LILLY'S POV
The Moonbean Café smelled like burnt espresso and broken dreams.
I was moving on autopilot, wiping down tables, restocking napkins, doing anything to keep my hands busy so my brain didn't spiral back to Roger's hands on my door, his voice promising he'd be back.
The bell over the door chimed. I looked up and immediately wished I hadn't.
Walking through the door like he owned the place was possibly the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. And I hated him on sight.
Tall, maybe six-three, with midnight-black hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. Sharp jawline. Steel-gray eyes that swept across the café like he was calculating its net worth and finding it lacking. Designer clothes that probably cost more than my year's rent.
He had an entourage—three other guys who looked like they'd stepped out of a cologne commercial.
Rich boys. I could smell the privilege from here.
They took a table near the window, and I watched as one of them—platinum blonde—pulled out a chair for another one. Like this was some five-star restaurant instead of a café one health inspection away from being shut down.
"Lilly," Marcus hissed from behind the counter. "Table four. Go."
I grabbed my notepad and headed over.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Moonbean Café. What can I get started for you?"
The beautiful one didn't even look at me. He studied the menu like it personally offended him.
"Do you have single-origin Ethiopian pour-over?" he asked, his voice smooth and bored.
Of course, that's what he ordered.
"We have coffee," I said sweetly. "It comes from a can. It's brown. It's hot. Sometimes."
One of his friends snorted, but Beautiful and Terrible just looked up at me for the first time.
The second our eyes met, something happened. Like an electric shock running through my entire body, making every nerve ending stand at attention. My breath caught, my heart stuttered, and for a moment the world narrowed down to just him.
His eyes widened slightly, like he felt it too.
Then his gaze dropped to my name tag.
"Lilly Lucky," he read aloud, amusement in his voice. "Lucky? Did you lose a bet? Or is the universe just sadistic?"
The table erupted in laughter which made something inside me snapped.
"You know what? Let me get you that pour-over. Coming right up."
I marched back to the counter, where Marcus gave me a warning look.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
"I'm not thinking about anything." I grabbed the coffee pot—the one that had been sitting on the burner for three hours. "I'm just providing excellent customer service."
I poured the coffee into our least cracked cup and carried it back.
"One single-origin pour-over," I announced.
He picked it up, examining it. "This isn't—"
I "tripped."
My hand "accidentally" bumped his arm. The scalding coffee went everywhere—all over his white designer shirt, his expensive pants, probably his Italian leather shoes.
The café went silent. He stood slowly, coffee dripping down his chest, and stared at me. Those gray eyes were storming now, dark and intense.
"You did that on purpose," he said quietly.
"Prove it," I shot back.
His friends lost their minds. The platinum blonde one jumped up, furious. "Are you kidding me? Do you know who this is? Do you know how much that shirt costs? You're going to pay for this, you little—"
"Enough." He held up one hand, and his friend shut up immediately. He was still looking at me, and I still couldn't breathe right, and I hated it.
"How much do you make in a week?" he asked.
I blinked. "What?"
"How much do you make in a week?"
"I don't see how that's any of your—"
"Humor me."
"Maybe three hundred dollars on a good week. Why?"
He pulled out his wallet and extracted five hundred-dollar bills. He set them on the table, deliberate and slow.
"For the attitude," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Worth every penny."
Then he walked out, his friends scrambling to follow.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open and five hundred dollars on the table.
What the hell just happened?
---
The rest of my shift passed in a blur.
Marcus was furious but couldn't exactly fire me when I had five hundred dollars in tips. The other servers shot me looks—some jealous, some impressed, all confused.
I couldn't stop thinking about him. About those eyes. About the way he looked at me like he saw me in a way no one ever had.
Stop it, I told myself viciously. *He's just another rich asshole. Nothing new.
Except it felt new. It felt terrifying and exhilarating and wrong all at once.
By the time I locked up at eleven, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to go home, lock my door, and sleep for three years.
The universe had other plans. I was walking to the bus stop, hand clutched around the pepper spray in my pocket, when I saw her.
A woman, standing under the streetlight like she'd been waiting. Silver hair that caught the light. Ageless face—could be thirty, could be sixty. Expensive suit that screamed money and power.
Every instinct I had screamed danger.
"Lilly Winters," she said, voice smooth as silk. "I've been looking for you."
I stopped walking, hand tightening on the pepper spray. "Yeah? Well, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling. So if you'll excuse me—"
"Ravencrest Academy." She pulled out a thick envelope from her briefcase. "Full scholarship. Room and board. Monthly stipend. All you have to do is say yes."
I stared at her then at the envelope then back at her.
"This is a scam," I said flatly. "Beautiful mysterious strangers don't appear in parking lots offering free education. This is how people end up in basements."
She smiled. "I assure you, this is entirely legitimate. Ravencrest Academy is one of the most prestigious pre-college institutions in the country. We offer select scholarships to students with... unique potential."
"Unique potential. Is that code for 'likely to be murdered in a ritualistic sacrifice'?"
"Open it." She held out the envelope. "If you still think it's a scam after reading it, I'll walk away."
Against my better judgment, I took it.
It was heavy. Official-looking. The kind of paper that cost more than my entire wardrobe.
"You have excellent grades," the woman continued, alarm bells ringing in my head. "Despite working two jobs. Despite your... challenging home situation."
"How do you know about—"
"We know everything about our potential students, Lilly. About your mother. About your stepfather." Her eyes sharpened. "About what happened today in your room."
My blood ran cold.
"How—"
"You have forty-eight hours to decide." She turned to leave. "But I'll give you advice. Some people are born unlucky. Others are born for something greater, and the world mistakes destiny for curse." She paused, looking back with eyes that seemed to glow. "Which one are you, Ill Luck?"
Then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows so quickly I wondered if I'd imagined her.
Except the envelope in my hands was very, very real.