Chapter 2 - Shadows of the Golden Gate

The next morning, the café’s doorbell chimed just as Aria was restocking the pastry case. The familiar scent of roasted beans wrapped around her, comforting and predictable — until she looked up.

Damian Rael was back.

He stood in the doorway, sunlight pouring over him, cutting his figure into sharp lines — clean, composed, distant. He wore a charcoal gray suit today, his tie loosened just enough to hint that he’d come straight from a meeting.

Aria froze for a heartbeat before quickly pretending to busy herself with the register.

He shouldn’t stand out. Customers came and went every day — but something about Damian’s stillness, his quiet intensity, pulled the air taut around him.

“Black coffee?” she asked without looking up.

He gave a faint nod. “You remembered.”

“I remember orders,” she replied, trying to sound indifferent.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “And people?”

Aria met his gaze this time — firm, steady. “Not usually.”

The exchange was brief, but something unspoken lingered in the air as she handed him his cup. Damian’s fingers brushed hers — barely — yet it sent a ripple through her chest she didn’t understand. He moved to the same corner table as before, opening his laptop with practiced ease.

Mei, ever observant, leaned over. “He’s back again. Maybe he’s got a thing for you.”

Aria rolled her eyes. “Or maybe he just likes the coffee.”

But she couldn’t ignore the small, strange thrill that ran through her every time she caught his reflection in the glass or the quiet way his gaze occasionally flicked toward her station.

Hours slipped by. The café’s rhythm lulled into a steady hum of chatter and clinking cups.

During her short break, Aria stepped outside into the alley behind the café, sitting on the old wooden crate that served as a makeshift bench. She pulled out her lunchbox — leftover rice and curry — and ate in silence, watching the bustle of the city street beyond.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Didn’t mean to intrude,” Damian’s voice said softly.

Aria glanced up, startled. “You don’t seem like the type who takes his coffee breaks in alleys.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, leaning against the wall across from her. “But the inside’s too loud.”

She raised a brow. “For someone who looks like he lives in skyscrapers and boardrooms, you sound like you hate crowds.”

He smirked faintly. “Crowds don’t bother me. People do.”

There was something raw beneath that sentence — something that almost made her forget who she was talking to.

He noticed her half-eaten lunch and nodded toward it. “Homemade?”

“Yeah. My mom cooks enough for an army.”

“She must be proud.”

Aria shrugged. “She worries more than she’s proud. I think that’s just how mothers are.”

Damian’s gaze softened for the briefest second — and then it hardened again, his usual composure snapping back in place.

He straightened. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“That’s my job,” she replied, smiling faintly.

“No,” he said quietly. “Thank you… for remembering.”

And then he walked away, leaving her staring after him, confusion fluttering through her chest like a bird trapped behind glass.

That night, Aria couldn’t sleep.

The memory of his voice — low, controlled, yet edged with something lonely — echoed in her mind. She had seen men like him before: cold, unreachable, their lives paved with luxury and expectation. But Damian felt… different. As if he carried a shadow no wealth could erase.

She turned over in bed, staring at the faint crack in her ceiling. “You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. “He’s just a customer.”

But part of her — the part that dreamt even when she told herself not to — whispered otherwise.

By the end of the week, Damian had become a quiet fixture in the café. Every morning, same corner table, same order. Sometimes he’d stay for an hour, sometimes the whole afternoon. He never spoke much, yet his presence seemed to fill the room.

And Aria, despite her better judgment, found herself noticing small details — the way he loosened his tie after the third sip, the way his jaw tightened when he read something on his screen, the way he never smiled except when catching her off guard.

Then one afternoon, as she wiped down a nearby table, she heard the faint click of his laptop closing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

She looked up. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether it’s about coffee or… something else.”

He chuckled — a low, quiet sound that she realized she’d never heard from him before. “Something else, then.”

She hesitated, curiosity winning over caution. “Okay. Ask.”

“Why do you work here?”

The question caught her off guard. “Why does anyone work anywhere?”

“I mean—” he searched for the right words, “you seem too sharp for a place like this.”

She frowned slightly. “Too sharp?”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said quickly. “You just... notice things. You think before you speak. That’s rare.”

Aria studied him for a moment. “And what about you? What do you do?”

He hesitated, as if the answer carried weight. “Family business.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding slowly. “The mysterious, rich kind.”

He smirked. “Something like that.”

She leaned against the counter. “And yet you still come here every day. You sure you’re not hiding from someone?”

For a heartbeat, his smile faltered. “Maybe I am.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he gathered his things, left some cash on the counter — too much, again — and said quietly, “See you tomorrow, Aria.”

Her name on his lips felt strange. Personal.

Later that week, it rained.

The kind of rain that blurred city lights and soaked through clothes no matter how fast one ran. Aria had forgotten her umbrella at work and cursed softly as she jogged down the street, clutching her bag against her chest.

“Need a ride?”

The voice came from behind her.

She turned — Damian, standing beside a sleek black car, rain glistening in his hair, his coat already damp.

“You’ll get sick,” he said.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, though her teeth chattered slightly.

He opened the passenger door. “It’s not safe to walk in this storm. Please.”

There was no arrogance in his tone, no command — just quiet sincerity.

Reluctantly, Aria slipped into the car. The interior smelled faintly of leather and cedar, the kind of comfort she’d never known. Damian started the engine, silence settling between them except for the steady hum of rain.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Jalan Merah — near the old cinema.”

He nodded. The car moved smoothly through the flooded streets, city lights streaking across the windshield.

For a while, neither spoke. Then Damian said softly, “You don’t like accepting help, do you?”

Aria turned to him. “And you don’t like asking for it.”

Their eyes met, and something in his expression — a flicker of pain, quickly hidden — made her chest tighten.

He laughed under his breath. “You’re right.”

As they pulled up near her building, Aria reached for the door handle. “Thank you. For the ride.”

He looked at her, eyes darker now, unreadable. “You shouldn’t walk home alone in the rain.”

“I don’t plan on making it a habit,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips.

He didn’t smile back — but his gaze softened, as though he wanted to say something more and couldn’t.

“Goodnight, Aria.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

She stepped out into the drizzle, closing the door behind her. The car lingered for a moment before gliding away, tail lights vanishing into the mist.

Aria stood there for a long time, raindrops tracing her face, her heart whispering questions she didn’t dare ask.

That night, Damian couldn’t sleep either.

He sat in his penthouse study, city lights shimmering through the glass walls, untouched whiskey on the table beside him. His laptop screen glowed with unread emails — mergers, meetings, reports — all the things that used to define his worth.

But now, his mind was elsewhere.

On the girl with tired eyes and quiet strength.

On the way she looked at him — not with envy, not with flattery, but with understanding. As if she could see the parts of him no one else did.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You’re getting careless, Damian,” he murmured to himself.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t carelessness. It was something far more dangerous.

It was need.

The next morning, Aria arrived at work early, hoping to shake off the storm that had followed her into her dreams. The café was still empty when she unlocked the door, the smell of fresh beans and rain filling the air.

She wiped the counter, humming softly — until the doorbell rang.

She turned — and froze.

Damian stood there again, holding two cups of coffee.

“For you,” he said simply, handing her one.

“You bought coffee for the barista?” she asked, smiling despite herself.

“Call it... an apology.”

“For what?”

“For making you sit in a stranger’s car last night.”

She took the cup, warmth seeping through her fingers. “You didn’t make me. I chose to.”

His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat. “Then maybe I’m apologizing for hoping you would.”

Her breath caught, the words hanging between them — delicate, dangerous, real.

Outside, the morning sun broke through the clouds, painting gold across the wet pavement.