UNTIL I MET YOU

Aria I'll never believe in miracles-only survival.

She knew how to fake a smile when a customer snapped their fingers in her face. Knew how to count coins under flickering diner lights. Knew how to breathe through the ache in her feet after double shifts, and how to sleep through the sirens screaming outside her paper-thin apartment walls.

She didn't know luxury. Or indulgence. Or softness.

But she knew grit. And sometimes, that was enough.

The rain fell in sheets that evening, cold and relentless, turning New York's sidewalks into slick rivers of city grime. Aria hunched into her thrifted coat, her cheap umbrella flipping inside out with every gust of wind. By the time she reached the subway station, her socks were soaked, and her tote bag sagged with the weight of her soaked notebook and economics textbook.

It was supposed to be a normal night. A shift, a paycheck, home. That was it.

Then she saw the man.

He was standing on the corner near the diner entrance-motionless, like the rain didn't touch him. Tall, sharply dressed, an overcoat hanging from his broad shoulders like a tailored shadow. His gaze was distant, locked on something invisible through the blur of headlights and wet glass.

Aria only glanced at him for a second. Just enough to register expensive. Out of place. And then she moved on.

She had no time for sidewalk statues in thousand-dollar suits.

The diner was near-empty when she arrived-only a pair of elderly regulars at the back booth and a couple mid-argument over soggy pancakes. The manager, Carla, barely looked up from her crossword puzzle when Aria clocked in.

Two hours passed. Rain kept falling. Life kept trudging.

Then the bell over the door chimed.

She looked up from the coffee pot.

It was him.

The man from the sidewalk.

Now that he was inside, she could see him better. He didn't look wet. Or cold. Or rushed. In fact, he looked like he had stepped into the wrong place by accident but didn't have the energy to leave.

He sat at the far end of the counter, shoulders relaxed but eyes sharp, taking in everything like it was a puzzle he already knew the answer to.

"Coffee?" Aria asked, walking over, pen and notepad in hand.

He glanced at her-only briefly.

And it was enough to rattle her.

His eyes were storm-colored. Not quite blue. Not quite gray. Piercing.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and refined, like he wasn't used to repeating himself.

"Anything else?"

A pause.

"Silence."

She blinked.

"That comes free with the coffee," she said, scribbling a fake note on her pad to give herself something to do. "But you'll have to tip extra if you want me to stop breathing."

His mouth curved.

Just slightly.

The tiniest smirk.

She brought the coffee, setting it in front of him without ceremony. He didn't touch it. Just stared into it like it held secrets.

Aria tried not to look at him again. She failed.

Something about him unnerved her.

Not in a dangerous way.

More like... how a gallery makes you feel when you don't understand the art but know it costs more than your life.

Who sits in a crummy diner in the middle of the night dressed like that?

More importantly, why?

She kept her distance. Cleaned the already-clean sugar containers. Pretended to text. Listened.

He didn't make a single phone call.

Didn't check his watch.

Didn't eat.

Just sipped the black coffee like it was the last warmth he had in the world.

Then, without warning, he stood.

Pulled out a thick black wallet. Dropped three crisp hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

Aria's breath caught.

"That's... too much."

He looked at her.

"Not for quiet."

And with that, he left.

No name. No goodbye.

The door closed behind him, the bell chiming softly in his wake.

Aria stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the money. Her heart thundered with questions, but her lips couldn't form one.

She wouldn't see him again, she told herself.

Men like that passed through places like this only once. Brief flickers of something golden in the gutter.

But the universe, cruel and strange, had other plans.

Because the next time she saw him, it wouldn't be raining.

And she wouldn't be wearing an apron.

She'd be standing in front of him, in an office that touched the clouds, wearing borrowed confidence and fear like perfume.

And Damian Voss would no longer be a stranger.

He would be the man who changed everything.

Aria couldn't shake the image of him. Damian Voss.

It was silly, really. She had met all kinds of strange people in her life - customers with bizarre requests, men with too much money and too little sense. But there was something different about him. Something unsettling in the way his presence seemed to suck the air out of a room, leaving a cold vacuum behind.

