The cafeteria was decorated with fairy lights and the aroma of cinnamon cake fresh from the oven. Valentina had closed the doors to the public early to celebrate: it was the anniversary of another successful year for the establishment. The group
— Isaac, Sasha, David, Stella, and even Afonso (who agreed to stay in exchange for generous slices of pie)
— toasted with glasses of special iced coffee.
— To the best employees and the most stubborn customers in town!
— Valentina announced, raising her mug.
— We survived another year without David setting the kitchen on fire.
— Hey! That only happened once and it was for a noble cause: a marshmallow experiment!
— David protested, laughing as he tried to balance three plates of sweets.
Stella, sitting beside him, just smiled and wiped a crumb from the corner of the young man's mouth, a gesture that made the others exchange knowing looks. The atmosphere was pure harmony, a bubble of happiness that seemed shielded against the world outside.
When the celebration ended, Isaac helped Sasha put on her coat, lingering his hands on her shoulders for a second longer than necessary.
— I insist on dropping you off at your door today
— Isaac said, in a low and affectionate voice.
— Things look strange out there tonight.
— I love it when you turn into my bodyguard
— Sasha joked, stepping closer to him. The mood was pure romance, the kind of moment that seemed straight out of one of the K-dramas Stella read so much.
They were almost leaving when a deafening noise of metal and glass came from the storage room. David screamed for help. Running there, they found David buried under cans of chocolate syrup and gallons of condensed milk that had plummeted.
— Isaac! Help me! If Valentina sees this, she'll ship me off to another continent!
— David implored, covered in syrup from head to toe.
Isaac looked at Sasha, torn between duty and the desire not to leave her alone. Sasha, seeing their friend's distress and David's desperation, smiled sweetly and touched Isaac's face.
— Go help him. David is a disaster; he'll end up hurting himself if he tries to clean this alone. It's only a few blocks, I'll text you the moment I step into the apartment.
Isaac hesitated, taking her hands.
— Call me if anything feels wrong. I'll drop everything here and come running.
He gave her a long kiss on the forehead, a gesture full of protection and affection, before grabbing the squeegee and beginning the battle against the chocolate.
Stella's Unforeseen Event
Sasha looked toward the corner of the room where Stella was finishing packing her things. Before Sasha could even open her mouth to ask for company, Stella's phone rang with a shrill tone
— it was the specific ringtone for family emergencies.
Stella answered, turned pale, and began typing furiously on her phone while stuffing her laptop haphazardly into her backpack.
— Sasha, friend, I'm so sorry!
— Stella said, her voice rushing with haste.
— My sister just called me; she locked herself out of the house with the baby in her arms and the stove on. I need to fly there now, the Uber is already turning the corner!
— Don't worry, Stella!
— Sasha reassured her, though a shiver had visited her spine for a brief moment.
— Go, safety comes first. I'll be fine.
The Shadow on the Path
Sasha began her walk. Without Isaac's comforting presence, the night felt colder and the shadows longer. She tried to keep her thoughts on Isaac's kiss to ward off the fear, but she soon realized she wasn't alone.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind her. When she sped up, the footsteps sped up. Panic rose in her throat. She tried to grab her phone to call Isaac, but before she could dial, a man stepped out of an alley and pinned her against a brick wall.
— Calm down, doll... why the rush?
— the man muttered, blocking her exit.
Sasha felt tears sting her eyes. She wanted to scream for Isaac, but fear rendered her speechless.
The "Ghost" Intervenes
— If I were you, I'd take your hands off her right now.
The voice was icy, arrogant, and carried an authority that cut through the air like a razor.
Scott was standing beside his sports car and expensive clothes. He didn't move like a classic hero; he simply remained there, exhaling an aura of danger and superiority that would make anyone hesitate.
The attacker growled, trying to maintain his stance, but Scott gave no time for words. With a swift and calculated movement, he advanced. It wasn't a clumsy street fight; it was precise violence. Scott delivered a direct punch that launched the man against the trash cans, and before the attacker could recover, Scott pinned him to the ground, trapping his neck with his knee.
