widening. "Oh… oh! One moment, please."
She covered the receiver and whispered, "It's her."
Robert blinked. "Her who?"
Lily grinned wickedly. "Your billionaire schoolmistress."
---
He snatched the receiver, trying not to sound as startled as he felt. "Murphy speaking."
For a heartbeat, there was only the faint hum of static. Then came that unmistakable voice — calm, measured, slightly cool, yet wrapped in something softer this time.
"Mr Murphy. I hope I'm not interrupting."
He straightened instinctively, as if she could see him through the line. "Not at all, Miss Cross. How may I help you?"
"It appears," she continued, "that you were correct regarding the invoice. My assistant found the duplicate order this morning. I owe you both an apology and, apparently, payment."
Robert smiled faintly. "No apology needed. The misunderstanding was mine as well."
"Still," she said after a pause, "it seems only fair that I set it right. I would appreciate if you came by tomorrow — around noon. There are a few matters I'd like to discuss."
"Of course," he said, heart thudding faster than he cared to admit. "Shall I bring the receipt?"
"Bring yourself, Mr Murphy. The rest I'll arrange."
The line went quiet for a breath — not disconnected, just… waiting.
Then her voice softened, as if something unguarded slipped through her composure.
"And, Mr Murphy… do try not to get thrown out this time."
Robert laughed before he could stop himself. "No promises, Miss Cross."
There was a faint sound — perhaps a smile she tried to hide — and then the call ended with a gentle click.
---
He stood there for a moment, the receiver still in his hand, the world around him blurred into stillness.
Lily leaned over the counter, eyes wide. "Well?"
He turned to her slowly, as though waking from a spell. "She wants me to come by tomorrow."
Lily gasped dramatically. "Tomorrow? Oh my god, Rob, that's basically a summons. Did a queen just hire you?"
Robert rubbed the back of his neck, half-smiling. "More like a queen wants to settle accounts."
"Uh-huh," she said, folding her arms. "That's how every fairy tale begins — with the poor guy delivering bread to the castle."
"This isn't a fairy tale," he said, though not convincingly.
She tilted her head. "Then why do you look like a man who's about to choose between reason and ruin?"
---
That night
Sleep came in restless fragments.
Each time he drifted off, his mind replayed the sound of her voice — low, deliberate, threaded with something almost musical. "Bring yourself, Mr Murphy."
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the rhythm of rainwater dripping from the eaves outside. The city had quieted, yet inside him, something stirred — anticipation, unease, perhaps both.
He rose, poured himself a glass of water, and caught his reflection in the kitchen window — tired eyes, unkempt hair, a man far removed from her world.
"What are you doing, Murphy?" he muttered to himself. "She's a Cross. You're just…"
He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
---
Meanwhile — Ravenswood Lane
Elena sat in her study, surrounded by candlelight and silence. The world outside was still soaked from last night's storm, the windows streaked with faint traces of rain.
Her assistant, Margaret, had long gone home. The house, usually a comfort in its solitude, felt unusually vast tonight.
On her desk lay the duplicate invoice — its numbers precise, impersonal. Yet her thoughts strayed not to the error, but to the man who had come in the rain to correct it.
There was something about him that unsettled her equilibrium. His words were unpolished, his manner earnest to a fault — and yet, she had found herself smiling after he'd left, something she hadn't done in months without effort.
She closed the ledger and whispered into the quiet,
"Murphy…"
The name tasted strangely familiar, as if it had existed in her life long before yesterday.
---
The next morning
At Murphy & Sons, the day dawned with the aroma of bread and coffee. Peter was humming behind the counter, and Lily darted between tables, teasing her brother with every opportunity.
"So," she said, sliding him a cup of coffee, "how's it feel to be invited to a billionaire's lair for the second time? Want me to iron your best shirt or polish your van so it looks like a royal carriage?"
Robert chuckled. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"Of course I am. Watching my serious, responsible brother lose his composure over a woman with her own Wikipedia page? It's divine."
He rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
"Sure it isn't," she said, sipping her coffee. "But just in case, wear the blue shirt. It brings out your eyes."
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You're impossible."
She grinned. "I learned from the best."
---
Noon Approaches
As the hour drew near, Robert stood before the restaurant mirror, adjusting his collar. The blue shirt, freshly pressed, framed his shoulders neatly. He told himself it didn't matter — that this was just business.
And yet, when he caught sight of his reflection, he could almost hear Lily's teasing voice:
"Bro, did a queen just hire you?"
He chuckled under his breath.
If fate truly did make calls, it seemed determined to keep his number on speed dial.
He picked up his keys, stepped into the sunlight, and began the drive back toward Ravenswood Lane — unaware that, in a quiet study by a window overlooking the roses, Elena Cross was already waiting.
---
As his van disappeared around the curve of the hill, Lily watched from the restaurant doorway, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Good luck, my brother," she murmured. "May the queen have mercy on your mortal soul."
She turned back inside, humming lightly — while far away, in the marble silence of the Cross estate, fate prepared to answer its own call.