16 | ☕Coffee, Chaos, and a CEO Who Doesnt Share ☕
It had only been a few days since that night—the confession, the kiss, everything that followed—and still, she couldn't shake the weight of it.
The way Atlas's eyes had held hers, like there was no one else in the room.
The way he'd kissed her as if he was marking something he intended to claim.
She'd barely been able to sleep, her mind replaying that moment, the taste of him still lingering on her lips.
And it wasn't just the kiss. It was everything else. Since that night, Atlas had become... different. More present. More intense. More possessive.
Anya was just trying to do her job.
That's it. Simple. Straightforward.
She wasn't trying to complicate things, wasn't looking for drama, wasn't interested in flirting or entanglements of any kind. She just needed to earn a living, to get by—pay the bills, make a little bit of coffee, and keep her life as uncomplicated as possible.
She wasn't even trying to deal with customers, especially flirty ones.
But then—just like clockwork—the day came when the universe decided to throw a curveball. And it came in the form of this guy who, apparently, had zero sense of personal boundaries.
She had seen his type before. He was the kind of guy who thought his charm was undeniable, the kind who didn't get the hint.
The "smooth talker" who thought that with just a little wink and a flashy grin, he could make any woman melt in an instant.
Oh, how he must've thought that his swagger was irresistible.
Anya, however? She wasn't impressed. She had dealt with this type before—way too many times. Her patience was wearing thin, and the idea of dealing with yet another persistent customer was slowly turning into an exercise in restraint.
Still, she did what she always did—her best to be polite, to smile in that way that didn't invite too much attention, but didn't discourage either. Just the right balance of courteous and professional, the kind of smile that said "I'm here to serve you, but keep your distance, buddy."
It wasn't the first time she'd had this type of customer, and she was well-versed in handling it.
She had a routine, a system that usually worked.
The name tag, the polite smile, the short answers—nothing to encourage further conversation, but enough to get them to place their order and leave her in peace. That's all she wanted.
But of course, this guy wasn't having it.
No, this guy had to push the limits.
Anya caught herself staring at the nametag he'd deliberately leaned over the counter to see. Her name was right there, plain as day, staring back at him in bold letters—Anya. Yet, somehow, this guy still felt the need to ask.
And not just ask—he had to make it sound like he was trying to make some special connection. Like he was about to share some deep, magical moment. His words dripped with overconfidence, as if this was his go-to line and it worked every time.
"Sweetheart, you got a name?"
Sweetheart.
As if the word itself held some kind of power. As if the mere fact that he called her that would somehow make her heart flutter or spark an instant bond.
Anya's expression remained unchanged as she blinked at him, feeling her patience starting to fray just a bit. His grin—smug, unshakable, and annoyingly confident—was supposed to be charming, wasn't it? The type of grin that implied he thought he was irresistible.
But it wasn't charming. Not to her.
She looked at him for a split second longer than necessary—his too-white teeth, the shiny hair, the all-too-perfect look that clearly screamed "I'm the type of guy who thinks women should fall at my feet."
She gave a soft, almost uninterested sigh. She didn't need this today. She didn't need any of it. But she had learned long ago that there were certain customers—like this guy—who expected you to indulge in their games.
Anya, however, was done indulging.
Her eyes flicked to the side, and she caught Kaia in the corner of her vision. Her best friend was leaning over the counter, eyes wide, clearly trying to hold in a laugh. Kaia thrived on these interactions. Drama was her fuel, and Anya had long stopped trying to understand it.
Kaia was watching this with the same eager expression she reserved for reality TV shows, her lips barely suppressing a smile. As usual, Kaia loved to see things escalate. It was like the perfect spectator sport to her.
Anya, on the other hand, was exhausted by it.
She didn't have the time or energy for men who couldn't take a hint. She certainly didn't have time for men who thought their charm was a free pass to get whatever they wanted. This wasn't her first rodeo with this type of customer, and it certainly wouldn't be her last. She was over it.
"Sweetheart, what's your name?" he asked again, his voice turning almost theatrical, like he thought she was going to be swept off her feet by his antics. He leaned forward more, eyes scanning her face as if he had already decided she was going to fall for him.
