Not because she needed the money. Not because she cared what the people watching thought. She simply did not want the crisp white marble of the Atrium Galleria to be stained by something so careless and small. She gathered the bills one by one with slow precision, as if each movement was part of a ritual only she understood.
When she finished, she placed the money neatly on the rim of a nearby trash bin and spoke in a soft, even voice.
“You should keep it. You are going to need every dollar you can get.”
Tristan Vale froze. The name on his designer suit suddenly felt like a costume. He had thrown that money at her moments ago, laughing while his new companion clung to his arm, mocking the woman in a janitor uniform who had quietly cleaned the lobby floor around their feet.
Yet Emilia’s voice held no resentment. No plea. No bitterness.
That calmness unsettled him more than shouting ever could.
Tristan narrowed his eyes and turned toward the woman beside him. Her name was Brielle Stanton, a social media darling dressed in silk and diamonds, smiling like she owned the air around her.