Chapter 1 - Momo

Starbucks smelled like burnt dreams and overworked espresso shots.

The ceiling lights buzzed. The blender screamed every ten minutes.

And I was so done with humanity.

My apron was crooked, eyes dead, and the only thing that kept me alive was the faint hope that my shift would end before I threw myself into the industrial dishwasher.

The bell above the door jingled for the fourteenth time.

I didn’t even look up.

I didn’t need to.

I felt her.

That same perfume — cold jasmine, expensive, out of place in a coffee shop at 9PM.

That same slow, confident walk — like the floor belonged to her.

That same presence that made the other baristas suddenly stand straighter for NO reason.

I sighed and said without turning around:

“This is your fourteenth time here today, ma’am. Cut the talk I know your order.”

A soft laugh.

Low. Smooth. Criminal.

Xueke leaned against the counter, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the wood.

“Say it then,” she purred. “I like hearing it from you.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw the afterlife.

“Iced Americano. Extra bitter,” I recited flatly. “Like your personality.”

Xueke smiled — that slow, dangerous smile that made my stomach do something it absolutely shouldn’t.

I slid the finished Americano across the counter with all the enthusiasm of a dying houseplant.

Xueke didn’t take it.

She just watched me, chin propped on her hand, eyes glittering like she was waiting for the right moment to strike. The look that made my guts churn.

Then, casually — too casually — she asked,

“By any chance, Momo… wouldn’t you like to go on a date with me?”

The blender stopped.

The milk steamer hissed a final breath.

The entire store fell SILENT like God himself pressed pause.

I didn’t even blink.

I said, with the driest, flattest voice imaginable:

“No.”

No hesitation.

No softness.

Just NO — straight out of my soul.

The other employees turned their heads so fast it was almost comical.

Three baristas near the drive-through window: 👁👁

The trainee by the pastries: 👁👁

Even the manager peeking from the office: 👁👁

Like DID SHE JUST… reject the walking expensive perfume bottle?? The mystery rich girl?? The unofficial Starbucks celebrity??

Xueke’s brows lifted — but not in shock.

In amusement.

She finally picked up her drink, swirling it gently.

“Hmm,” she hummed, leaning closer, “Try again tomorrow then.”

I stared at her, offended on a spiritual level.

“Why would my answer change?”

Xueke sipped her Americano, eyes locked on mine over the rim.

“Because I always get what I want.”

Then she winked, turned, and walked out like she owned the street, the world, and possibly my life.

The door closed.

The employees IMMEDIATELY jumped all over me.

“BAE WHAT DID YOU JUST DO—”

“MOMO ARE YOU DUMB SHE’S SO PRETTY—”

“MOMO SHE COULD PAY YOUR RENT—”

I just threw my towel on the counter.

“She’s annoying.”

But my heart?

My heart did a tiny, traitorous ba-dump

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