1 - the encounter. (Edited)

"I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love."

― Leo Tolstoy CHAPTER - 1

Olivia Woods

I ripped my covers off the bed, sending a copy of Iliad and a few paint brushes I had been painting my hand with to the floor, adding to the mess my tiny apartment already was.

I changed the covers, hating every moment of it. There was nothing in this world that I hated more than changing covers. It was a frustrating task and no one in my life till now had been able to give me a reason why it needed to be done frequently. I was positive I was changing them after about three weeks. My mother would lose her head if she knew.

And, speaking of the devil, as soon as I relaxed myself over the comfortable surface of my bed and started gazing at the ceiling I had painted the darkest shade of blue and then finished with making constellations on it using a perfect golden color which has been too expensive, my mother decided to call.

Pushing down my anger and convincing myself she no longer held any power over my life, even though I knew that was a lie, I reached towards my nightstand which had my hoodie hanging from it for some reason, and grabbed my phone. I took my time, admiring the back case of my phone which had Harry Styles smiling at me in a rather adorable way, before I attended the call.

"The number you are calling-"

"OLIVIA WOODS."

"Mom." I sighed, already exhausted with the conversation, rolling on my small bed to lay on my stomach. I put the phone between my ear and bed and looked out of the window on my right.

Which showed off nothing but the apartment building in front of mine. It was a rather ugly one - not that the one I lived in was made of diamonds. I could not afford much, not when I was trying to not use much of my mother's money.

"I saw the pictures," my mother snapped. Her voice was always like that - accusing. So very accusing. "You can at least wear good clothes when going out." I had good clothes. I had really nice clothes. I just valued my comfort over my need of looking good sometimes, and those times were the times paparazzi would capture me in their stupid little cameras. It didn't even make sense. My step father was my step father. I was not his biological daughter, he had three of them, I was just an unwanted addition to my mother.

"My bunny slippers are awesome, mother." Granted, it was a little embarrassing to be walking around with them on but I had not slept the whole night.

Her furious breathing was her answer.

I sighed. "I was tired. I was up all night, studying for the economics class you forced me into. You cannot hold me accountable for my actions which were influenced by your actions."

"What?"

I sighed, sitting up. "Get the paparazzi off me, mom. I'm not even your husband's daughter."

"You are my daughter. He is your father."

"Stepfather," I corrected, grabbing my sketchbook which was discarded under my pillow, and opening it on my lap. A rough sketch of a hand greeted me. It was an old one. I cringed at how bad it was. "Bye."

"Don't you dare hang up on me!"

I hung up, instantly wincing at the thought of what she was going to do. Threaten to cut off my allowance? I needed that money because she never let me work.

Georgia's voice came into my head. You are nineteen, Olivia. Fuck your mother and do whatever the fuck you want. I had been entertaining the thought of working for quite a while. I was nineteen. She had no control over me legally.

I sighed, getting under my covers. I needed to find a job, only then would I truly be out of her clutches. To hell with her so-called reputation. I needed to take control.

I closed my eyes, snuggling into the mattress, tucking my sketchbook to my heart, feeling lonely in the big city with only my handmade constellations looking over me.

. . .

I entered the café, the amazing smell of it greeting me with a warm and perfect welcome. It was a fairly large café and always filled with people. It was my favorite place in the world, after the Louvre but I had never been there. Yet.

It was small and dark with built in bookshelves which covered the right of it, the books in it were almost all hardcover and classic. Faint bulbs hung from the dark ceiling with different lengths. Square tables were set up with lamps on them for the people who wished to read. The place was dark, and had been intimidating when I first approached it, but now it was one of the very few places I felt home at, and that may be influenced by the woman who owned the café.

Adjusting my glasses, I looked at Cassandra who was behind the counter. A plain white paper was pasted on the showcase which showed off the various types of delicious baked goodies, reading 'employee needed for the night shift' in a simple arial font.

I approached the counter, my heels clicking as I dipped my hands in the pockets of my dark green trench coat. To make up for yesterday, I was wearing a good outfit and true to their nature, paparazzi had taken a few pictures. Not many people knew me, but enough did. I was the mysterious step daughter of a big politician.

"Cassandra, my love."

Cassandra eyed me up. She was a short, fifty-year-old woman with albinism, she always shone in the dark café like a contrast. Her afro was today tied up in a bun, which indicated just how much workload sweet, snarky Cassandra had. I had helped her out before, just a little as she didn't like making people work unless she was paying them. I knew no woman more honorable than Cassandra.

"What do you want, Livy?" She eyed my eyes which were shining with hope. It would be ideal to get a job here rather than try anywhere else. I was comfortable here, as comfortable as an introvert can be at a public place.

"Hire me, Cass."