Anya's patience hit its limit.
She slowly turned her gaze back to him, her lips curling into a polite—but not friendly—smile.
Her voice was cool, detached, as if this interaction were no different than any other customer request.
"I do. And it's written right there," she said, pointing to her name tag with a practiced, deliberate movement.
Her words were clear, unambiguous, and to the point. She had no interest in playing games.
Her tone was even, almost flat—nothing to give him any hope of sparking anything more than the most basic exchange. There was a faint edge in her voice, something that said, I'm not interested in your jokes, I'm not interested in your flattery, just give me the order and leave.
But of course, that didn't deter him.
No. It never did.
The guy just didn't get it.
He blinked, looking at the name tag for a moment as if maybe he missed something. But no. There it was—Anya, right in front of him. He had no excuse. But he didn't care. He was determined to push through, as if her polite response wasn't enough of a sign to back off.
Instead, he chuckled, leaning in even closer to the counter, now playing the part of the persistent flirt. "Nice try," he said, flashing that same grin as if he was the winner in this conversation. "You sure you don't wanna let me get to know you a little better? Maybe over coffee?"
Anya's smile didn't waver. She could feel the tension rising inside her. This wasn't her first day. She knew how to handle this.
Still, she couldn't help but feel a little annoyed that, once again, she had to deal with this.
She turned to grab his order from the counter, shaking her head a little to clear the irritation building up inside her. Her thoughts were already on the next customer, the next task, the next moment that didn't involve this guy.
She didn't need to engage, didn't need to play the game. So, she let him talk, let him think he had control. But one thing was certain—she was not the kind of woman who would be wooed by a few overused lines and a fake grin.
She was here to work, and that was all.
Meanwhile, Kaia—still eavesdropping from the background—was biting her lip to keep from laughing at the whole charade.
And then Anya felt it.The shift in the air.
It was subtle at first—just a faint shift in the air, as though the room itself had taken a slow, almost imperceptible breath.
The hum of the overhead light buzzed, and for a moment, it seemed like it might flicker, but then it steadied, settling into the same rhythm it always held.
Yet, something was different. It wasn't the creak of boots on the wooden floor or the soft rustle of a coat sleeve brushing against fabric.
It wasn't even the steady drip of coffee, its rich aroma hanging in the air like a quiet promise.
No, this feeling—this presence—was something else entirely.
The café had gone completely silent. It was as if someone had pressed the mute button on reality itself.
The usual murmur of voices, the clinking of mugs and spoons, the soft hiss of the espresso machine—all of it had evaporated, leaving nothing but a disconcerting emptiness.
Even the background music, once a gentle pulse beneath the buzz of life, had vanished, its absence hanging like a thick, uncomfortable fog.
Anya didn't need to turn around to know what was happening.
She could feel it in her bones. It wasn't the first time she had experienced this strange shift, and she didn't need eyes to know exactly who had entered.
No, it wasn't just the fact that the noise had disappeared—it was the weight in the room.
The very air around her seemed to change, became thicker, as though a force had arrived that everyone instinctively recognized and gave space to.
She felt it immediately—the immovable, almost intangible presence that had slowly filled the space just behind the flirtatious customer.
It wasn't the sound of footsteps or the creak of the door, but something far more pervasive.
It was the kind of presence that didn't need to demand attention—it simply took it.
His height, his broad shoulders, and the sharp, commanding aura that seemed to emanate from him with every breath.
There was an intensity in the way he stood still, rooted in the space, like a statue carved from marble, and yet, alive with the kind of power that made everything around him feel just a little less significant.
Anya's fingers tightened around the counter, her pulse quickening as the familiar, unmistakable sensation of Atlas' presence wrapped around her like a vice, subtle yet inescapable.
She didn't need to look to know he was there.
It was just one of those things—an instinct, a sixth sense—that came from having been in his orbit long enough.
You didn't need to see him to know he was nearby; you just knew.
It was like the room itself had become aware of him, and now, so did she.
And the guy? The one still standing at the counter with his cocky smile and rehearsed charm?
Completely oblivious.