Whispers Of The Billionaire's heart

I always considered myself a very private person. Guarded might not be the exact word, but it comes close. I liked to keep to myself, avoiding any sort of trouble or unnecessary entanglements. The world felt safer that way, at least for me. My mornings followed a strict routine, a ritual that brought me a semblance of control and peace.

I'd wake up, shuffle to the bathroom, and stand in front of the mirror for at least thirty minutes, staring at my reflection. During those moments, I would contemplate my existence, questioning the choices that led me here and the path that lay ahead. It was a time for introspection, a short time dedicated to analyzing myself before facing the demands of the day. The familiarity of my routine was comforting, a small joy compared to the chaos and unpredictability of the outside world.

I stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the girl in the mirror. Dark circles had taken permanent residence under my eyes, and the spark I once had seemed to have faded. I needed a break. Someday, I told myself, I would finally gather the courage to ask my boss for some time off. My mind wandered to distant dreams: maybe I'd explore the sun-soaked streets of Italy, savoring gelato by the canals of Venice, or lose myself in the art and culture of Paris, wandering through the Louvre and sipping coffee at quaint sidewalk cafes.

The possibilities seemed endless, an escape from my routine that felt more like a distant fantasy than an attainable reality. I could almost feel the warmth of the Italian sun on my face, hear the melodious French accent in the bustling Parisian markets. But as quickly as these dreams appeared, reality pulled me back down to earth. My salary was barely enough to cover the bills, let alone fund a whirlwind tour of Europe.

With a sigh, I shook off the daydreams and reminded myself that these were just fantasies, distant goals that seemed out of reach. For now, I would get dressed for work, follow my usual routine, and face another day in the life I had come to know all too well.

I made my way out of my shabby apartment, moving stealthily to avoid encountering the landlady. Mrs. Jenkins, the old crone who owned the building, wouldn't have any mercy on me this time if she found out I still couldn't afford her rent. Not that the apartment was anything to write home about. The ceiling leaked whenever it rained, leaving ugly water stains. The pipes groaned and rattled showing how old they were, spitting out rusty water that stained anything it touched. The floorboards creaked underfoot, some so loose that they threatened to give way entirely. And as for the door-it didn't even have a proper lock, just a flimsy latch that anyone with a strong kick could easily break through.

Mrs. Jenkins kept promising she would fix these issues, but weeks turned into months, and nothing changed. I couldn't blame her entirely; I knew she operated on a tight budget, barely scraping by with the rent money she collected from us tenants. As for me, I couldn't afford to fix the door myself, let alone move to a better place. I was living paycheck to paycheck, sometimes skipping meals to make ends meet. It was a miracle, really, that I hadn't been robbed yet. Every night, I prayed that my luck would hold out a little longer, that my humble apartment would remain a safe place, out of sight from any robbers.

The gentle breeze caressed my face as I hurried along the familiar route to work. I worked as a waitress at a small, cozy restaurant downtown-a predictable choice, perhaps, but it was the only job I could secure after I left him. As I approached the restaurant's entrance, I pushed thoughts of him firmly out of my mind.

You're late," Iggy greeted me with a playful glare, tossing my apron in my direction. "Only by two minutes," I replied, returning her grin as I headed towards the back to change. The familiar routine was comforting, grounding me in the midst of my tumultuous thoughts. "He's not in a good mood today," Iggy warned, dumping her own clothes into the locker next to mine. I sighed inwardly, mentally preparing myself for the challenges that lay ahead. Dealing with the erratic mood swings of our chef was always very challenging . Despite how close we all were, there were days like today when tensions ran high and every mistake felt magnified.

As I tied my apron around my waist and smoothed down my uniform, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable chaos of the lunch rush. Working here wasn't just a job-it was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where I could lose myself in the flurry of activity and temporarily forget the shadows of my past that still haunted me.

Where the hell is Susan?" The chef's voice thundered across the bustling kitchen as he scanned the line of us, his staff, standing at attention, ready for his next command. It was a daily ritual for him to meticulously inspect our appearance before the hectic day's service began. "I'm sure you've all noticed my mood today," Iggy and I share a knowing look as the chef continued. His brow furrowed in frustration at Susan's unexpected absence. He paced back and forth with hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of our attire and demeanor. Pausing in front of Iggy, he added with a hint of solemnity, "Our boss-the owner of this restaurant-has invited some very important guests for lunch today." The news took all of us by surprise, causing mixed reactions amongst us. Iggy's expression tightened slightly, her eyes narrowing with determination as she prepared herself for the added pressure. I know she always wanted to be a chef and I hoped she achieved her dream someday. The sous chef, Marco, exchanged a knowing glance with me acknowledging how tedious today was going to be.

The chef took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself from an outburst at Susan's disappearance. After composing himself, he issued out his instructions. "I want everything to run smoothly today" he emphasized, his voice firm but tempered with a bit of urgency. "Double check your stations, watch your timing, and for the love of all that is holy, don't let me down."

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the chaos of kitchen, leaving us to scramble into action. As we hurried to our stations, the tension was palpable. I tried to maintain my composure and reminded myself not to mess up. I was only the waitress, I didn't have an important job here. I looked down at my clothes, ensuring that nothing was out of place and made my way to ask the customers for their orders .

"Table 4!" Mark's voice cut through the din of the restaurant as he loaded up the tray with food. Balancing it carefully, I navigated through the tables to reach the family of three seated at table 4. "Is there anything else you would like?" I asked, offering a sweet smile as I set down their orders.

Suddenly, a commotion caught my attention-a group of men dressed in black suits entered the restaurant. The owner hurried out to greet them, ushering them into the private dining area. I glanced towards the kitchen and exchanged a knowing look with Iggy. Gathering two more orders, I discreetly made my way back to the kitchen.

"They're in the private area," I whispered to Iggy, making sure to avoid the chef's notice. Iggy leaned against the sink, considering our next move.

"Do you think you'll take their orders, or should I do it?" Iggy asked quietly, her brow furrowed in thought. "I think we should just wait for the chef's orders. Plus, he'll probably go see them himself," I said, folding my arms thoughtfully.

"Iggy!" Chef's booming voice cut through our conversation, snapping us out of our thoughts. "Back to work! Opal, with me, now!"

I followed closely behind Chef as we made our way to the private dining area. I reminded myself to keep my composure, knowing that the eyes of important guests were on us. Standing quietly behind him, I kept my gaze lowered as he enthusiastically described the delicacies our restaurant had to offer.

As I mentally scolded myself for being too timid, I suddenly felt someone's intense gaze on me. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I lifted my eyes and met the piercing stare of a stranger with the coldest eyes I had ever seen. His gaze felt like it was penetrating into my soul, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. I couldn't bring myself to look away.

Are you writing that down?" Chef whispered beside me, his smile unwavering as he brought me back to the present moment. Startled, I fumbled for my pen and notepad, trying to maintain composure while taking the orders. The stranger's gaze never wavered, and I could feel it lingering on me as I scribbled down his requests. His presence was unnerving, and I struggled to focus on the task at hand, aware of every movement he made across the table.

After confirming the orders, Chef led me away from the table, but the stranger's cold gaze stayed with me. It was as if he had seen something beyond the surface, something I wasn't aware of myself. As I returned to the kitchen, I couldn't shake the feeling that our encounter was far from over.