Somewhere in the capital city, rain crashed against the glass windows of a private hospital room — relentless, cold, and unforgiving. The sky cried harder than he could.

Devin Lancaster sat on the edge of the bed, his expensive shirt clinging to his skin, damp from sweat and rain he didn't remember walking through. In his hands was a single document — thin, almost weightless — yet it felt heavier than the world itself.

Divorce papers.

His vision blurred, but he couldn't tell if it was from the sleepless nights or the tears he refused to acknowledge. The words stared back at him, cruel and final.

"Divorce Agreement." "Signed by: Charlotte Lancaster."

He blinked again. No, he must be reading it wrong. She couldn't—"She can't," he whispered under his breath, voice breaking like shattered glass.

It was raining harder now. He could hear the thunder outside, almost like the heavens themselves were mocking him.

His chest tightened. Two days ago, she gave birth to their daughter. Just two days ago, she smiled at him — weak but glowing — as she whispered, "She has your eyes, Dev."

And now… she was gone.

No note. No goodbye. Only a voicemail. A cold, trembling voice that said,

"Don't look for me. If you do… you'll only find my body."

His jaw clenched. The phone had nearly slipped from his hand when he heard it. Now, all he had left were these damn papers and the echo of her voice haunting him.

"Charlotte…" His voice came out hoarse. "Why?"

He had always been a man of control — the kind who didn't flinch under pressure, who could make ruthless boardroom decisions without blinking. But now… he couldn't even move.

He stared blankly at the floor, trying to understand, trying to breathe. They were married for two years. Engaged since childhood. She was his best friend, his anchor. They had everything. So why did she leave right when their daughter came into the world?

Was she forced? Threatened? Or… did she truly mean every word in that voicemail?

A tremor ran through his hand. He gripped the paper tighter until it crumpled, his knuckles whitening.

He whispered again, "Did she really leave me?"

That's when the dam broke. He pressed his trembling hand against his face as a tear escaped — then another — until he couldn't stop them anymore. Her laughter echoed in his mind, the way she used to say his name, the way she used to argue with him, eyes full of life.

Gone. All of it.

The door burst open suddenly. "Mr. Lancaster?" a nurse called, her tone urgent. She was holding a small, crying baby in her arms. "Where's the patient?"

Devin looked up slowly, his eyes red and hollow. "Don't you think I should be the one asking that?" His voice was sharp, restrained — the kind that made people freeze.

The nurse's mouth parted. "Sir, I—I just stepped out for a moment and when I returned, she—she wasn't—"

But Devin was already standing. His tall frame loomed over the small nurse, the papers falling from his hand and scattering across the floor.

He didn't even look back.

The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor as he pushed past the hospital doors and walked straight into the storm. Rain drenched his hair, plastered his clothes to his body, but he didn't care. His phone was already in his hand.

He dialed a number. "Chief, I want to see you in five minutes."

"Sir—"

He cut the call before the man could finish. His tone left no room for questions.

Behind him, the nurse stood frozen, the newborn's cries filling the empty corridor.

Hours later, the Lancaster mansion was in chaos.

William Lancaster — the patriarch of the empire — stormed through the hospital halls as soon as the news reached him. "Where's my granddaughter?" he barked.

The servants scrambled as the baby was brought to him. Devin was nowhere to be found. He hadn't even looked at his daughter.

Days passed. Then a week.

No trace of Charlotte. No leads. No witnesses. Nothing.

Devin had stopped sleeping. His office lights stayed on every night as he replayed her last voicemail over and over again, searching for a hint, a mistake, a lie.

Then, one night, his phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.

Do not look for me. If you do, you'll see me dead. I was fed up with your family and with you. I want to live my own life now. Please, let me be. Don't make my life hell anymore. I want to be free — free from you and this burden.

His fingers shook as he read it.

The words burned, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Free from you. Burden.

He sank into the chair, the phone slipping from his hand. For a long time, he didn't move. The only sound in the room was the rain against the window — still falling, still cruel.

He whispered into the silence, "Then why, Charlotte… why did you look so happy holding our daughter?"

In one city, there were storms, but in another, it was all rainbows.

In a high-end building, the apartment was filled with the sweet scent of roses.

As a young girl slowly removed the blindfold from her eyes, the first thing she noticed was a path—made entirely of roses—leading towards a room.

Wearing a red dress that fluttered slightly as she moved, she stepped carefully onto the flower-covered trail, her heart pounding with excitement. She followed it to the door and pushed it open—only to freeze, stunned by the sight before her.

Her entire room had been transformed into a sea of roses—red, white, and pink, spreading across every surface. Heart-shaped balloons floated above the ceiling, and soft candlelight flickered from every corner, guiding her toward the center of the room, where a giant heart of rose petals lay on the floor.

And there, standing inside that heart with the gentlest smile on his face… was him.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes welled up, not with sadness, but with pure, overwhelming hope.

