The café lights dimmed as the last customers trickled out. Celine wiped down the counter with exaggerated determination, humming loudly to signal that it was time for everyone to leave. She was in full passive-aggressive barista mode, and usually, it worked like a charm.

But one stubborn customer didn’t budge.

“You know,” she called across the café, flicking her rag like a sword, “closing time was five minutes ago. Unless you’re planning to grab a mop and help scrub the bathrooms, you should probably leave.”

Liam didn’t even glance up. His head was bent low, pencil moving swiftly across the page. “Didn’t realize baristas came with attitude problems.”

Celine set the rag down with a dramatic sigh and planted her hands on her hips. “Baristas come with many problems, Reyes. Attitude is just the free sample.”

That made him smirk, though he tried to hide it by ducking lower, sketching faster.

Rolling her eyes, Celine marched over and leaned against his table, one eyebrow raised. “Seriously, what are you always drawing? Are you secretly working on a cartoon version of me to mock my cappuccino skills? Because if you are, at least give me good hair.”

“Buildings,” he said simply, his voice quieter than usual. Almost hesitant. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed the sketchbook toward her.

Her jaw nearly dropped. The page was filled with sweeping lines and elegant towers, so realistic they looked alive. The kind of thing you’d expect in glossy magazines, not smudged into a cheap sketchpad.

“You drew this?” Her voice came out softer, more astonished than she intended.

“Who else?” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his ears had gone faintly red.

“This is—wow. Like, actually wow. If I weren’t already impressed, I’d consider giving you a gold star sticker.”

“Generous,” he murmured, lips quirking. “You handing out those stickers often?”

“Only to kids and very talented coffee shop freeloaders,” she shot back, flipping another page. This one showed a bridge so intricate it could have been a blueprint. Another, a plaza with fountains. She wanted to say something profound, something that told him she really saw the care in his work. But instead, her mouth betrayed her with—

“You know, I’m starting to think you come here just to flirt with me under the guise of sketching.”

Liam looked up then, dark eyes locking on hers. “And if I said yes?”

For a beat too long, she forgot to breathe. Luckily, her stomach saved her. It growled—loudly. Comically. Like a thunderstorm in the quiet café.

Silence.

Then Liam burst out laughing, deep and unrestrained, shoulders shaking. “Oh no. The mighty barista falls to hunger.”

Celine clutched her stomach, horrified. “Don’t laugh! It’s… it’s the acoustics in here. Blame the café design.”

“Uh-huh. Totally the acoustics.” He was still grinning. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner before you starve to death.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You just want me to admit this is a date.”

“Relax.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, annoyingly casual. “It’s not a date. It’s… charity.”

She gasped. “Charity?!”

“Community service, maybe.”

“Oh, you’re lucky we’re out of muffins, Reyes, or I’d throw one at your head.”

They ended up at a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop a few blocks away, squeezed into a tiny booth with squeaky seats and peeling paint. The air smelled like broth and garlic, and it was warm in a way the café never was.

Celine twirled noodles around her chopsticks, eyeing him. “So, do you always lure women with cheap food?”

“Only the ones who insult me on a daily basis,” he countered without missing a beat.

“Wow. Must be a long list.”

He smirked, and for a dangerous moment, she forgot her comeback because his eyes caught the light just right. Ugh. Annoying. Infuriatingly annoying.

Still, she couldn’t help but laugh when he nearly dropped a dumpling trying to look smooth. “Smooth move, Reyes. Real heartthrob material.”

“Don’t judge me. Chopsticks are dangerous weapons.”

“Uh-huh. Deadly. I’ll alert the Barista Police.”

They kept trading barbs, the rhythm between them easy now, like they’d been doing it for years. But somewhere between teasing him about his tragic basketball nose incident and listening to him describe his dream of designing buildings people could actually live in—not just admire—Celine found herself leaning closer. Listening harder. Forgetting she was supposed to be playing a role.

He wasn’t just another customer. He was… different. And that was dangerous.

On the walk back, the city felt quieter, softened by the late hour. Liam matched his pace to hers, hands tucked in his pockets, head tilted toward her as they argued about whether cats or dogs were the superior pet. She nearly tripped laughing when he declared pigeons underrated.

For a moment, she let herself enjoy it. Just a girl and a guy, wandering home after noodles. Not an heiress in hiding. Not a man with secrets.

Later that night, Liam set his sketchbook gently on his desk, as if it were fragile glass. The warmth from dinner still lingered, and Celine’s laughter rang in his head like a song he didn’t want to forget.

Then his phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number:

“Enough stalling. Tomorrow night, you’ll access the delivery records at Navarro Coffee. Send us everything. Or else.”

Liam’s throat went dry. His debt wasn’t just a number on paper—it had claws. And now, those claws were reaching straight into the only place that had felt like peace lately.

His hands trembled as he typed back.

“I’ll get it done.”

The reply sent, guilt surged through him. He saw her in his mind—Celine leaning over the sketchbook, her grin crooked, noodles dangling from her chopsticks as she laughed at him.

He shut his eyes.

And hated himself for what he was about to do.