Chapter 7 - The Encounter at the CafeTwo weeks after the eviction, I decided to take a quiet afternoon to myself in a small, upscale artisan cafe tucked away in West Hollywood.
The autumn air was crisp, and the scent of freshly roasted espresso beans filled the terrace. I sat at a small round iron table near the back, reading a financial report and sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea.
Then, the bell above the cafe door chimed.
A man walked in.
At first, I almost didn't recognize him. Julian Thorne, the man who used to wear custom midnight-blue suits and silver cuff links, was wearing a faded gray hoodie, unwashed jeans, and scuffed sneakers. His hair was uncombed, dark circles shadowed his hollow eyes, and his shoulders were permanently hunched as if he were trying to shrink away from the world.
He was holding a paper cup, counting out loose change from his pocket to pay for a cheap black coffee.
When the barista handed him his change, Julian turned around—and froze dead in his tracks.
His eyes met mine across the courtyard.
For a second, panic and humiliation flared in his face. He looked down at his scuffed shoes, clearly wishing the concrete floor would open up and swallow him whole. But desperation—or perhaps just the sheer weight of his collapsed world—pushed him forward.
Julian slowly walked over to my table, stopping a few feet away.
"Elena," he said, his voice rough and broken, completely stripped of its former arrogance.
I didn't look up from my report. "Can I help you, Mr. Thorne?"
Julian winced at the formal title. He gripped his paper cup so hard the cardboard crumpled slightly.
"I... I just wanted to see if..." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a pathetic whisper. "Elena, please. I know I was a monster. I know what I did was unforgivable. But we were married for five years. Can't you... can't you just release one of my accounts? Just enough to get my apartment back? I can't live like this. I have nothing."
I finally lowered my tablet, folded my hands on the table, and looked up at him.
"You had a ten-million-dollar home, Julian," I said calmly. "You had a wife who cooked your favorite meals, respected your career, and stood by you through every market fluctuation."
Julian’s eyes watered, his lower lip trembling. "I was arrogant. I let Chloe get into my head. I thought I was invincible."
"And you decided to celebrate your betrayal by throwing a one-dollar bill onto my plate," I reminded him quietly, my voice remaining steady and cold. "You wanted to remind me of my supposed worthlessness in front of your family."
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Julian squeezed his eyes shut, a tear finally spilling over his lashes. "I was cruel. I'm paying for it every single day."
"No, Julian," I said, standing up smoothly and picking up my handbag. "You aren't paying for it yet. You're just starting to realize what it actually costs to be a nobody."