The person in front of her seemed a little flustered at first, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Then he smiled warmly and said,

"Silly girl…"

He stepped toward her, and with every step, her heartbeat grew faster—louder.

"Do you like it?" he asked with a smile, as if it were the silliest question in the world.

"Of course I do," she replied, smiling so brightly that it could've lit up the whole room.

Her smile always did something to him. It was dangerous. Magical. And those eyes—those damn eyes—they held all the stars in the sky. They made him forget every word he'd planned to say.

Meanwhile, her excitement spilled over. She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

"I loved it, Frederick."

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, the sound awkward and sweet. Just like him. In that moment, all his nervousness melted away.

He was about to speak—about to say those words he'd rehearsed a hundred times—when she beat him to it, as always.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, puckering up her lips playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You look so mine right now…"

He blinked at her, stunned. Then he laughed and leaned in slowly, his lips brushing closer to hers as she closed her eyes—

"Ummmmmm…"

Puckering her lips in the air, the young Miss Smith suddenly tumbled off the bed and landed hard on the floor with a thud.

"Ahhhhh!" she yelped, rubbing her sore backside as she sat up, eyes darting around in confusion. The dream was gone.

Standing at the door with a deadpan expression, Alessia crossed her arms and sighed.

"Really?"

Eleanor Smith grinned, still sitting on the floor, rubbing her bum.

"He was going to propose, okay? Why did I have to wake up now? Ughhh!" She flailed her arms in dramatic despair, then squinted at the giant bed behind her. "How did I even fall? This thing could fit three people!"

Alessia replied dryly, "Because you're a pervert, Eleanor Smith."

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

"So what? Every love story needs one."

"Yeah, yeah," Alessia muttered, already heading to the kitchen. "It's Monday, Miss Drama Queen."

"So wha—" Eleanor froze mid-sentence, eyes wide. "Wait! I have a shift today! Why didn't you wake me up earlier?!"

She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the bathroom, yelling through the door,

"I'm gonna be late!"

Alessia shook her head and sighed again. "I'm making something for you. Eat before you leave!"

Same routine, different day.

Seven years, and her best friend had never once woken up on time. Not once. Alessia had tried everything—alarms, threats, water buckets—but Eleanor was immune. Only her dreams seemed to get her out of bed… and even then, not fast enough.

At the Bakery~~

"I'm here! Sorry, I'm late again!" Eleanor called out as she slipped behind the counter, breathless but grinning.

If anyone from high society knew that the young heiress of the Smith family was working at a regular bakery, they would've thought the world had turned upside down. But there she was, apron and all—just to be close to one person.

Frederick looked up and smiled softly.

"Morning, Eleanor. It's fine, we're not that busy yet."

Frederick Amante. The kind barista. Her Crush. Owner of the cozy café tucked in the heart of the city. He inherited it from his father and ran it with quiet pride.

His world was simple—loving parents, loyal siblings, friends who genuinely cared.

The complete opposite of Eleanor's world.

She grew up in a family where siblings tore each other down, where parents would sell their children for business deals, and where friends betrayed for status and gain.

In her world, you could never be yourself. You could never let your guard down. No one was truly yours—not without conditions.

A world where masks weren't optional. They were survival.

But Eleanor Smith didn't give a damn anymore.

Not since she tasted freedom—her first taste of a life without chains. Without lies.

She wasn't going back to that cage. Not now. Not ever.

…Or so she thought.

"When's your art exhibition?" Frederick asked while prepping her coffee.

"This coming Monday," she sighed. "Still have a few pieces to finish. Will you come?"

She looked up at him with soft eyes—quietly hopeful.

"Of course. If you invite me," he said with a playful smile, handing her the cup. "Here. Your favorite."

"Thanks," she whispered, holding the cup but gazing at his retreating back, her heart suddenly thudding again.

She took a breath, firming her resolve.

"This Monday… I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell him. Either my heart will make… or break."

But 22-year-old Eleanor didn't know that life had already made its own plans.

Throughout the day, Eleanor had been all smiles, smiling so much that now even her jaw hurt.

"Damn, this job sucks," she muttered under her breath, forcing yet another grin as she looked at Frederic. Again.

"But it's worth it," she told herself, even if she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince anymore.

Her fake smile faltered when her gaze shifted toward a particular customer sitting near the counter. Eleanor squinted. "That bitch again?" she whispered under her breath, her eyes narrowing like daggers.

And then she froze.

Frederic was smiling at that girl — smiling. Not the polite, customer-service smile he gave to everyone else. This one looked real. The kind that made his eyes soften just a little and his dimples appear for half a second.

Eleanor's fingers slipped, and she nearly dropped a cup. Her chest tightened in irritation. The girl giggled at something Frederic said, tucking her hair behind her ear in that flirty way that made Eleanor want to roll her eyes hard enough to see her brain.

She gritted her teeth. "Oh, she's definitely flirting. Look at her."

