Chapter 1: Just Paint
“Let that bitch cry. She still has to repaint it FOR FREE!””
The words played inside Trent’s head as he pushed the paint roller across Nadia’s mural.
White paint swallowed the carefully painted blue sky.
Nadia froze.
For three nights, she had barely slept. She had painted until her fingers cramped, her back ached, and the little café windows reflected nothing but her exhausted face.
Now Trent was destroying it.
“Stop!”” Nadia lunged forward, reaching for the roller.
“I spent three nights on that!””
Trent saw her hand.
He deliberately pushed the roller another foot.
The beautiful face of the woman at the center of the mural disappeared beneath a thick streak of white.
“Trent, STOP!””
He lifted the roller and examined his work.
“Honestly?”” he said, his mouth curling into a smile.
“It was ugly anyway.””
Nadia stared at him.
“Ugly?””
“Yeah. What's your problem?””
“You approved it!””
Trent shrugged.
“I changed my mind.””
“You signed off on the design yesterday. You told me it was exactly what the café needed.””
“And now I'm telling you it isn't.””
Nadia looked at the ruined mural.
The central figure had taken her nearly twelve hours alone. Every detail had a purpose: the woman's eyes, the flowers around her hair, the golden sunlight falling across her shoulders.
It wasn't just decoration.
It was the centerpiece of the café's reopening campaign.
And Trent had just covered half of it in white paint.
Behind him stood Renee, the shift supervisor.
She had been watching the entire thing with her arms crossed.
Nadia turned toward her.
“Renee, you saw what he did. Tell him to stop.””
Renee glanced at the wall.
Then she looked at Nadia's paint-stained apron.
“It's just paint.””
Nadia blinked.
“What?””
“It's just paint,” Renee repeated.
“Don't make a scene.””
“Three nights of work aren't just paint.””
Renee sighed as if Nadia were the one making everyone's morning difficult.
“Then paint it again.””
Trent laughed.
“Exactly. Repaint it. Free of charge.””
Nadia's hands trembled.
“I was hired to paint this mural once. You can't destroy my work and expect me to do it again without payment.””
Trent rested the roller against the tray.
“Watch me.””
He was wearing his favorite black leather jacket, the one he constantly mentioned whenever anyone complimented it.
It was draped over a chair beside the paint supplies.
A small white receipt stuck out of its pocket.
Nadia had noticed the jacket when she arrived that morning. Trent had spent ten minutes telling the staff how much it cost.
Two thousand dollars.
Apparently, some things deserved to be treated carefully.
His employees didn't.
His contractors didn't.
And certainly not Nadia.
“Do you even understand what you've done?”” she asked.
Trent rolled his eyes.
“I'm the manager. I decide what goes on that wall.””
“You approved the design.””
“Stop repeating yourself.””
“Then put it in writing that you're canceling the project and refusing payment.””
Trent stepped closer.
“Listen carefully. You were paid to make this place look good. It doesn't. That's your problem.””
“I haven't even received the final payment!””
“Then maybe you should have made something worth paying for.””
Renee let out a quiet laugh.
Nadia turned toward her.
“You think this is funny?””
Renee's expression hardened.
“I think you're wasting everyone's time.””
At that moment, the stockroom door opened.
Gloria, the café owner, stepped into the dining area carrying a clipboard.
She stopped when she saw the wall.
Her eyes moved from the white paint dripping down the mural to Nadia's tearful face.
Then to Trent.
“What happened here?””
Trent immediately straightened.
“Gloria! Perfect timing.””
He spread his hands toward the wall.
“I was fixing a problem.””
Gloria slowly approached.
“Fixing what problem?””
“The mural. It wasn't right.””
Gloria looked at Nadia.
“Nadia, is that true?””
Nadia swallowed.
“Mr. Trent approved the design. I finished it last night. He came in this morning and painted over it.””
Gloria looked at the roller.
Then at Renee.
“Did you see this happen?””
Renee adjusted her name badge.
“Yes. But it's just paint.””
Gloria's eyes moved back to Trent.
He smiled.
“See? No big deal.””
For several seconds, Gloria said nothing.
Then she noticed something beside the paint tray.
The black leather jacket.
She picked it up by the collar and examined the material.
“Is this yours, Trent?””
His smile widened.
“Yeah. Why?””
Gloria looked at the white paint in the tray.
Then at the jacket.
“Just checking.””
She walked toward the tray.
Trent barely paid attention.
He was already pulling out his phone.
“Anyway, Nadia needs to start repainting. We have customers coming in this afternoon.””
Gloria dipped the roller into the white paint.
Trent glanced up.
“Gloria?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she lifted the entire paint container.
And poured.
A thick stream of white paint fell directly onto the black leather jacket.
It splashed across the shoulders, soaked into the sleeves, and ran down the front.
For one long second, nobody moved.
Then Trent dropped his phone.
“WHAT THE HELL?””
He lunged toward the chair, but Gloria had already emptied the container.
He grabbed the jacket by the dry collar.
His face changed completely.
“My jacket!””
Gloria calmly set the empty container down.
Trent stared at the white streaks covering the leather.
“Are you INSANE?””
He rubbed at the paint with his palm.
It only spread further.
“This jacket cost me TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!””
Gloria looked at him.
Then she turned toward Renee.
“It's just paint.””
Renee's mouth opened.
Gloria tilted her head.
“Isn't that what you said?””
Renee stared at the ruined jacket.
“Gloria, that's different!””
Nadia wiped a tear from her cheek.
Her voice was quiet, but every word landed.
“Different because it's his property?””
Gloria stepped beside Nadia.
“Answer her, Renee.””
Renee looked at Trent.
He was clutching the jacket like someone had just destroyed his entire life.
Then she looked at Nadia.
Her lips parted.
But no answer came.
Nadia stood beside the mural, white paint dripping down the face she'd spent three nights creating.
May you like
She waited.
And for the first time that morning, nobody told her to stop making a scene.