— I told you to get lost
— Scott hissed, his voice devoid of any empathy.
He began delivering short, heavy blows. With every punch, the sound of flesh hitting concrete echoed in the deserted street. Scott's face showed no anger, but rather a dark and arrogant pleasure, as if he were crushing an insect that dared to dirty his shoes.
— Scott, stop!
— Sasha screamed, her voice trembling.
— Please, you're going to kill him!
Scott stopped with his fist raised, his breathing not even labored. He looked at Sasha over his shoulder, his cold eyes meeting hers, which were flooded with tears and dread. Only then did he stand up, cleaning his knuckles with a silk handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, leaving the man groaning and bleeding on the asphalt.
— Insects like that only understand the language of force, Sasha
— he said, returning to his impeccable posture as if nothing had happened.
— You should be more selective about where you walk alone.
The Unwanted Rescue
Sasha slid down the wall, trembling. Scott approached with his flawless posture, looking down at her as if analyzing a spoiled contract. He offered his hand, but the gesture didn't seem kind.
— Get up, the ground is dirty
— Scott said coldly.
Sasha ignored his hand and stood up on her own, wiping away tears with anger.
— Scott. What do you want?
— What do I want?
— He let out a sigh of boredom.
— Get in the car. I'll take you.
— I'd rather walk than get into your car
— Sasha retorted, suspicion shining in her eyes.
— That Isaac fellow isn't here to save you, is he?
— I, on the other hand, am here. And since I am the best at everything, I am your only safe option. Get in. Now.
Sasha, knowing the attacker might still be nearby and trembling with fear, ended up getting into the luxury car, feeling like she was in a nightmare. As Scott revved the powerful engine, she took out her phone and sent an urgent message to Isaac:
"Isaac, I had a horrible scare. Scott showed up and took me in his car to bring me home. I love you."
Scott saw the glow of the message in her lap and gave a side smile, satisfied that, even though he was the villain in her story, he was the one in control of the situation.
Chapter: Platinum Masks and Fists of Rage
The interior of Scott's car was silent, except for the muffled roar of the high-powered engine. The smell of new leather and imported perfume surrounded Sasha, who huddled against the door, maintaining as much distance as possible from the man at the wheel.
Scott drove with an irritating calmness, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other adjusted the music to a soft jazz.
— You can stop staring at the lock as if I'm going to kidnap you
— Scott said, without taking his eyes off the road.
— I have more important things to do than waste time with street crimes. My time is too expensive for that.
— You're a narcissist, Scott
— Sasha fired back, her voice still shaky but loaded with disdain.
— You think the world revolves around your navel and you treat people like they're accessories for your agency. To me, you're the villain of this story.
Scott let out a short laugh, but it wasn't his usual arrogant laugh. It was a dry sound, almost as if he were laughing at a tasteless inside joke.
— Villain?
— He shrugged, and for a moment, the glow of the streetlights revealed a crease of tiredness on his forehead.
— It's funny how people label what they don't understand. It's easier to call me a villain than to accept that the world demands you be flawless all the time. My father wouldn't accept anything less than perfection, and the world... well, the world isn't much different from him.
Sasha frowned, realizing he was letting his guard down, even if he was using metaphors.
— So all this arrogance is just to please your father? Even though he's not here?
Scott squeezed the wheel a bit harder, his knuckles turning white.
— Let's just say that if I don't occupy the whole room with my "presence," people start noticing the holes in the structure. I just prefer they see the shine of gold rather than what happens when the light goes out. If that makes me the villain of your particular drama, so be it. At least the villain isn't forgotten.
Sasha looked at him in profile. For the first time, she didn't just see the overbearing owner of Phantom, but the weight he carried to maintain that facade. The "villain" began to lose its shape before her eyes.