And worse — he wasn't stopping her.

She stood on her toes, peeking past the espresso machine, watching them like a hawk while trying not to look obvious.

'God, why is he smiling like that?'

She cursed the woman in her head, imagining throwing hot coffee on her designer blouse — but she knew she couldn't. Not when Frederic was right there.

She wasn't anyone special to him. Just an employee. Just… Eleanor.

"Ash, what should I do?" she muttered to her coworker as she wiped the counter a little too aggressively.

Ash glanced up from the register. "Do about what?"

Eleanor sighed, trying to sound casual. "Nothing. Just tired."

Ash raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Sure, tired."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and turned away, ignoring the lump in her throat. I don't have any right on him, she thought. Not yet…

But as the sound of the girl's laughter echoed again, her mood sank even lower.

"Eleanor! Can you help me with these orders?" another employee called.

"Yeah, coming!" she snapped out of her thoughts and forced herself to focus on work.

Just like that, the rest of her shift dragged on — painfully, slowly, with too many smiles and not enough patience.

By the end of the night, the café finally emptied out. Eleanor was cleaning the counter when she heard his voice.

"Hey," Frederic said, already holding his car keys. "You done? I can drop you home."

Her tired eyes instantly lit up. "Really? You don't have to—"

"It's fine. Come on."

Eleanor didn't argue. She grabbed her bag and followed him out, pretending she wasn't grinning like an idiot inside.

The drive was quiet for a few minutes, the sound of the rain tapping gently against the windshield. Then Frederic spoke up.

"How's it going?" he asked.

Eleanor turned to look at him. "Just like every day," she replied with a shrug, trying not to sound too happy just being in the same car with him.

Frederic smiled to himself. "You know," he said casually, "I still remember the first time I saw you."

That made her blink. "Huh?"

He chuckled softly, keeping his eyes on the road. "You were just a kid back then."

Eleanor frowned. "For the record, I was nineteen. Not a kid."

"Well…" he glanced at her with a teasing smirk, "you acted like one."

Eleanor crossed her arms. "Excuse me?"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Not in a bad way. Just… very different from now. You weren't exactly rude or a brat, but you weren't kind either."

She huffed. "Thanks for the compliment."

There was a pause before he asked, out of nowhere, "Do you still smoke?"

Eleanor's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh, uh— I didn't mean it like that," Frederic said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "I just remembered the time I first met you, and… it kinda popped into my head. I didn't mean to upset you or anything. I just—"

"You remember our first meet?" she interrupted, her tone softer now.

He glanced at her, surprised. "Of course I do. How could I forget? Nobody's ever cursed me that much in my life. That was a first."

Her face turned red immediately.

Frederic laughed, and Eleanor wanted to disappear. Because their first meeting was, indeed, a disaster.

Three years ago

Outside a two-star hotel, a young man had stepped out to get some fresh air during a friend's birthday party. The night was humid, music pulsed from inside, and that's when he saw her.

A girl in a light pink dress stood leaning against a black Porsche, a cigarette between her fingers.

Her shoulder-length hair was tied with a bow that looked too innocent for the way she carried herself. Her face looked young — maybe too young — but her eyes… they were deep. Empty in a way that didn't belong to someone her age.

Frederic frowned.

"What are you looking at? Got a death wish?" the girl snapped before he could even speak.

He blinked, startled. "Are you— are you smoking?"

She smirked, taking a drag. "Got a problem with that?"

"Aren't you a bit too young for this?" he asked, half-joking but mostly concerned.

"Young for what?" she tilted her head, the bow slipping to one side.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's not good for your health," he said, waving away the smoke.

"What are you, my dad?" she scoffed.

"Maybe a kind stranger," he said with a faint smile.

She blew smoke right in his face. "A kind stranger? My ass. Now scram."

Frederic coughed, trying not to laugh. "Where are your parents? It's not safe for you to be here alone."

"I didn't ask for your help," she snapped. "Why the hell are you, a kind stranger, butting into my business? Stop being an ass and go your damn way."

Then she tossed the cigarette, got into her car, and drove off, leaving him standing there dumbfounded.

He was just.... trying to be nice.

Little did he know, that rude, sharp-tongued girl would one day end up working in his café.

\~\~\~

Back in the car, Eleanor covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe you still remember that."

"How could I not?" he chuckled. "You were— let's just say, unforgettable."

"Ugh, stop talking," she groaned.

"Hey, I meant it as a compliment."

"Doesn't sound like one."

Frederic laughed again, and the sound made her chest feel weirdly warm.

When they reached her apartment, she quickly unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride. And, uh… sorry for being a brat back then."

He smiled. "You were just being you, Eleanor."

That made her pause for a second before she quickly nodded and got out of the car.

As soon as he drove off, she took a deep breath, then screamed into her hands. "AHHHH— why did I do that?!"

She stomped her feet, flustered, her face bright red, before finally walking inside.