Chapter 2

"New delivery offer. Tap to accept."

The loud ping from my phone pulled me back to reality.

None of this mattered anymore.

Leo was still in the hospital waiting for me to make enough money to save his life. I couldn't afford to break down.

The moment I stepped out of the Westwood Tower, the sky opened up, pouring down a torrential rainstorm.

I didn't have a raincoat, and the freezing rain pelted against my skin, stinging like needles.

But the worse the weather, the higher the surge pricing on DoorDash.

Ignoring my shivering body, I slipped my phone into a ziplock bag and rushed back onto my scooter to continue taking orders.

It wasn't until dawn that I finally stopped taking orders, planning to go back to my tiny apartment to take a hot shower and rest.

Suddenly, an unknown number popped up on my screen.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice hoarse.

"Bring me a hot latte. I need to be at the office by eight-thirty."

That voice...

"Carter?"

He let out an impatient, irritated sigh.

"Aren't you a delivery driver? Get it here in thirty minutes, and I'll tip you five hundred dollars."

The line went dead.

I didn't understand what Carter was trying to play at.

But five hundred dollars was more than I could make in a whole day of back-to-back deliveries.

Without hesitation, I rushed to a high-end cafe nearby, bought a premium latte, and drove as fast as I could back to the Westwood Tower.

I rang the doorbell, and Carter opened it almost instantly.

His eyes swept over my dripping wet hair and soaked clothes, a contemptuous smirk playing on his lips.

I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was enjoying this.

The proud Chloe Miller, who had supposedly walked away from him five years ago for a five-million-dollar payout, was now willing to swallow her pride and beg for a mere five-hundred-dollar tip.

My throat felt tight, but I forced a smile and handed over the coffee.

"Your coffee, Mr. Westwood."

Carter took a sip.

His face instantly darkened, and his tone became venomous.

"This coffee taste like cheap trash."

"Chloe, I offered you five hundred dollars to get me a decent drink, not this garbage."

I quickly explained, "That cup cost fifteen dollars, sir. It’s not cheap."

But Carter wasn't listening. He sneered, "Get another one."

Then, *SLAM*. He shut the door in my face again.

I had no choice. For that five hundred dollars, I had to ride back out into the freezing rain.

This time, I learned my lesson. I went to the most expensive artisanal coffee shop near the building. A single cup cost thirty-five dollars—a ridiculous price.

But Carter was still not satisfied.

"I wanted an espresso macchiato, not a standard drip. Do it again!"

Another thirty-five dollars down.

But when I delivered the next one, he changed his mind again.

"I don't want a hot coffee anymore. It’s too warm in the office. Get me an iced Americano. Do it again!"

"It’s too watery. Double shot of espresso. Do it again!"

"You took too long. The ice melted. Do it again!"

...

Again and again.

My wet clothes clung to my shivering body. I was shaking uncontrollably.

Even a fool could see that Carter was doing this on purpose to humiliate me.

I looked at my phone. The entire morning had been wasted.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him, my voice trembling with exhaustion.

"Mr. Westwood, you don't have to play with me like this. I know my life is a mess right now. Just consider it my karma. I don't want the five-hundred-dollar tip anymore. Let's just say I owe you."

"But the six cups of coffee cost me nearly two hundred dollars in total. Can you at least reimburse me for that?"

"I have to go to the hospital this afternoon. I can't waste any more time."

Hearing my words, Carter's expression grew even uglier.

He let out a cold, mocking laugh.

"Losing your patience already? When you were scamming me for my money five years ago, you seemed to have all the patience in the world."

"I get it. A woman like you always has a price."

"Five hundred isn't enough? How about five thousand?"

Before I could reply, Carter pulled out his designer leather wallet.

He grabbed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and threw them directly at my face.

"Pick it up."

"Consider it a tip from me. Didn't you always love cash more than anything else?"

The bills were brand new.

Their sharp edges whipped against my skin. One of them sliced across my cheek, leaving a thin, stinging cut that began to bleed.

The cash scattered all over the floor. It was way more than five thousand. It was enough to cover Leo’s chemotherapy for the next two weeks.

Dignity?

Poor people don't have the luxury of dignity.

My heart ached with a sharp, suffocating pain, but I quickly forced myself to go numb.

I knelt down on the cold floor and began picking up the bills one by one.

Suddenly, a black designer shoe stepped heavily onto one of the hundred-dollar bills.

I paused. I looked up, meeting Carter's cold gaze. I forced a shameless, desperate smile.

"Mr. Westwood, I'm sorry."

"Your shoe... seems to be stepping on one of my bills. Would you mind moving your foot?"

Carter's eyes locked onto the bloody scratch on my cheek.

He froze for a fraction of a second, and then quickly looked away.

With a look of pure disgust, he pulled his foot back, turned around, and walked back into his penthouse.

Seeing his cold back, tears finally stung my eyes.

I suddenly remembered a time, long ago, when even a slight cough from me would make this same man panic. He would wrap me in blankets and force me to drink warm soup.

Forget it.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat.

I got the money. That was all that mattered. Leo was waiting for me at the hospital.

I finished gathering the cash and left quietly.

Inside, Carter walked back to the doorway, holding a cheap band-aid he had frantically dug out of his cabinet. But the hallway was already empty.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh.

*Carter, it’s been five years. Why are you still so pathetic?*

Just as he was about to throw the band-aid into the trash can, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He slid to answer.

His assistant's hesitant voice came through the speaker.

"Mr. Westwood, we found something."

"Miss Miller... she seems to have a child. The boy is currently in the ICU."

***

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