The countryside woke slowly beneath the pale light of dawn.
Soft mist hovered over green fields, and the scent of damp soil lingered in the air. A small wooden house stood quietly among the fields, old and worn but carefully kept clean. The faint chirping of birds mixed with the distant lowing of cows, a gentle reminder that life here moved at its own steady pace.
Inside, a young woman knelt beside a narrow bed.
Gracie dipped a cloth into a bowl of warm water and gently wiped her grandmother's forehead. The old woman's breathing was shallow, her face thin and pale from years of sickness. Gracie's fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the fine lines etched by time and worry, wishing she could wash away more than just the sweat and fever.
"Grandma," Gracie whispered. "The herbs should help today."
Her grandmother's eyes fluttered open, warmth filling them despite her weakness.
"You didn't sleep again, did you?"
Gracie smiled softly. "I rested enough."
It was a lie.
She had spent most of the night weaving baskets beneath a dim oil lamp. Every coin mattered. Medicine was expensive, and their savings were nearly gone. Each basket had to be perfect; even a small flaw could make it unsellable. Gracie's hands ached, but she refused to stop.
Her grandmother sighed. "You're still young. You shouldn't work so hard."
"If I don't," Gracie replied gently, "who will?"
The old woman studied her, eyes softening. "You're just like your mother."
Gracie's hands paused.
Her mother had been beautiful—kind, gentle, full of dreams. But dreams hadn't protected her from reality. Poverty had taken everything from her… including her life. Gracie wondered if she had inherited her mother's stubborn heart, the part that refused to accept life's cruelty quietly.
Gracie stood and opened the small window. Golden sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the quiet space.
Outside, birds chirped and fields stretched endlessly. It looked peaceful.
But peace did not mean comfort.
"I won't stay here forever," Gracie said quietly. "One day, I'll earn enough to bring you the best doctors."
Her grandmother smiled faintly. "Dream big… but protect your heart."
Gracie nodded.
Dreams were all she had left.
After ensuring her grandmother had fallen asleep, Gracie picked up her worn bag and stepped outside. Today was market day. The air smelled faintly of fresh bread from a nearby stall and the earthy aroma of vegetables stacked in wooden crates. The sound of bartering traders and clattering coins greeted her as she walked.
⸻
Far from the countryside, the city was already alive.
Towering buildings pierced the sky as luxury cars streamed through busy streets. Before one of the tallest towers, a black car came to a smooth stop.
The man who stepped out didn't seem to belong to it.
He wore plain clothes—simple and unmarked—yet his presence was impossible to ignore. Tall, broad-shouldered, disciplined. Power clung to him even without wealth on display.
His face was sharp and striking, his gaze deep and unreadable.
This was Derick.
The most powerful businessman in the country.
Today, he chose to be no one.
"Sir," his assistant said carefully, "are you sure about this?"
Derick adjusted his sleeve. "Yes."
"You could have anyone," the assistant pressed. "Why hide?"
Derick's eyes cooled. "Because I don't want love bought with money."
He stepped away from the car.
"I want someone who sees me as just a man."
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd—leaving behind wealth, power, and his real name.
He had no idea the truth he was searching for waited far from the city.
⸻
At the market, Gracie arranged her baskets neatly on a small wooden stall.
People passed, some glancing twice, but she kept her focus on her work. Business was slow. By noon, only half her baskets were gone.
She counted the coins in her palm. Still not enough.
As she began packing up, a shadow fell across her stall.
"How much is this one?"
The voice was calm. Steady.
Gracie looked up—and froze.
The man before her wore simple clothes, yet his presence felt overwhelming. His dark eyes were sharp, observant… unsettling.
"That one," she said, steadying herself, "is cheap. I made it myself."
Derick studied her.
There was honesty in her gaze. No calculation. No greed.
"I'll take it," he said.
As he paid, their fingers brushed.
Warmth bloomed unexpectedly in Gracie's chest. She pulled her hand back, startled.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied softly.
"You're not from the city."
"No. I live in the countryside."
"Why come alone?"
"To earn money," she said simply. "Someone is waiting for me at home."
Something shifted in Derick's eyes.
He nodded and turned to leave.
"Sir," Gracie called.
He paused.
"Be careful," she said. "The city isn't kind to everyone."
For a moment, he stared at her.
Then—something rare—a genuine smile touched his lips.
"I'll remember that."
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Gracie's heart racing for reasons she didn't understand.
⸻
That night, Gracie returned home exhausted.
Her grandmother was awake, coughing weakly.
"Grandma—!"
The old woman gripped her hand. "Someone came today."
Gracie stiffened. "Who?"
"They were from the city. Well dressed."
She swallowed. "They said your father wants to see you."
A letter lay on the table.
The room spun.
Father.
The man who had never existed in her life.
⸻
High above the city, Derick stood before a glass window.
"Find the girl from the countryside," he said calmly.
The assistant hesitated. "Which one, sir?"
Derick's gaze darkened.
"The one with honest eyes," he replied.
"The one who warned me."