Jayde Claire stepped through the glass doors of her second restaurant in downtown Vienla, the economic capital of Sevria. A knee-length black dress draped her figure with understated elegance, while her shoulder-length bob swayed gently with each step. A waiter bowed respectfully as she passed, but Claire responded with only a faint nod.
She was not one for attention. Those who knew her understood that Claire had no interest in the spotlight, despite owning three profitable minimarkets and two five-star restaurants across different cities. Not a single media outlet knew that this quiet, aloof woman was the owner.
Behind her success, Claire lived in self-imposed solitude. Her home stood in Elmarei, an elite neighborhood populated by entrepreneurs, celebrities, and politicians. Yet there were no parties. No cameras. She employed only two staff: Henri, a middle-aged man who tended the garden and security, and Emilia, a woman in her fifties who managed the kitchen and laundry.
Though wealthy, Claire owned just one car—an ordinary gray family sedan. To her, luxury wasn't for display but for control.
That day, a light rain fell over downtown as a teenage boy in a tattered cap sat on the corner of the sidewalk, not far from an old bus stop. His face was calm despite his soaked clothes. In his hand was a half-stale piece of bread, its origin unknown.
His name was Elliot Varell, eighteen years old, a senior at a public high school on the city's outskirts. No parents. No siblings. The orphanage that once housed him had long been abandoned—too many wounds, physical and mental, had driven him away.
Since then, Elliot drifted from one rented room to another, squatting until eviction, then repeating the cycle. He was accustomed to skipping meals for days, to sleeping on park benches or cardboard-lined floors.
Yet beneath the surface, Elliot was no weakling. He was sharp-witted, stubborn, and capable of sparking laughter in the bleakest moments. A skilled actor, he masked hunger with foolish jokes that sometimes cut deeper than they amused.
At that moment, Elliot stared at the upscale restaurant across the street—a glowing structure with tall windows and instrumental music audible only to those standing close. His gaze held no envy. He only wondered what it felt like to sit inside rather than out.
Meanwhile, inside the restaurant, Claire stood behind sheer curtains. Her eyes inadvertently locked onto Elliot's figure leaning against a lamppost. No smile. No expression. Just an inscrutable, lingering stare.
For the first time, inexplicably, Claire sensed something in the stranger. Something too fierce to ignore yet too silent to dismiss.
And in that moment, their parallel worlds began to tremble—slowly, but irrevocably.
Claire twisted the silver ring on her middle finger, an old habit that surfaced only when her mind was unsettled. She had never stared this long at anyone through her restaurant's window—let alone someone who seemed entirely unrelated to her life.
Elliot remained. The rain intensified, soaking his already threadbare jacket. Yet he didn't move. Just sat still, hugging his knees, occasionally bowing his head as if speaking to himself.
Claire exhaled softly.
She should've returned to her office. Financial documents from the Basilan branch awaited her signature. But her feet refused to budge, and her heart, for reasons unknown, resisted ignoring the scene.
"Emilia," she called quietly, without turning.
Her loyal attendant approached with quiet steps. "Yes, Miss Claire?"
"How much unused food do we have today?"
Emilia paused, then answered, "Quite a lot, Miss. A large reservation was canceled earlier."
Claire gave a slight nod. "Pack it. Not too lavish, not too sparse. Neatly wrapped."
Emilia asked no further questions. She knew better than to interrogate Claire—especially about sudden decisions like this.
Minutes later, Claire stepped out of the restaurant, a thin coat draped over her shoulders. In her hand was a simple brown-paper package.
Rain kissed her pale skin, yet she didn't hurry. She approached Elliot soundlessly, stopping just steps away.
"You've been sitting here since afternoon," she stated flatly, no pleasantries.
Elliot looked up. His eyes were sharp with suspicion but quickly relaxed into feigned indifference.
"Not many free seats with roofs," he quipped, though his body shivered from the cold.
Claire studied him without smiling. Then she set the package beside Elliot, offered no further words, and turned to leave.
But Elliot's voice halted her. "Do I look pathetic?"
Claire stopped. She didn't turn, only replied softly, "No."
Elliot chuckled dryly. "Then why the food? Pity or something?"
This time, Claire glanced back. Her gaze was piercing. "I don't pity you. I just hate waste."
She walked away, leaving the words hanging.
Yet beneath the cold delivery, Claire knew—she'd done something uncharacteristic.
And Elliot, in all his messy, reckless ways, had just tapped into a part of her… long buried.
The part that cared.