Chapter 63 Ordinary
ISABEL'S POV
“Ms.Isabel, a very good day to you.”
A man’s voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts as he walked up to the table where I sat at the café, my fingers lazily flipping through my phone while I waited for my guest.
I paused and slowly lifted my head, my brows knitting together in confusion.
Ms. Isabel
I looked around over my shoulders first, instinctively checking to see if he had mistaken me for someone else sitting nearby. The café wasn’t crowded, but there were still a few tables occupied, and for a brief second, I honestly thought he had to be addressing someone behind me.
But no.
When I turned back, his gaze was still fixed on me.
“Do I know you?” I asked, my eyes scanning him from head to toe without any attempt to hide my scrutiny.
He looked ordinary. The kind of man I would never notice twice on the street, not to talk of knowing personally.
“No you don’t,” he replied calmly, unfazed by my stare, “but I certainly know you, and I’m glad that you decided.”
Decided?
Decided on what exactly?
“Hold on,” I cut him off immediately, lifting my index finger to stop him from saying another word.
“I hope you’re not one of my long-lost exes that I probably forgot about,” I said flatly, my tone sharp and uninterested, “or some random guy trying to hit on me. Because if that’s the case, then I’m sorry, mister, but you’re in no way my type at all. So you can move along.”
Without waiting for a response, I picked up the menu from the table, pretending to read it just so I wouldn’t have to look at his face any longer.
I expected him to walk away, maybe embarrassed or offended.
Instead, he laughed.
The sound was light, almost amused, and it immediately drew my gaze back to him.
“I can assure you,” he said, still smiling, “that I’m none of the things you just mentioned. I’m a happily married man, and I’m the manager of this café.”
He lifted his left hand slightly, making sure the wedding ring on his finger was clearly visible.
What?
He’s married?
My confidence faltered instantly.
For a split second, I felt heat rush to my cheeks as realization hit me — I had completely misunderstood the situation.
My lips pressed together as embarrassment crept in, something I wasn’t used to feeling.
I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, straightening my posture as I tried to recover my composure.
“Then how did you know my last name?” I asked, my tone calmer now, but still cautious.
He smiled like the answer was obvious.
“Come on,” he said lightly, “you’re a Quinn. One of the richest billionaire families in California.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the embarrassment I had felt earlier vanished almost instantly.
In its place came pride.
I felt my shoulders lift subconsciously, my back straightening as a small smirk curved my lips.
Of course.
How silly of me to even ask that.
Sometimes I forget that I’m not like other people. That I’m not average. That my father is a billionaire and my family name carries weight wherever I go.
We’re the Quinns.
Top-tier. Elite.
Who wouldn’t recognize us?
“I mean,” he continued, oblivious to the shift in my mood, “it would be almost impossible not to recognize the adopted daughter of the Quinn family.”
The effect was immediate.
The smirk that had just formed on my lips disappeared as if it had never been there.
Adopted daughter.
The words echoed loudly in my head.
My brows squeezed together, my gaze hardening as I stared straight at him.
Adopted.
Did he really think he could say that so casually?
“You really had to point that out?” I asked, my voice dropping several degrees colder.
His smile faltered.
“Did I say something I wasn’t supposed to?” he asked carefully, clearly sensing the sudden tension.
“Don’t ever mention that again,” I snapped. “That I’m ‘adopted.’ I’m just as much of a daughter to my family as Anna is.”
The name left my mouth sharper than intended.
He blinked, confusion written all over his face. It was obvious he had no idea who I was referring to or why this mattered so much.
I let out a slow breath, not in the mood to create a scene in a public place.
“Just get me a cup of coffee,” I said, waving my hand dismissively.
Without another word, he turned around and walked away, heading toward the counter.
Only when I was sure he was gone did I finally allow myself to react.
My fingers tightened around the menu, gripping it so hard that the paper crumpled beneath my hand.
Back when I was still in college, things had been different.
Everyone adored me.
I was the only daughter of the Quinn family or at least that’s how the world saw it. They called me Daddy’s princess. Wherever I went, I was recognized, admired, envied. I never had to ask for attention; it was always given freely.
Everything I wanted, I got.
But now?
Things had changed so much that a random café manager with two left feet and zero awareness felt comfortable enough to remind me that I was adopted.
If he knew, then others knew too.
And if others knew, then there was no way the entire United States didn’t know by now.
That realization made my chest tighten.
It meant I could no longer walk into rooms the way I used to. I could no longer lift my chin and act like I was untouchable, like I was the Quinns’ only and favorite daughter.
People would be talking.
Whispering.
Comparing.
Judging.
My image — everything I had built for myself was slowly crumbling.
And maybe that was also why Ryan had been avoiding my texts lately.
Maybe he had decided that I was no longer the best social asset to be seen with. That associating with me isn’t as beneficial anymore.
So instead, he turned his attention to the “better” option.
The biological daughter.
A nobody who had suddenly been handed power, and wealth
She must think everything revolves around her now.
She must think she’s some kind of star, shining brightly at the center of everyone’s attention.
But she’s wrong.
Very wrong.
Because I’m going to burst that little bubble of hers.