Isabella's Point of view
The clinking of glasses and the low hum of chatter filled the air as I maneuvered behind the bar, my hands moving automatically as I mixed drinks and passed them to the eager hands on the other side. The luxury of the place was almost suffocating. The polished mahogany counters, crystal chandeliers, and patrons dressed in designer clothes made it clear I didn't belong here. I was just a poor girl from the wrong side of the city, trying to make ends meet. But this job paid well, and I couldn't afford to lose it. Not when my mom and Mateo were depending on me.
"Isabella, two martinis for Table 5," called out my boss, Greg, from the other end of the bar. His sharp eyes always seemed to be watching me, waiting for me to slip up.
"Got it," I replied, my voice barely audible over the noise. I reached for the gin, my hands shaking slightly as I tried to ignore the ache in my feet and the dull pain in my lower back. A long shift, like every other night, but I had no choice. I had to keep going.
As I mixed the drinks, I glanced up at the crowded bar. The usual crowd of wealthy business people, socialites, and celebrities filled the room, their laughter and conversations blending into a background noise that I had learned to tune out. I knew their type well people who had everything, who never had to worry about where their next meal would come from, or how they would pay the rent. It was hard not to resent them sometimes, but I kept my head down and did my job.
I grabbed the martinis and made my way to Table 5, careful to avoid the throngs of people who always seemed to think they owned the place. As I approached the table, I couldn't help but notice the man sitting there. He was handsome in a cold, detached way, with sharp features and dark hair that was slicked back perfectly. His suit was expensive, probably worth more than my entire wardrobe. He had an air of authority about him that made the other patrons give him a wide berth.
My stomach tightened as I approached. There was something about him that made me uneasy, though I couldn't quite place it. Maybe it was the way his eyes followed my every move, calculating and intense, like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
"Here are your drinks," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I set the glasses down in front of him and the woman he was with. She was beautiful, of course, with a kind of polished elegance that made me feel small and insignificant.
But then, just as I was about to turn away, it happened. My hand, slick with sweat, slipped. One of the glasses tipped over, sending the martini cascading across the table and directly into the lap of the man in the suit.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" I stammered, grabbing a napkin and frantically trying to mop up the mess. My heart raced in my chest as panic gripped me. This was it. This was a mistake that would cost me my job.
Greg was already storming over, his face a mask of fury. "Isabella! What the hell do you think you're doing? You're fired!"
"No, please!" I begged, turning to face him. "It was an accident, I swear. I didn't mean to."
"Enough!" Greg cut me off, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "You're a liability. Get out of here, now!"
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. I couldn't afford to cry. Not here, not now. My mind raced as I tried to think of something, anything, that might save me from this disaster.
Before I could say another word, the man spoke. "It's fine," he said calmly, waving a hand dismissively. His voice was smooth, with a hint of an accent I couldn't place. "No harm done."
Greg hesitated, his anger faltering as he looked at the man. It was clear that this wasn't someone he wanted to cross. "But, sir, she"
"I said it's fine," the man repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Let her stay."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked up at him, trying to gauge his expression. But his face was unreadable, his eyes cool and distant.
Greg's jaw clenched, but he nodded reluctantly. "Alright, fine. Get back to work, Isabella."
"Thank you sir," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Relief washed over me, though it was tinged with confusion.
Why had he done that? Why had he saved me?
I quickly retreated behind the bar, my hands shaking as I tried to calm down. I couldn't afford to think about it too much. All that mattered was that I still had my job. But as I glanced back at the man, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just made a deal with the devil.
The rest of the night passed in a blur, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. His face, his voice, the way he had looked at me. It was like he saw something in me that I didn't even see in myself. Something that he could use.
By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. As I stepped out into the cool night air, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and started the long walk home. My thoughts were still tangled up with what had happened, but I forced myself to push them aside. I had more important things to worry about, like how I was going to make sure this never happened again.
Little did I know that night was just the beginning. The first thread in a web that would soon entangle me in a world far darker and more dangerous than I could've ever imagined.