I am looking at my reflection, and I no longer recognize the girl staring back at me.

Tears fall down her cheeks in pools of black mascara. Her eyes, once all too familiar, now holding something entirely new. Secrets that weigh down her features and line them with fatigue. She stares back at me pleadingly. She tries to hold onto time like a breath in her chest.

Because everything about the girl staring back at me is a lie.

And perhaps the biggest lie of all is the engagement ring that sits on her finger. My finger.

Only it doesn't mark love. It doesn't mark a new forever. It's a crystal given to mark a business deal. Something noncommittal and unfeeling. It catches the light, and a series of memories flash to mind before I can stop them.

The day the ring was slipped onto my finger.

The day that everything had fallen together.

And the day everything had fallen apart.

Now the ring mocks me. Promises. Lies. The day that the ring had been placed onto my finger was the day that I had been reborn. Bound to a life built on a foundation of lies for six months.
But now, I was out of time.

6 MONTHS EARLIER

I stand up against the counter, elbows rested on the countertop and cheeks cupped in my hands. The sun splits through the winter clouds and pours in from outside, spilling in through the windows and painting the cafe golden. Music that should've been drowning out the lively chatter of people did nothing but fill the eerie silence, floating lazily from the jukebox.

"You're looking lively, Aspen," a voice whispered in my ear, a smile audible in its warmth of tone.

I turned my head and couldn't help but smile back at the pair of hazel eyes that met mine. Violet. My best friend since the moment I'd taken my first shift at The White Swan Café two years ago, when she'd spilt hot coffee all down my apron. Her hair was a tangle of curls, a deep dark red. Muted and so close to brown, and always falling across her face when she'd frantically attend our customers.

"I'm about as lively as this place is," I scoffed, gesturing towards the empty tables, a handful of people scattered through the cafe.

"Oh, that bad then."

"I swear, we're a dead business after the breakfast rush."

Violet sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter alongside me, laying her head on my shoulder.

Just then the door swung open, a gust of winter air swirling into the café in its wake. A man entered. He was slight and dark-haired, with a narrow face and flushed cheeks. His panic brought chaos to the silence. Violet nudged me humorously as he approached.

He had been a regular for as long as I could remember, and quite possibly the reason why The White Swan Café was still in business. Every morning he entered the café in a frenzied sweat, at exactly 11am each morning, ordering the same ristretto coffee.

"Good morning Christopher! The usual?" Violet called to him as he darted to the counter.

"Please."

There was a pause as he collected himself in deep shuddering breaths, wiping the sweat from his forehead, despite the bitter cold from outside.

"How's your morning been?" I said, filling the silence as Violet fluttered around the kitchen.

"Stressful," he sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "So, so, stressful."

"No wonder you need a ristretto, something strong."

"Oh no, it's not for me," he gestured to the car waiting outside, "it's for her."

A Bugatti was parked outside, one that I had noticed most mornings, but had failed to connect to the tense man who had arrived every morning for the past who knows how long.

Inside sat a woman, her window down allowing her to look distastefully down the street. Even from a distance, she was beautiful. In a way that no matter how close you were to her, she would have still seemed as though she was just out of reach. Her eyes were dark, a color I couldn't pinpoint, feathered in lashes and simmering with an intensity that I couldn't quite articulate.

"Is that your wife?"

Violet's voice brought me back to the room, and my eyes snapped back to Christopher in an instant. She passed him his coffee as he hastily turned to leave.

"I work for her," he replied, making his way to the door in a hurry, "and she certainly does not swing my way. Even if she did, man, she's the bloody she-devil."

Violet stifled a laugh as Christopher swung the door open and exited the café.

"No wonder he's been a sweaty mess all this time."

"No wonder."

"That woman was beautiful," Violet looked at me, lips quirking, "a tyrant, obviously, but beautiful."

I ignored her suggestive gaze, scoffing, "she must be important, or at least certainly think that she's important. I mean, come on, a Bugatti? Don't the rich have somewhere better to put their money?"

"Well, they earnt it, didn't they? Shouldn't they be able to choose where to invest it," a lady chimed from the corner of the café, sipping her coffee and looking at Violet and I thoughtfully.

Kim Hartley. Another one of our regulars, who had sat in the corner of our café writing with a mug of coffee every day for the past year. Always watching Violet and I quietly. I never quite knew when she was listening, or what exactly she was listening for.

"But what about charities? Somewhere that would actually benefit people other than themselves?" I retaliated.

