28 | ☕Atlas Quits. For Her? ☕
Anya walked into the café with the familiar rush of customers and the comforting hum of the espresso machine, but today, everything felt different.
The noise of chatter and clinking cups, the warm scent of freshly ground coffee beans, and the comforting hiss of steam seemed somehow distant, as though muffled by an invisible barrier she couldn't quite shake off.
The chaos of the reporters outside was still fresh in her mind, their questions ringing in her ears even though they'd long since disappeared. She could still picture their cameras flashing, the harsh lights blinding, the way her heart had dropped when they'd started pointing microphones at her.
But then, through it all, there had been Atlas—Atlas, who had been so protective, so fierce.
The way he'd taken charge in that moment, his quiet intensity cutting through the noise of the reporters, had stuck with her.
She could still hear his voice, low and firm, telling her to stay calm, to follow him.
The way he'd stood between her and the cameras, a wall of quiet strength, made her feel safer than she had in ages.
It was as if the world could crash around them, but with him by her side, she would be okay.
She could feel the weight of his presence, but also a tenderness, an unspoken promise to protect her no matter what.
That was the thing—his protectiveness, it was so unlike anything she'd ever seen from him before.
It wasn't just about shielding her from the reporters; it was about something deeper, something... raw.
She thought he was angry—no, furious—but somehow, despite the storm in his eyes, there had been something tender in the way he'd tried to shield her from it all.
It was a contradiction, one that she couldn't make sense of.
The fierce protectiveness that radiated from him was overwhelming, but there was an undertone of something more vulnerable there too—something she hadn't expected.
She'd known him as the tough, enigmatic figure who often kept people at arm's length, someone who was used to being in control, but that moment, the way his gaze softened even just slightly as he reached for her hand, left her with a fluttering uncertainty in her chest.
She hadn't seen that side of him before, and it was...
well, it was a little unsettling. She wasn't sure if she was relieved by it or confused by it. Perhaps it was both.
And then there was the fact that, despite all of this, she hadn't seen much of him since that day.
He'd been present—he'd been there, in the same space as her—but she hadn't really seen him.
He'd been... distracted. His presence, once a source of comfort, now felt like a distant echo, a shadow of what it used to be.
His eyes, always so perceptive, seemed to look right through her, as though he were somewhere else entirely.
His focus seemed to have shifted elsewhere, as though the whole world had suddenly fallen on his shoulders, and all he could do was carry it alone.
She hadn't heard his laugh in days, hadn't felt the warmth of his hand brushing against hers, hadn't seen the fire in his eyes that used to burn so brightly.
It was as though he had retreated into himself, and no matter how much she reached out, he was always just a step ahead, a breath too far.
She caught sight of Kaia immediately, perched on the counter with an exaggerated sense of casualness, as if she was waiting for some kind of drama to unfold.
Her presence, that light-hearted, curious energy, made Anya's chest tighten slightly.
It had only been a couple of days since everything had exploded, and yet here she was, walking in like everything was back to normal.
As though the aftermath of the chaos hadn't left its mark on them all.
They weren't okay yet—not by a long shot.
Not by any stretch of the imagination. But Kaia seemed determined to play it off like it was just another day.
"Morning, Anya!" Kaia's voice rang out, cheerful as always, but there was a slight shift in her tone.
Her usual upbeat greeting was laced with an edge of something softer, something more careful.
She offered Anya a long, appraising look, her eyes narrowing slightly, like she could sense the weight on Anya's shoulders even before it showed. "You okay?"
Anya couldn't bring herself to match the same upbeat energy.
She forced a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Yeah... I mean, sort of," she replied, her voice quieter than usual as she headed toward the backroom, slipping through the swinging door with a heavy sigh.
She pressed her palms against her face, trying to shake off the lingering tension.
"I don't even know what happened yesterday. It was like I stepped into some kind of weird dream, but the whole thing was real."
Kaia, ever the curious one, followed her into the backroom, her movements light and unhurried, but her gaze sharper than Anya had ever noticed.
Her brows raised in that knowing way, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle without quite knowing where to start.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, giving Anya the space to talk—or not—depending on how much she wanted to share.
"I mean, Atlas was involved, so weirdness is practically his middle name. That flamingo thing... legendary."
She grinned, clearly trying to lighten the mood, though there was still that underlying wariness in her eyes.
Anya couldn't help but let out a small snort at the mention of the flamingo incident.
It had been one of those bizarre, almost absurd moments that made her want to laugh just to make sense of the madness.
She dropped her bag on the small chair in the corner, the weight of it feeling heavier than usual.
She kicked off her sneakers, letting out a long breath as she collapsed onto the seat, staring blankly at the floor.
"That wasn't even the weirdest part," Anya said, her voice a little quieter now, laced with confusion.
"I—" She stopped, biting her lip.
Kaia raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue, but Anya found herself at a loss.
She couldn't even begin to articulate the whirlwind of feelings—everything from the sharp, unexpected anger in Atlas's eyes when he'd turned on the reporters, to the deep protectiveness he'd shown in that moment,
the way his stance had shifted as he stood between her and the cameras like he was guarding something fragile.
But there was more to it than just that.
Much more. There had been a tenderness there, too, something vulnerable and raw that Anya had never expected from him. It was unsettling, to say the least.
"Yeah. I don't know what to make of it. It was like... like he was trying to shield me from everything, but in a way that felt almost too... intense. It was like he was carrying this burden for me. I mean, I've never seen him like that before."
