Elara's POV
The drunk man's hand grabbed my wrist as I tried to clear his table.
"Come on, sweetheart. Just one drink with me." His breath reeked of whiskey and cigarettes. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be working so late."
I yanked my arm back, heart pounding. "Sir, I need you to let go."
"Don't be like that—"
"The lady asked you nicely." A new voice cut through the air, cold and sharp as a knife.
I looked up. A man in an expensive suit stood beside our booth—the kind of suit that cost more than I'd make in six months of working three jobs. Everything about him screamed money: the perfectly tailored jacket, the silk tie, the watch that glinted gold under the diner's fluorescent lights.
But it was his face that made my breath catch. Dark hair graying at the temples. Strong jaw. And eyes that looked exactly like mine—dark brown, almost black, with that same unusual ring of amber around the pupils.
The drunk took one look at Expensive Suit and stumbled away, muttering curses.
"Thank you," I managed, even though my hands were shaking. It was 2 AM on a Tuesday. I'd been on my feet for fourteen hours straight, running between the diner, the grocery store, and my dog-walking route. My feet screamed with every step. My back ached. Tomorrow I had to be up at six for my morning shift.
This was my life. This had always been my life.
"Elara Chen?" the man asked.
Ice flooded my veins. "How do you know my name?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because I'm your father."
The tray slipped from my hands. Plates shattered on the floor. Around us, the late-night customers turned to stare, but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "My father left before I was born. My mom never told me who he was. She died when I was four."
"I know." His voice was gentle now, almost sad. "Your mother—Sarah Chen—and I had a brief relationship nineteen years ago. I didn't know she was pregnant when I returned to my... organization. By the time I learned about you, she had passed away, and you'd already entered the foster system."
"You're lying." But my voice cracked. Because those eyes. Those exact same eyes stared back at me from my mirror every morning.
"I've been searching for you for three years, Elara." He pulled out a leather wallet and handed me a photo. A young Asian woman smiled at the camera, holding a baby with a shock of black hair. My mother. I'd only seen two pictures of her in my entire life, but I'd memorized every detail.
This was a photo I'd never seen before.
"How did you—where did you get this?" My hands trembled as I held it.
"I loved your mother," he said quietly. "I have many regrets. Finding you too late is my greatest one."
Everything I'd ever wanted dangled in front of me like a carrot on a string. Family. Belonging. Someone who shared my blood, my history, my face.
"Who are you?" I breathed.
"Baron Aldric Thorne. I'm part of a historical preservation society—think of it as a very dedicated Renaissance faire group. We maintain historical estates, practice old traditions." He gestured to himself. "I know it seems eccentric."
That would explain the formal way he spoke, like he'd walked out of a period drama.
"Why now?" Suspicion warred with desperate hope in my chest. "Why find me now?"
"Because tomorrow is your nineteenth birthday." His smile was warm. "I wanted to meet my daughter before she became an adult. To make amends, if you'll let me. I have a family estate just outside the city. Would you come visit? Meet your... heritage? I know I have no right to ask, but I'd like to try to be part of your life."
Every foster care lesson I'd ever learned screamed warnings. Stranger danger. Too good to be true. Never trust someone who shows up out of nowhere with promises.
But I was so tired. Tired of working myself to death. Tired of being alone. Tired of having no one who cared if I lived or died.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "This is a lot."
"I understand." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card and something else—a silver coin that gleamed in the harsh diner lights. "Take time to think about it. Here's my contact information. And this—" he pressed the coin into my palm, "—is for luck. It's been in our family for generations. I'd like you to have it."
The moment the metal touched my skin, warmth spread through my fingers. Not normal warmth. This felt alive, pulsing like a heartbeat against my palm.
"What—" I started to ask, but when I looked up, he was already walking toward the door.
"Call me when you're ready, Elara. I'll be waiting." He paused at the exit. "Oh, and happy early birthday, daughter. I hope you'll let me celebrate it with you."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the Los Angeles night like he'd never been there at all.
I stood frozen in the middle of the diner, surrounded by broken plates, holding a silver coin that felt warm as summer sun even though it should have been cold metal.
My manager's voice broke through my daze. "Elara! Those plates are coming out of your paycheck! And table five needs refills!"
Right. Back to reality. Back to my real life, where mysterious fathers didn't show up offering family estates and magical coins.
Except the coin was real. The photo was real. Those eyes that matched mine were real.
I worked the rest of my shift in a fog, the coin burning a hole in my apron pocket.
At home—a studio apartment the size of a closet that I could barely afford—I collapsed onto my secondhand mattress still wearing my uniform. Tomorrow I had to decide: ignore the crazy rich man who claimed to be my father, or take a chance on the family I'd dreamed about my entire life.
I pulled out the coin to look at it under my desk lamp.
Strange symbols covered both sides, spiraling inward toward a center point. They looked ancient, like something from a history textbook, but I couldn't identify the language. As I traced one symbol with my finger, the coin grew warmer.
And warmer.
And warmer until—
Pain exploded through my hand. I dropped the coin with a gasp, but the burning didn't stop. It spread up my arm, into my chest, consuming me like wildfire. My vision blurred. The room spun.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole was the coin on my floor, glowing bright red like a piece of fallen sun, and symbols that now writhed and moved across its surface as if alive.
Then everything went black.