She went through her shift like she always did, autopilot engaged, but the weight of that moment-his words, his silence, the heavy gaze he had turned toward her-remained with her like a lingering chill. She couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at her as if he saw right through the waitress uniform, through the frayed edges of her life, into something deeper.

It unnerved her.

When the diner quieted down, she grabbed her coat and slung it over her shoulders. Her shift was over. She was exhausted, physically drained from the constant movement, but something-some restless energy-kept her from simply going home. She was used to the grind, used to just going to her cramped apartment, crashing into bed, and sinking into sleep like it was the only escape she had left.

But tonight felt different.

The wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside, sharp and biting. The city was still awake, a throbbing, pulsing mess of lights, noise, and motion. Aria breathed deeply, letting the cold air fill her lungs, willing it to clear her head.

But it didn't.

She crossed the street, heading towards the subway entrance when she heard the familiar sound of footsteps behind her. Slow. Measured.

Her heart skipped.

She didn't turn around. Didn't have to. It was him.

"Are you following me?" Aria asked, her voice sharper than she intended, but there was no denying the edge of fear curling in her gut.

"I believe it's the other way around," he replied, his voice as calm and controlled as it had been in the diner, though there was something in the deep timbre that made her blood run a little colder. "I'm on my way to the office, but I don't think you're heading there."

She didn't want to admit it, but she was confused by his presence. Confused, and strangely drawn in by it. The man had said nothing but a few words to her, yet something in the way he carried himself, something in the quiet gravity of his being, made her feel like she'd known him longer than the fleeting minutes they'd shared.

"I don't work in an office," Aria said, her tone dismissive, though her heart quickened again at the thought of his proximity. "I work at a diner."

"I know," he answered, like it was no surprise, like he had somehow anticipated it all along. "You have a... presence. It doesn't belong in a place like that."

Aria froze. The words cut through her, sharper than she cared to admit. She turned, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had entered the diner.

Damian Voss. Standing there under the harsh streetlights, looking every bit the part of the powerful billionaire he was rumored to be. His clothes, dark and tailored, were far too expensive for a rainy night on the Lower East Side. His expression, a perfect blend of calm and control, made him seem both untouchable and, for some strange reason, very dangerous.

"Look," she said, taking a step back. "I don't know what game you're playing here, but I'm not interested in it."

He tilted his head, as if considering her words, but his eyes never left hers. He didn't seem offended, didn't seem anything except... curious.

"Not everything is a game, Miss Bell," he said quietly. "Sometimes, things happen because they need to. Because fate pushes them into place, whether we want it or not."

Her pulse quickened. Fate? She wanted to scoff, to turn and leave, but something kept her rooted to the spot. This man, this Damian, had a way of drawing her in without lifting a finger.

"Fate doesn't pay the bills," she shot back, but her words came out weaker than she wanted them to. It didn't seem like a fight anymore, but more like... a dance. A dance she didn't know the steps to.

"True," he acknowledged. "But it's also what drives people to do things they never thought possible."

The night felt suddenly too close, too heavy with meaning. Aria looked down, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag, her mind working overtime to make sense of the strange pull he had on her.

"You have no idea what it's like to have to fight for every damn thing," she said, her voice low, her words coated in bitterness. "To scrape by, just to keep your head above water. So, forgive me if I'm not interested in your version of fate."

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough for her to wonder if she had pushed him away-if he was just another wealthy man who thought the world could bend to his will.

Then, he spoke again, quieter this time.

"You're wrong, Aria."

Her name fell from his lips with surprising familiarity, like he had known her for years, like he'd been calling it out in his mind long before she even noticed him.

"I didn't come here to save you. But I can't help but wonder if fate hasn't already started its work."

Before she could respond, he turned and began to walk away, disappearing into the chaotic web of New York's night.

And just like that, he was gone.

But Aria couldn't shake the feeling that she had been changed by his presence-whether she liked it or not.

She stood there for a long while, under the heavy, indifferent rain, her thoughts tangled in the mess of what just happened. And somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered that this wasn't the last time she'd see Damian Voss.