She shook her head, frustration creeping into her tone.
"I don't know if I should be grateful or freaked out. Maybe both?"
Kaia's smile was gentle now, the teasing gone, replaced by something more understanding.
"Sounds like you're in uncharted territory," she said quietly.
"But you don't have to figure it all out right away. Just... let yourself breathe a little, okay?"
She paused, giving Anya a moment to process, then added with a playful wink, "And, hey, if things get any weirder, you know where to find me."
Just then, the door to the café swung open with a soft jingle, and Anya looked up, heart skipping in her chest when she saw Atlas standing there.
His presence was like a sudden shift in the air, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fade.
His gaze immediately locked onto hers, and she felt a strange mix of warmth and tension coil inside her.
He stood there, framed by the doorway, and for a second, she almost forgot how to breathe.
He wasn't wearing his usual sharp, tailored suits—today, he was dressed in a simple black hoodie and jeans.
There was something different about him, though.
His usual composed, almost untouchable demeanour was replaced by something a little more...
unbothered, like he had let go of some weight, but the energy he carried still held a quiet intensity.
The way he stood, relaxed but alert, made him seem less like the CEO she knew and more like someone who didn't care about the expectations others had of him.
The moment their eyes met, his lips quirked upward ever so slightly, and a warmth that Anya hadn't expected seemed to spread across his face.
The tension she had been carrying for what felt like forever loosened just a little, but there was still that nagging feeling in her chest, the residue of everything that had happened a few days ago.
When he saw Anya, his expression softened, and for a moment, he actually lightened up. The subtle shift in his body language—the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his gaze softened—was enough to make her feel like he was actually present in the moment. And it was... unexpected.
"Atlas?" Anya asked, her voice softer than usual, hesitant, unsure. The fire in his eyes when he had told the reporters to stay away from her. The way he'd seemed so protective, so intense, yet so distant in the days following. "I... uh, you okay?"
He took a few steps closer, his presence still commanding, but there was a gentleness to his movements now.
He didn't say anything right away. Instead, he just studied her, like he was trying to gauge what she was thinking.
And maybe—just maybe—he was trying to figure out how to make sense of all the unspoken things hanging between them too.
"You've been... a little different lately," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She wasn't sure if she was even making sense, but it felt like the truth was lingering just beneath the surface.
The tension between them was palpable, and yet she couldn't find the words to bridge the gap.
Anya blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. She was almost certain she hadn't heard him right. "Wait... what? You quit?!" She couldn't help but feel a burst of disbelief, the absurdity of it hitting her like a sudden wave. "I... you're Atlas Valtieri. You don't just quit from work."
He shrugged, a nonchalant, almost careless movement that seemed at odds with the gravity of the situation. "I do now," he signed, the words simple but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn't looking for an argument.
Anya frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why? What's going on?" The thought of him quitting a job he clearly poured so much into... it didn't make sense.
Atlas glanced at Kaia, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, her face an unreadable mask—until a grin broke through, which she quickly tried to suppress.
Atlas rolled his eyes but didn't acknowledge her directly, his attention firmly on Anya as he signed again.
"The reporters." His gaze stayed locked with hers, the meaning of his words settling heavily between them.
"I didn't want you to have to deal with them. It's too much. You don't deserve that kind of attention."
Anya didn't know what to say. She stared at Atlas, her mind a mess of conflicting emotions.
Part of her wanted to be angry—angry that he'd made such a drastic decision, angry that he felt the need to do something so extreme.
But the other part of her... the part that had felt so protected by him the day before, the part that had felt his sincerity in the way he'd stood up to the reporters... that part couldn't help but be touched.
Kaia, sensing the intensity of the moment, finally let out a dramatic sigh. "Okay, okay," she said, throwing her hands up. "I'll leave you two alone to have your emotional moment." She backed out of the room, giving Anya a knowing look before she disappeared into the café.
Anya didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she just stared at Atlas, her thoughts racing. She had so many questions, but the one that stood out the most was the simplest: Why?
"Why?" she asked slowly, unsure if he understood the weight of the question. "Why go so far for me?"
Atlas didn't immediately respond, and for a moment, Anya wasn't sure if he would. But then he signed, "Because you matter to me." His hands were deliberate, strong but careful, like he was trying to communicate something more than just the words.
She stared at him for a moment, her mind still processing the fact that he'd turned his world upside down to prioritize her. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, and in that moment, the absurdity of everything melted away.
"Well... if you're really taking time off," she said, her smile widening. "Maybe you can take me out for breakfast. You know, since we've apparently got the day to ourselves now."
Atlas raised an eyebrow and gave her a look of mock seriousness. "A date? Now? I was kind of planning on a quiet day... you know, to relax."
"Come on, let's get that breakfast," she said, her voice soft but determined as she held out her hand to him, the gesture feeling both casual and significant all at once.
There was something about the simplicity of it—offering her hand, the way she made the request—that felt like a small bridge being built between them, a quiet understanding that didn't need to be overcomplicated.
Atlas's eyes flicked to her hand, and for a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing whether or not to take it.
But then, as if the decision had already been made, his lips tugged into a small, knowing smile—one of those smiles that held just a touch of smugness, the kind that seemed to suggest he always had things under control.
But despite the subtle arrogance that lingered in the curve of his mouth, there was warmth in his eyes, a softness she didn't always see.