Chapter 5: The Caffeinated Confrontation

The Karma Engine’s notification—[Mission Accepted!]—flashed in Ellie’s vision and vanished, leaving a tingle of anticipation in its wake. She was riding the high of her victory over Damien Blackwood, a heady cocktail of adrenaline and newfound power that made her feel ten feet tall. Defeating a Line-Cutting Latte Lord would be child’s play.

Her objective was simple: a minor but immediate consequence. She watched as the barista, a harried young woman with tired eyes, placed the man’s oversized coffee on the counter. The Line-Cutter, still barking into his phone, reached for it without looking.

This was her moment.

As he turned, Ellie took a deliberate step forward, pretending to adjust the strap of her tote bag. Her scuffed combat boot slid out, an inch-perfect tripwire.

The man’s expensive loafer caught the toe of her boot. His forward momentum did the rest. He stumbled, his eyes widening in a brief moment of comedic panic. His hand, holding the steaming cup, flew up. The lid, not secured properly in the barista’s haste, popped off.

A geyser of scalding hot, four-shot Americano erupted, splashing not onto Ellie, but directly onto the front of the man’s pristine white shirt.

A collective gasp went through the line. The man stared down at the massive, dark brown stain blooming across his chest, his phone call completely forgotten. He looked like he’d been shot with pure caffeine.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Ellie cried, her voice dripping with utterly fake sincerity. “I am just so clumsy today!”

He sputtered, speechless, dripping and defeated. The student who had been in front of Ellie was visibly trying not to laugh. The barista just stared, a flicker of what looked suspiciously like gratitude in her eyes.

Ping.

[Mission Complete! A lesson in patience has been served, piping hot.] [Rewards Granted: 10 Karma Points. 1x Consumable Boon (Common) added to inventory.]

Feeling invincible, Ellie gave the sputtering man one last apologetic smile before turning to the counter. “Can I get a large latte, please? To go.”

She paid for her drink—her celebratory, hundred-dollar-bill-funded latte—and stepped aside to wait. The disgraced Line-Cutter was still dabbing at his shirt with a fistful of napkins, muttering curses under his breath before finally storming out of the shop. Justice was sweet. And it smelled like roasted coffee beans.

As the barista called her name, Ellie took her cup, the warmth seeping into her hands. This was the life. A small-time vigilante, righting the world’s tiny wrongs, one entitled jerk at a time. She took a triumphant sip, the rich, milky flavor a perfect reward.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and the entire atmosphere of the coffee shop changed.

The cheerful indie music playing over the speakers suddenly seemed intrusive. The low buzz of conversation faltered. It was as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

Ellie turned, and her heart stopped.

Damien Blackwood stood in the doorway.

He wasn’t dressed in the formal suit from the parking garage. Today he wore dark, impeccably fitted trousers and a simple, brutally expensive-looking black Henley that stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He looked less like a CEO and more like a predator who had shed his corporate skin for the hunt.

And he was looking directly at her.

There was no flicker of doubt or search in his gaze. It was a look of absolute, chilling certainty. Her blood turned to ice water in her veins. The feeling of invincibility evaporated, replaced by the primal terror of prey that has just realized the hunter knows its name, its scent, its every hiding place.

He started walking towards her, his stride unhurried and deliberate. People unconsciously moved out of his way. The space between them shrank with agonizing slowness. Ellie’s mind screamed RUN, but her feet were cemented to the floor.

He stopped a foot in front of her. He was so tall he blocked out the light from the front window, casting her in his shadow. The clean, sharp scent of his cologne—something that smelled like sandalwood and cold, hard cash—overwhelmed the homey aroma of coffee and pastries.

“Elara Vance,” he said. His voice was a low, quiet rumble that was somehow more terrifying than a shout.

Hearing him say her full name was a physical shock. He knew. Of course, he knew. A man like him didn't get humiliated and just let it go. He had resources. He had power. And he had used them to find her.

“Stalker much?” she squeaked out, the sarcasm a thin, brittle shield against the sheer force of his presence.

A flicker of something—not quite amusement, but a cold acknowledgment of her audacity—passed through his dark eyes. “When someone makes an impression, I like to learn their name. And you, Miss Vance, made quite an impression.”

He took another step closer. She was now pinned between his unyielding form and the condiments bar. There was nowhere to go. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“A beat-up Honda Civic,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, a confidential threat meant only for her. “A struggling graphic novelist with a penchant for… public commentary.” He gestured vaguely with his head, a clear reference to her middle finger. “You’re a difficult person to miss, once one knows what to look for.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. He knew everything. Her confidence was a distant memory, a foolish dream. This was reality: cold, hard, and staring down at her with eyes that promised consequences.

But buried under the terror, that defiant spark refused to die. It was the same spark that had accepted the Karma Engine’s mission in the first place. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

“Well, I’m glad my art is finally getting some recognition from the rich and powerful,” she shot back, her voice shaking only slightly. “If you want to commission a piece, my rates are on my website. Though I have a feeling you can’t afford my ‘piss off’ package.”

For the first time, a genuine expression broke through his cold mask. His lips quirked in a humorless smirk. “You’re brave. I’ll grant you that. Or incredibly stupid. The jury is still out.”

He leaned in, and her breath caught in her throat. His face was inches from hers. She could see the faint stubble along his sharp jaw, the complex, almost black color of his irises. The animosity between them was a tangible force, a crackling, high-voltage current. But beneath it, something else stirred. A strange, unwanted pull. A flicker of heat that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the intense, focused way he was looking at her, as if she were the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered.

She found herself unable to look away, trapped in the gravitational field of his stare. The world narrowed to the space between them, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his quiet breathing.

“A person in your position should be more careful about the enemies they make,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across her cheek. “Reputations are fragile. Livelihoods can be… destabilized.”

The threat was clear, wrapped in silk but lined with steel. He could ruin her. With a single phone call, he could destroy the fragile career she had fought so hard to build.

The fear was back, sharp and potent. But so was that confusing, electric hum. She was terrified of him, but a part of her, a reckless, insane part, was also undeniably thrilled.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then pulled back, the spell breaking. The coffee shop rushed back in, a blur of sound and motion.

“I always get what I want, Miss Vance,” he said, his voice returning to its cool, businesslike tone. “And right now, I want to understand what makes a person like you tick.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the coffee shop as calmly as he had entered, leaving her standing there, trembling. Her latte was now cold in her hands.

Ellie stared at the door he’d just exited, her mind reeling. She was in so much trouble. She had provoked a monster, and he knew exactly where to find her. But as she replayed the confrontation, the feel of his closeness, the intensity in his eyes, she was forced to admit a terrifying, confusing truth.

Beneath the all-consuming fear, she was left wanting more.