A little piece of heaven

It wasn't supposed to be this kind of day.

Alina Reyes stood under the cracked awning of an old bookstore, soaked from head to toe, clutching a paper bag that was one drop of rain away from disintegrating. The city wasn't gentle today. Not with its sky split open, not with the cold wind biting her ankles, and definitely not with her luck. She stared at the bus disappearing down the street-the one she had almost caught.

Just like everything else in her life, it left her behind.

"Perfect," she muttered, dragging the wet strands of hair out of her face. Her phone was dead. Her wallet was thin. Her patience, non-existent.

She turned to head back inside the bookstore, maybe to wait out the rain-but the door had already locked behind her. A small, smug sign read: Closed early due to the weather. Stay dry!

She nearly ripped it off.

A deep chuckle cut through the rain.

She stiffened.

Leaning against a sleek black car across the street stood a man. Umbrella in hand, suit dry, and smile maddening. He didn't belong in this kind of weather, or this kind of neighborhood. No one smiled like that in this part of town unless they were about to cause trouble.

He tilted his head, watching her.

Alina narrowed her eyes.

The man didn't move, didn't wave, didn't say anything. Just... watched. Like she was the day's most interesting story. And maybe, in some twisted way, she was.

She turned away.

But her paper bag tore.

Its contents spilled: a loaf of bread, two cans of soup, and a very expired granola bar. All of it scattered in the puddle like a sad little confession of her situation.

She stared down at it, frozen. Not because of the mess, but because it felt symbolic. Everything she'd been trying to hold together, now soaked and splattered across the sidewalk.

A pair of polished shoes stepped into her line of vision.

She didn't look up. "Don't."

"Don't what?" The voice was smooth. Deep. Warm in all the places her life felt cold.

"Don't try to help. Don't pity me. Just-don't."

A pause.

Then, "Noted."

She finally glanced up. He crouched in front of her, umbrella still held high, shielding her from the worst of the rain. His suit was dark, expensive, and still somehow perfect despite the drizzle. His jaw was sharp, his hair carelessly elegant, and his eyes... brown. But not ordinary brown. Deep. Dangerous. The kind of eyes that could convince you to do something stupid.

Like trust him.

She shoved the groceries into her backpack, not even caring that the bread was a soggy mess now. "Thanks for the umbrella cameo, Mr. Armani, but I'm not some stray you get to rescue for a feel-good moment."

He didn't laugh. Didn't look offended. He just studied her like she'd said something fascinating. "What if I don't want to feel good?"

"What?"

"What if I just... like the way you look when you're angry at the rain?"

She blinked. That was new. Creepy? Maybe. Charming? Absolutely not. And yet-something in her stomach did a small, traitorous flip.

"You should work on better pickup lines," she said, stepping back. "You're about five years too old for the tortured rich guy act."

He stood slowly. "Not a pickup line."

"Could've fooled me."

"I just wanted to see you smile." He paused. "I didn't think it'd be this hard."

Her heart skipped.

Before she could respond-before she could demand who the hell he thought he was-a car honked violently. She turned just in time to see a taxi speed through the puddle beside her, sending a wave of cold, muddy water straight at her legs.

She gasped, jumping back-but it was too late. Soaked. Again.

The man laughed. Not mockingly. Just... amused. "Okay, that was karma. What did you do?"

She glared at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Maybe," he admitted, eyes dancing. "Or maybe I'm just glad I came down this street today."

"You don't even know me."

"True." He stepped closer. "But I want to."

"Not happening."

He didn't push. Just smiled again-slow, deliberate, and almost too calm.

"I'm Damien," he said, offering his hand.

She hesitated. Every instinct told her not to touch him. Not to let him in. Not even a little.

But something in the way he stood-so sure, so still-made her curious.

She didn't take his hand.

"I don't care," she said flatly.

He laughed again. "That's fair."

And then, as quickly as he appeared, he turned and walked back to his car. No parting line. No charming wink. Just left her standing there-cold, wet, and far more shaken than she wanted to admit.

Who the hell was he?

The car didn't start right away. He sat inside, watching the rain.

She should've walked away. Should've been smart and forgotten his name before it even settled in her brain.

But then her phone buzzed.

1% Battery.

And a message from an unknown number:

You shouldn't walk home alone tonight, Alina.

She froze.

She never gave him her name.