"But at the end of the day, it's their money, and they will buy whatever they feel will benefit them," she eyed me purposefully, gaze lingering before she looked back to her coffee, "and you'd be surprised with what the rich are willing to pay for."

~~~~~

I ran down the street that seemed to stretch forward, almost tauntingly. Snow was falling, leaving my fingers numb and my huffs of breath clouding the chill air. Late for work. Again. The White Swan Café came into view, and from its windows you could see clusters of figures. Shit. Violet was going to kill me. The breakfast rush had us swamped this morning by the looks of it. Bursting through the door, I grabbed my apron and made my way to the counter.

"That'll be $12.50." Violet smiled at the customers, although her smile was strained.

Her eyes locked with mine, and she raised her eyebrows scornfully, before she turned back towards the customers.

"Have a good day you two!" She called out to the couple, forcing a final smile before facing me. "You."

"I'm so sorry, I overslept- "

"For the goddamn breakfast rush?" She hissed.

She looked at me for a moment disapprovingly, before her lips curved into a smile and we both burst out laughing.

"Andrew's going to have me freezing to death walking to work in this uniform." I sighed.

"Well, you know what he says, 'the shorter the skirt, the higher the income,'" she laughed again, before rolling her eyes. "Misogynistic asshole."

"Violet," Andrew's voice sounded from the kitchen as he made his way towards us.

Pink brushed onto her cheeks as she swiveled towards him, smoothing out her apron as I pushed back a laugh. He stood in front of us, an air of self-importance radiating from the way he held himself.

"Aspen decided to join us I presume," he scoffed, "and the customers aren't going to get served if you two continue prattling on to each other."

My fingers curled into my palms.

I managed to mold my biting thoughts into a calm reply, "we've served all of the customers sir."

He ignored my comment, eyes pinched.

"I need you two to be on your best behavior today, for once," he added, "there's going to be paparazzi outside of my café and I need them to capture the essence of The White Swan."

"Paparazzi? What for?" Violet pushed back the stray ringlets clinging to her cheeks and mumbled to me. "Bet they could capture my essence too."

"Margot O'Dell is going to be outside, apparently she gets her coffee from my café, and the press are going to eat that shit up," a greedy smile lit his eyes. "11am sharp, be on your best behavior."

Andrew turned on his heel and strode back to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight, Violet's mouth gaped open, and she turned towards me with an excited glint in her eyes.

"Aspen," she whispered, "you don't think it's that she-devil that Christopher works for, do you? You don't think that's Margot O'Dell?"

"Who even is Margot O'Dell?"

She gasped, almost in horror.

"Are you kidding? Only the most famous billionaire in fucking California!"

My brow furrowed. The name did ring a bell. Only vaguely.

"I mean, I saw her in the car, but I couldn't tell from a distance. I can't believe it." She continued.

"We don't even know if that was her, Violet. Even if it was, she sounds like a total asshole."

"Yes, but a famous asshole. A famous asshole who goes to our café and drinks our goddamn ristretto."

I exhaled defeatedly. Violet's morals were a fragile thing, something you could only describe as flexible.

The door swung open yet again, and I glanced up towards the clock. 10:45am. It couldn't be. But despite my judgement, Christopher raced up to the counter, a sense of urgency in the tightening of his jaw.

"Ristretto, quickly please. We have to beat the paps."

Violet's eyes widened. She stood frozen, and I sighed, walking up to the coffee machine.

"Could I deliver Margot's coffee to her Christopher? Just to get my apron signed?"

Christopher's brow creased. He always had a nervous energy to him, but this was something different. Something new.

"I don't know if that's a good idea- "

"I promise it'll be super quick." She grabbed the finished coffee from my hands before he could reply, making her way outside towards the Bugatti.

Christopher's brow furrowed even more, shuddering from either the cold or fear as he trailed after her. A sick sensation settled in the pit of my stomach at Violet's stupidity.

I walked up to the café window, breath clouding the glass as I watched on.

Violet approached the car, giving a gentle tap of knuckles on the car window. Margot O'Dell turned her head to face her, looking at her intensely before rolling the window down. Violet pushed the coffee into her face, and I winced. Typical Violet. She was a constant hurricane of emotions that she couldn't quite contain. Margot looked at her distastefully, before bumping the coffee cup from the bottom, spilling it all down Violet's apron.

I stared on, horrified. Margot rolled her car window back up as Violet made her way inside, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she took off her apron.

I'd had enough of entitled people; people who thought that their money put them on a level above everyone else. Rage roared in my ears. Rage at my pervy prick of a boss Andrew. Rage at my minimum wages barely paying off my rent. And rage at Margot O'Dell.

I barged past Violet and out of the door, the crisp cold stinging the tip of my nose. Silence fell with the sharpness of a blade as I made my way towards the car, Margot's eyes followed my every step, amused smile fading.

I pounded on the window of the car, rattling the glass with each slam of my fist. I don't know what came over me. But whatever it was, I was ready to take it out on this woman, Margot O'Dell.

But I was stopped in my tracks by her piercing eyes. Up close, you could see every hue of color that they held. They were the deep green of forests, the pupils' dark wells. She glared at me with a cold and calculating stare. I had made this woman coffee every day, never knowing who she was.

She stepped out of the car, and she was breathtakingly beautiful. My eyes caught on the freckles dusting her nose. The shape of her full, pretty mouth. She was tall, staring down at me with crossed arms and a perplexed expression. It was evident that she wasn't used to being stood up against.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She looked me up and down, eyebrows raised as if she was scolding a child.

Margot O'Dell was standing right in front of me. This woman who society had put up on a pedestal, and I was about to let her have it.