The Confrontation
When the car parked in front of Sasha's building, the tires chirped slightly on the asphalt. Before Scott could even turn off the engine, the passenger door was surrounded.
Isaac was there. He looked like he had run a marathon; his hair was messy, there were chocolate stains on his arm, and his eyes burned with a protective fury that Sasha had never seen.
— GET OUT OF THE CAR, SASHA!
— Isaac shouted, pulling her door open with force and tugging her behind him.
Scott stepped out of the car with elegance, straightening his suede jacket as if nothing were happening. — You're welcome, by the way
— Scott said, with a cynical smile returning to his face.
— I saved your girlfriend while you were busy cleaning the floor of the cafeteria.
Isaac couldn't take it. The fear of having lost Sasha and the sight of that arrogant guy acting as if he owned the situation made him explode. He lunged and grabbed Scott by the collar of his silk shirt.
— YOU DON'T GO NEAR HER! I know who you are, Scott! I know what you do to people!
— Isaac yelled, cocking his fist.
Scott didn't flinch. He kept his chin up, though his eyes showed a deep hurt that only Sasha, after that conversation in the car, could identify.
— Go ahead, hit the "villain." It's much easier than facing the fact that you weren't there when she needed you, isn't it?
Isaac gave a violent shove, and Scott stumbled back, hitting his own car. Just as Isaac was about to throw the first punch, Sasha threw herself between the two, pressing her hands against Isaac's chest.
— STOP! ISAAC, STOP NOW!
— she screamed.
— Sasha, get out of the way! This guy forced you into that car, he...
— HE HELPED ME, ISAAC!
— Sasha exclaimed, tears falling again.
— If it weren't for Scott, I don't know what would have happened in
— alley. He brought me home. He didn't do anything to me.
Isaac froze, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He looked from Sasha to Scott. Scott adjusted his jacket, wiping an invisible speck of dust where Isaac had touched him. The shield of arrogance was back, impenetrable.
— I see the romantic little show is complete
— Scott said, his voice cold again.
— Next time, Isaac, try to be faster. Reputation and safety aren't things you recover by cleaning chocolate stains.
Scott got into the car without looking back. The engine roared and he disappeared into the night, leaving only the scent of expensive perfume and a heavy silence between the couple.
Isaac hugged Sasha tightly, trembling with relief and guilt.
— I'm sorry... I lost my head out of fear...
— I know, I know
— Sasha murmured, returning the hug.
— But Scott... there's more going on under the surface than we imagine.
Chapter: The Reflection in the Dark Glass
Scott drove in absolute silence. The roar of the engine was the only sound filling the cabin, but in his mind, Isaac's words and Sasha's gaze still echoed. He hated the feeling of being judged by someone who didn't have half of what he had achieved, but at the same time, something about that street scene had left him unsettled.
Arriving at his building, a modern condominium with few units in Itaim Bibi, he gave a discrete nod to the doorman and went up via the private elevator.
His penthouse was spacious, with designer furniture and indirect lighting that highlighted the art collection on the walls. There was nothing gold or exaggerated; it was the kind of silent luxury that said a lot without needing to shout.
He tossed his keys on the entry table and kicked off his limited-edition sneakers, setting them aside.
The Weight of the Image
Scott walked to the open kitchen, poured himself a glass of mineral water, and stood watching the city through the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the city lights looked like a luminous anthill.
He approached the glass and saw his own reflection. The suede jacket was still impeccable, but the shirt collar underneath was slightly misaligned from Isaac's tug. He touched the fabric, feeling the fine texture of the silk.
— "Broken guy"...
— Scott whispered, repeating the words he had said to Sasha.
He felt a tiredness that wasn't physical. It was the exhaustion of having to be, all the time, the most successful version of himself. He picked up his phone to check Phantom's messages. There were reports from models, schedules for the week, and emails from investors. Everything revolved around him, but nothing there seemed to fill the empty space he felt now.