She laughed. "You haven't worked a day in your life, Olivia. My café is famous." I was aware of that. Her café was really famous. Working here was not going to be a piece of cake but at least she'd be here all the time.

I smiled. "I know it is. If I fail in...a week, I will walk away." I tapped my newly done fingernails on the counter. I did my nails when I was nervous. "Hire me, please?" I was getting nervous under her gaze. She was a hard- working woman, she would expect nothing but hard work from her employees. Precisely why employees ran from her in a week. I hoped she'd be nicer to me.

"Okay." She nodded. I knew she wouldn't have hired me if she wasn't desperate. Her café was busy and right now she only had three more people to help her. "Go get ready."

"...huh?"

She smirked at me. Evil. "Get ready right away. You don't have to change right now, but go tie your hair up."

I nodded slowly. Okay.

I could do this. How hard could it be?

. . .

My anxiety was screaming at me, as if nibbling away any surety I had ever had. It was like a constant hole in my stomach as I worked and talked to people, people who were rude, people who didn't respond to my greetings. God. Why did I have to talk? I stuttered so much while talking to a guy. He gave me a pitiful smile and quickly ordered. Later, he had laughed with his friend and it had taken everything in me to not dissolve into tears and go back to my apartment.

Cassandra had asked me to handle one cash register and she opened the other one herself.

It was stressful but I concentrated. I had to. Cassandra was right, I had not worked a day in my life. You don't when you are a daughter of a world- famous artist. My dad never wanted me to work, he liked spoiling me.

I focused on the customer in front of me. He was a kind old man who did not trigger my stutter much "Your order will be here s-soon. May I know your name?"

He told me his name was Liam or something. He walked away to sit at a table to wait for his order.

Rechecking the money I had made him pay to make sure our was exact for what he had ordered, I did not notice when they were there till one of them cleared his throat.

I brushed a strand of my black hair behind my ear, courtesy of the hideous bangs I had gotten earlier the year and now had to suffer with because my

hair did not like growing, like my height, and looked up at the three men in front of me.

One of them was saying something.

I blinked like five times and shook my head to actually listen. Was I drooling? I better not be.

The blond one's lips were moving. The other two were looking. The tatted one looked amused, the long haired one held nothing in his gaze.

"-excuse me?" The blond one was saying in his deep, silky voice - almost musical but with a rough undertone to it. I fixed the glasses on my button nose. He was wearing glasses too but he looked better than I ever could. His face was a combination of hard lines like the two men on either side of him. He was tall and built. And I knew who he was. Who they were.

The Creeds.

They owned New York.

"W-w-" I bit my lip, my cheeks heating up at my stutter. Get it together, damnit! I opened my mouth to ask them what they would like to order but the man on the right, Zavier Creed, saved me from further embarrassment. His amusement had disappeared, replaced by something...softer.

"Breath," he ordered gently, his voice was rougher than Ashton's. Tattoos trailed up his neck, a flicker of them was peeking out from behind his cuffs, too. He looked like a man who you'd expect to stab someone while smiling at them. He looked like an angel, he seemed like the devil. He was as intimidating as his brothers - I guess it came with the last name.

I looked down on the counter and took deep breaths in. Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.

"That's it," the oldest Creed said, his voice was husky and deep. It was almost quiet but as attention grabbing as his brothers. Xerxes Creed. I looked up at him through my lashes. The oldest Creed had his shoulder-

length black hair up in a messy ponytail, a strand coming over his forehead. His nose was a little crooked, like his brothers. He looked like a businessman, a man you'd expect would strike up a deal you can't refuse and proceed to take you down in the most ruthless, intelligent way possible.

I bit my lip. "Wh-what would you like to order?" I felt like an idiot. I was an idiot.

I could have sworn their eyes went down to my lip before Zavier answered, amusement returning to his voice. "Three Red Eyes."

I gulped, nodding. I pressed their order on the screen. I knew their names. Still, should I ask?

"Creed," Ashton said, saving me. He gave me a smile, which looked all wrong on his face. As if he wasn't used to it. "Just write Creed. We'll wait."

I nodded, knowing I should have said thank you but I could already barely speak. I had heard things about them. Bad things. That they were associated with the American mafia, one of the most dangerous mafias in the world. And they were friends with the Valentinos, the Italian mafia which had a ruthless reputation.

They were dangerous men.

And gorgeous. Danger always comes well dressed.

Their order came. I called out to them and Xerxes and Zavier walked up to me. I handed them the cups, my fingers brushing with theirs. I bit my lip again, feeling the tender skin, avoiding their piercing eyes and focusing on other customers.

Yet, I could feel them watching me as I worked.

. . .

Thoughts?

Edited - 23 April - I have changed some stuff. Added little details.

. . .