Chapter 6
Violet's POV
I ignored her provocation and turned to make the coffee.
When I placed the sealed iced Americano on the pickup counter, one of the bikers suddenly reached out, pretending to accidentally swing his arm hard.
"Bang—"
The plastic cup was knocked off. Dark brown coffee liquid exploded instantly, splashing everywhere, even a few drops landing on my apron.
"Oops, hand slipped." The biker shrugged exaggeratedly, grinning extremely arrogantly.
"You did that on purpose!" I clenched my teeth, fury churning in my chest.
"What? You want to hit me?" The biker stepped forward, his massive body pressing down directly, deliberately stepping on the spilled coffee, trampling the originally clean wooden floor into a mess. "Make me another one. Now!"
The customers in the shop started whispering. A few timid ones were already packing up to leave.
"Enough, what exactly do you want?" I glared at Ethan.
Ethan shrugged, looking innocent. "We're just here for coffee. Violet, your customer service is terrible."
"Violet!" The manager rushed out from the kitchen after hearing the commotion. Seeing the mess all over the floor and several obviously troublesome thugs, his face instantly turned dark. He was a pudgy middle-aged man who hated trouble most.
"Manager, they deliberately..."
"I don't want to hear explanations!" The manager rudely cut me off, pointing at the door. "Look what you've done to the shop! You scared away the customers! You're fired. Now, take off the apron and get out immediately!"
"But..."
"No buts! And don't expect today's wages either!"
I stood there, looking at the manager's disgusted eyes, then at Sienna and Ethan's triumphant sneers.
My throat felt like it was stuffed with water-soaked cotton, blocking me from making a sound.
I ripped off the apron strap around my neck, slammed it hard on the counter, grabbed my canvas bag, and rushed out of the café without looking back.
The evening street was stretched into long shadows by the setting sun.
I didn't know how I walked back to that six-hundred-dollar monthly rental apartment.
The wound on my knee, from standing and walking for so long, had gone numb with pain.
Losing my job meant I had no way to pay next month's rent. Even buying the cheapest used phone had become a luxury.
A heavy sense of helplessness submerged me like a tide.
I dragged my steps up the dim staircase. Just as I reached my door, my steps suddenly froze.
On my shabby doormat, a black square package lay quietly.
The package had no courier company labels, only a dark gold wax seal stamp.
I looked around warily. The hallway was empty, only the intermittent crying of the neighbor's baby.
I crouched down, picked up the package and went inside.
Sitting on the hard bed, I carefully tore open the wax seal. Inside the box lay quietly a latest model smartphone. The silver-gray body gleamed with a cold luster in the dim room.
Beneath the phone was a black card of excellent quality.
I picked up the card. On it was a line written in fountain pen, the handwriting vigorous and powerful, exuding an unquestionable forcefulness:
"Ethan's foolishness comes with a price. This is the Hall family's compensation. —Julian Hall"
My fingers trembled slightly.
Julian Hall.
That man's face surfaced in my mind again.
Prominent brow bone, deep light gray eyes, and last night at the club, that low and extremely intimidating "Let her go."
He not only watched over me most of the night at the hospital, but now he even noticed such details as my broken phone, and sent compensation in this non-refusable manner.
I stared at the phone in my hand. The screen was black, reflecting my pale, exhausted face.
Accept it? This was too expensive. I didn't want any excessive connection with the Hall family, especially Ethan's adoptive father.
Return it? I didn't even have his contact information, didn't even know which Manhattan skyscraper he lived in.
The room was so quiet I could only hear the ticking of the wall clock. I held that card with its faint cedarwood scent, falling into deep hesitation.