Chapter 5 The Shield’s Edge
The remaining hour of their stay was a slow-motion exercise in psychological warfare. They didn't shout. They didn't cause a scene. They simply existed with such a high frequency of entitlement that every other customer in the cafe seemed to shrink into the shadows. Nate sat with his back to the room, a wall of expensive, impenetrable wool, while Gavin’s loud laughter echoed off the walls, punctuating stories about weekend trips to the Hamptons and "boring" five-figure galas. To them, this cafe was a pit stop; to me, it was the battlefield where I fought for my sisters' future every single day.
Every time I walked past their table to clear a tray or wipe a surface, I felt the invisible tether of my temper fraying. I wasn't just angry at them; I was angry at the $342 in my drawer. I was angry at the gray tape peeling off Zoe’s shoes. Most of all, I was angry that they had the power to make me feel small in my own sanctuary, as if my labor was a natural resource they were entitled to harvest without a word of thanks.
When they finally rose to leave, they didn't bother to clear their table. They left behind a graveyard of crumpled napkins, a half-eaten artisanal pastry, and a dark smear of espresso on the marble top. Nate didn't even look back as he pushed through the door, the bell’s jingle sounding like a victory lap for the elite.
"Mila, don't," Eliza whispered, her hand catching my elbow as I gripped a bus tub so hard the plastic groaned. "He’s not worth the write-up. Just let them go back to their ivory tower."
"I’m just taking out the trash, Lou," I said, my voice vibrating with a frequency I didn't recognize. It wasn't the voice of the "Parent" or the "Provider." It was the voice of a girl who had finally been pushed past the edge of her endurance.
I didn't think. I didn't calculate. I just dropped the rag, grabbed the two singles Theodore had left on the counter—the change that felt more like an insult than a tip—and walked out the door.
The cold Brooklyn air hit me, biting through my thin hoodie, but I didn't feel it. I scanned the sidewalk and saw them half a block away, standing near a sleek, obsidian-black SUV that looked like it belonged to a government funeral. The engine was idling, a low, predatory hum that matched the pulse in my temples. A driver in a crisp uniform was already holding the door open, waiting for the princes of the city to reclaim their throne.
"Hey!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the midday traffic.
Theodore and Gavin turned first. Gavin looked amused, a smirk already playing on his lips as if he expected a fan to ask for an autograph or a phone number. Theodore looked concerned, his grey eyes narrowing behind his falling hair. But Nathaniel took his time. He finished whatever he was saying to his driver, then turned with agonizing slowness, his dark eyes locking onto mine with the weight of a physical blow.
I marched up to them, stopping just outside the radius of Nate's expensive cologne—a scent of sandalwood and cold rain that seemed to coat my lungs. Up close, in the harsh natural light, the perfection of his clothes and the utter arrogance of his posture were even more offensive.
"You forgot these," I said, thrusting the two crumpled dollar bills toward his chest.
Nate looked down at the money as if it were a piece of rotting fruit, then back up at me. He didn't take it. "I believe my associate told you to keep it. Consider it a reward for the... service. Or perhaps buy yourself a personality that doesn't involve public outbursts."
"I don't want your reward," I snapped, my voice rising over the sound of a passing bus. "And I don't want your pity. What I want is for you to look at someone when they’re speaking to you. What I want is for you to realize that the person making your coffee isn't a ghost or a machine. We aren't the background noise to your life."
Gavin chuckled, leaning back against the car. "She’s got a spark, Nate. Maybe we should hire her to liven up the boardroom. She’s certainly more interesting than the Fairmont lawyers. More bite, too."
Nate didn't laugh. He stepped closer, using his 6’3” frame to shadow me, effectively cutting off the sunlight. The air between us grew thick, charged with a sudden, violent tension. "You think this is about dignity? You think a two-dollar tip is the insult?" He leaned down, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet silk that made the hair on my arms stand up. "The insult is that you think your pride matters to someone like me. You are a footnote in a world you can't even afford to look at, little girl. Take the money, buy yourself a better life, and stay in the background where you belong."
My hand flew before my brain could process the movement. I didn't slap him—I shoved the money into the pocket of his charcoal coat, my knuckles grazing the fine, expensive fabric. The contact felt like an electric shock.
"My pride is the only thing I own," I hissed, leaning into his space, refusing to flinch even as his dark brown eyes turned predatory. "You and your friends come into my shop and treat it like a playground. You treat the people who serve you like they're part of the plumbing. But let me tell you something, Mr. Salvatore. One day, the floor is going to drop out for you, too. And when it does, you won't know how to survive. Because you’ve never had to work for a single thing in your pathetic, gilded life!"
"Nate, let’s go. We’re late for the dean," Theodore stepped forward, reaching out a hand as if to pull Nate back from the edge of a cliff.
Nate didn't move. For a second, the mask of boredom cracked completely. Something dark flickered in those intense eyes—a flash of genuine, burning interest that was far more terrifying than his disdain. He looked at me not as a fixture, but as an opponent. As a challenge.
"You have a lot to say for someone whose name I'll forget before we hit the bridge," Nate said, his voice a low growl.
"Good," I retorted, my heart hammering a war drum against my ribs. "Forget my name. But don't you ever come back to my shop and treat us like we’re invisible again."
I stepped back, the adrenaline making my vision sharp and narrow. I had said it. I had looked the heir to an empire in the eye and told him exactly what he was. His expression stayed unreadable, a storm brewing behind those dark, cruel eyes. He looked like he wanted to break me, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of being broken.