The silence was broken by a notification. It wasn't a call, just a short message from his father: "I saw that Phantom's engagement rates went up today. Keep the pace. And don't get involved in small troubles; your brand is your greatest asset."
No "how are you?", no "goodnight." Just business. Scott's father's affection was measured in results, exactly as Scott now did with the people around him.
Scott blocked his phone screen and left it on the marble counter. He walked to the bedroom, took off his jacket, and hung it carefully on the hanger
— the habit of organization was something his father had drilled into his mind from an early age.
He lay on the bed and stared at the high ceiling. Scott had the best apartment, the best car, and the best agency. But as he closed his eyes, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Sasha held Isaac. It was a connection that didn't depend on brands, status, or external approval.
For the first time in a long time, Scott felt poor. Not in money, but in something he didn't even quite know how to name.
Chapter: Pride vs. Gratitude
The day at the cafeteria began with a strange atmosphere. Isaac couldn't stop thinking about Scott's face when he was pushed against the car. He had always seen Scott as a rich, arrogant villain, but Sasha's account of the conversation in the car changed everything.
— I need to go there, Sasha
— Isaac said, while cleaning the counter for the tenth time.
— I won't be able to sleep another night knowing I was unfair to the guy who brought you home.
Sasha smiled, holding his hand.
— I know. Go. Scott is... difficult, but he did the right thing yesterday.
Enemy Territory
Isaac arrived at the Phantom agency building in the afternoon. He felt completely out of place with his worn jeans and basic t-shirt in the midst of so many people wearing designer clothes and talking on cell phones about contracts and fashion shows.
— I'm here to speak with Scott
— Isaac said at the reception, trying to keep his voice steady.
— Do you have an appointment, sir?
— the receptionist asked, looking him up and down.
— Tell him it's Isaac, from the cafeteria. It's about the... "imperfection" from last night.
To Isaac's surprise, the authorization came quickly. He went up to the penthouse. When the elevator doors opened, he saw Scott sitting in a leather armchair, analyzing some photos on a tablet. Scott wasn't wearing a jacket today, just a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but he still looked like the most expensive man in the room.
The Apology
Scott didn't look up immediately. He let the silence last long enough to make Isaac uncomfortable — a classic power trick he learned from his father.
— Did you come to finish what you started on the sidewalk?
— Scott finally asked, setting the tablet aside and crossing his legs.
— If so, I should warn you my security is in the building today.
Isaac took a deep breath, swallowing his pride.
— No. I came... I came to apologize.
Scott arched an eyebrow, clearly surprised, though he tried not to show it.
— An apology? The working-class hero admitting a mistake? Now that is a novelty.
— I lost my head — Isaac continued, ignoring the provocation.
— I was afraid of what might have happened to Sasha. When I saw her getting out of your car, my blood boiled. But she told me what you did. You didn't just get her out of that situation; you brought her home safely. So... thank you, Scott. And sorry for the shove.
Scott remained silent for a few seconds. He was used to people asking for favors, money, or jobs, but he rarely received a sincere apology, especially from someone he considered a "rival."
— Keep your apologies, Isaac. I didn't do it for you
— Scott said, standing up and walking to the window. He regained his mask of arrogance, but his tone of voice wasn't aggressive.
— I did it for Fernanda. And because that fellow on the street was trash that needed to be swept away.
Scott turned his back to Isaac, looking at the city.
— But... I admit it takes guts to come all the way here to say that. Most people just hate me behind my back while accepting my drinks at parties.
Isaac nodded, feeling the mission was accomplished.
— We're still not friends, Scott. But now I know you have character. That's something.
As Isaac was leaving, Scott called out:
— Isaac?
Isaac stopped.
— Next time, don't let her walk alone. The world doesn't forgive failures.
— I know
— Isaac replied.
— And she won't.
Isaac left the building feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Scott, alone in his luxurious office, felt a strange sting of respect for that boy from the cafeteria. For the first time, someone had looked through his money and treated him simply as a man who had made a right choice.